Sprog-Blog

picking up and moving...

2008-09-18T21:01:25Z

...to wordpress, since they have a few features I've been jonesing for.

www.sprogblogger.wordpress.com

is the new site. Same blog, different address. The fun continues.

See ya there...

Oh good lord.

2008-09-11T22:15:34Z

This has gotten so fucking old.

So, I had the MRI. Good news is that my various problems do not include adenomyosis. Thank god for small favors.

Bad news is, there is an unexplained, er, thingy still in my uterus. Despite the heavy period. Despite my doctor's poking around in there with the HSG catheter trying to "break it up". Ouch. Didn't work, either.

So the really bad news is that I'm getting a hysteroscope/D&C. Should have just goddamn well done this two months ago at the beginning of the miscarriage saga. And October's cycle is a no-go while my poor abused innards heal. And I'll be on an estrogen to try to prevent scarring. And we're hoping it's just a particularly tenacious blood clot, or even the poor dead fetus, and not a bit of cancerous polyp.

Have I mentioned recently how tired I am of this?

On the bright side, my doctor thinks I'm quite the trooper, since I didn't even wince while he was wrenching my cervix all over the place, trying to get an angle on the whatever-it-is. Quite honestly, my definitions of pain & discomfort have been radically rewritten since July.

I guess I'm looking forward to an end in sight with this bleeding. Looking forward to not being anemic anymore. Not looking forward to another round of anesthesia, or to the bill I'll be getting for this service. Not looking forward to having to wait another 2 months (best case scenario, which - Hey! -I have to confess that I'm not counting on!) to begin a new IVF cycle. But at least I am pleased that this bleeding isn't some new chronic condition, and at least I'm pleased that I'm not yet out of the running for another pregnancy - which I would have been with an adenomyosis diagnosis.

Trying to think positive here, but really, I'm just mourning the loss of one more sick day used up in a laboratory. Not to mention the prospect of more cramping & bleeding, because you know what? Pretty much ready to be done with this already.

sprog_blog @ 2008-09-01T17:57:00

2008-09-01T22:02:34Z

So, um, even though I haven't yet stopped bleeding from the miscarriage, oh so many weeks ago, it seems to have kicked up a notch, back to what I would call "Normal Period" type bleeding.

I'm thinking it might actually be a period. Since it would be right on schedule for me, give or take a day or two.

Hmmph. So, even though I'm bleeding heavier now than I was yesterday, I'm taking this as possibly a hopeful sign - maybe I'm slowly coming round back to normal. Maybe I can look forward to a blood-free day sometime in the near future?

Maybe not, of course, because if nothing else, this experience has taught me not to get my hopes up even knee-high.

In other news, I'm still waiting to hear if my insurance is going to approve the MRI - I'm assuming they will, but it's just another bit of worry. I'm scheduled to go in on Friday.

The DHEA continues to offer up no noticeable side effects. The general good-mood going on here, I'm likely to put down to the presence of Nelly the Whippet, who makes me very happy, very much of the time. Especially since a good mood was not among the side effects listed.

Nothing else new. I love my boyfriend. I love my dog. I'm sick of my rebellious body. Same old.

More later, when I have more to say.

Dog... and other good things in an otherwise shitty summer

2008-08-28T12:52:24Z

First off - Dog. Dog is good. Her name is Nellie - as in "Nervous Nellie" or possibly "Nosy Nellie". She is, what could charitably be called, timid. Since my previous dog was so overly confident that she once jumped into a river. From a cliff. To rescue my husband. Who actually wasn't drowning. Even though she couldn't swim. It took a long time to fish her out, convince her that she was the only one in trouble, and that maybe she shouldn't have jumped from quite so high a distance anyway. The vet loved my previous dog. Her hijinks put his eldest through college.

Nellie doesn't suffer from this sort of self-delusion.

She is a princess, and she knows she's a princess. This means that people are there to protect her. Certainly not the other way around. It also means she suffers from sighthound anorexia. ie: she's been here for three days now, and has possibly consumed two cups of food in that time. Need to work on that.

She is, however, a cuddler, despite being all elbows and knees and sharp pointy noses. Raised by a gay couple, she instantly bonded with boy, but is less sure what to make of me. Taking her jogging helped, although I think she'd be just as happy to never leave the house again.

But the step-daughters like her as much as they can like anything to do with me. And the boy is being a veritable saint about this all. She makes his eyes itch when she licks him, and because of her thing for boys, she tries to lick him quite often.

I am better, emotionally, than I have been in a very very long time. It's so good to have something besides coming home from work to look forward to in the morning. It's so good to have a dose of doggie-joy when I come home. It's so nice to be needed and looked for by half of the members of this household instead of just by 1/3 of them.

Nellie is the best.

No side-effects from the DHEA so far, and it's been about a week. Bleeding still hasn't stopped, but it's definitely spotting now, not full on bleeding. My skin is looking better than usual, and I'm feeling happy (though, again, I'm inclined to give that credit to the boy for giving me the dog.) Trying for optimism, here, but willing to settle for cautious interest. This could still all come to shit. I'm having an MRI on the 5th, a week from tomorrow, and that should either rule out Adenomyosis, or it'll rule out ever having a baby. No big.

Ack.

And, continuing in that optimism-vein, assuming everything goes the way we hope, we're then going to be waiting for me to have a REAL period (Yay, more blood!) at which point we can try to figure out exactly what we're doing in October. At the moment, there's a writing convention in Calgary that I'm planning to attend. A writers' con. that I've gone to every year for the past many, where I reconnect with friends not seen since last year's convention, and also where I met the boy. I have a lot of reasons to want to attend, but not if it comes in the middle of stimming. There's one up in Albany, too, that I'd like to go to, but that one I can attend even if I just go up for an overnight in between appointments. Boy would, I think, like me to delay this next cycle so that nothing could possibly interfere, but then it just gets stupid. There's Thanksgiving. There's Christmas. And no, I don't think it's reasonable to wait until January. We're under some hormonal constraints here!

So, yeah, more waiting, though since I get to pop pills three times a day, I do feel like I'm accomplishing something. Eggs on Drugs! Yes!

Dog-blog

2008-08-25T01:22:57Z

I have a dog. Well, actually, we have a dog.
And, actually, unfortunately for me, this particular dog seems to prefer the boy - whose eyes itch when she comes too near and who doesn't particularly like dogs.

Ahem.

This is, no doubt, the result of having been raised in a girl-free home, but it is, nevertheless, a bit disconcerting.

After two years of whining, begging, and finally demanding, I have a dog who doesn't particularly like me.
*snort*

Let us all hope, for the sake of my sanity, that this state of affairs reverses itself when I become the one who goes on all the walks.

*sigh*

Friday

2008-08-22T23:45:51Z

Well.

Not in so many words, but my doctor just basically said to me that Dr. Bigshot's full of shit.

Ok, so not really, I'm reading between the lines here, but he did express professional disagreement with Bigshot's insta-diagnosis of "worst case of Adenomyosis I've ever seen." My doctor thinks this bleeding is just the result of my poor, over-abused hormonal system trying to figure out which end is up, and that we're still just seeing varicosities on the ultrasound, because of their position relative to the endometrium & uterine walls, because I've had really no pain to speak of since the miscarriage, during my normal (hah) periods, etc. He also made the point rather strongly that a diagnosis like this should never be made on the basis of one ultrasound, at least not where the patient can hear you. He seems pretty confident that if I had a case of AM that was as bad as all this, I wouldn't be functional for 3 weeks out of the month.

But, since my doc. also realizes that hearing two completely different things from professional colleagues is disconcerting, to say the least, and since this is something that can be definitively ruled out with an MRI, he suggested I get myself to an MRI center &, um, rule it out. A peace of mind third opinion to be the tie-breaker. So I'll make the appointment, and have it done, but he seemed pretty satisfied that we were still looking at weirdo veins, but nothing new, nothing scary, nothing that would make it impossible for me to carry a pregnancy to term.

Especially since a good solid implantation was not a problem. At all.

Have I mentioned that I really like my doctor, and that Dr. Bigshot just pisses me off every time I have to deal with him? I think next time I have to have an ultrasound with anyone other than my doc, I'll just pass & come back the next day. Because, really, my reproductive life's too short for this kind of stressful shit.

If the big black holes currently taking up space in the wall of my uterus do turn out to be a wicked case of Adenomyosis, my doctor did allow that he would recommend against ever trying IVF again. He also seems pretty sensitive to how hard losing this baby hit me, and seemed to be recommending DE pretty seriously - I think simply because it has such a better live birth rate than using 38 year old eggs.

After talking it over with the boy, we decided that while I am not averse to using DE, I do want one shot of using my own eggs on DHEA. (Eggs on Drugs! Boy said it sounded like a particularly scary band, and I had to agree.) However, if we strike out, or if I miscarry again (and I would opt for a D&C with genetic testing), then we'll probably go that route and not look back since we're such a bad match for adoption.

And my doc gave me a prescription for DHEA, and told me to start taking it at any time. Supposedly, it's going to make me feel like a teenager again. No, not in a good way. Pimples, greasy hair, crazy moodswings. However, I've always had blah skin, oily hair, and, er, crazy moodswings, so I suppose I could be one of the lucky ones that it just levels everything out, just like when I was pregnant. That would be nice.

Oh, and my HCG levels are down under 10. I'm officially not-pregnant. That's nice too.

And, assuming I get a real period one of these days/weeks/months, we might be ready to start trying for a sprog of our own again in a month and a half or so. Which is good because I'm missing the needles, let me tell you. Actually, I'm just feeling old and used-up. I'll turn 39 in a few months, and that's just scaring me to death. Stupid prematurely aging ovaries.

So I guess, on a whacked out level, today is the first day of prep for my next IVF cycle.

Assuming I get another cycle, which I'm going to try very hard to keep assuming. Optimism. Yeah. I vaguely remember that feeling. Shall make the MRI appointment on Monday, since there's no real rush, other than a need to know, at this point. And then I can settle into a nice long stretch of anticipation & crazy-making hormone manipulation.

Not that I know what that's like or anything...

Adenomyosis

2008-08-18T17:21:27Z

Ah fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Went in for another HCG test today & mentioned that I'm still bleeding, er, heavily.

Wasn't my doctor but the gruff guy whose bedside manner sucks.

Looks like all 'products of conception' have left the building, but, I've developed(?) "the most severe case of adenomyosis [doctor] has ever seen"

Fuck.

He gives me no information after this, just says, "It's like endometriosis, only in the muscular wall of your uterus".

So, how do I get rid of it?

"The best way to treat it is through a successful pregnancy." He actually said that to me.

Um, Doc? I'm at a fertility clinic, and I'm still bleeding too much from my latest miscarriage. Pregnancy is something that I find rather difficult to achieve, let alone succeed at, you sodding smug bastard.

And, Dr. Google is scaring the shit out of me - hey, miscarriage is a typical problem for women with moderate cases of this.

And no one can tell me why this was never diagnosed before if it's as severe as all that. Wondering if this is actually what my doctor saw & diagnosed as 'varicose uterine veins'. Wonder if he's right, or if Dr.I'mTheTopSpecialistAtThisClinic is right. Wonder if it matters.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

So, now we know why I keep bleeding long past when it should have stopped.

Fuck.

Heard back from the nurse, and my HCG levels haven't zeroed out yet - they're at 14. So I go back in on Friday, at which time I'll also talk to my own doctor, who will, I hope, be a bit more forthcoming with actual info instead of scary words and half-assed explanations.

Hoping to get going again on pregnancy not only for purpose of, well, baby-result, but also to avoid bleeding for 3 out of every 4 weeks for the rest of my life, but since I need to demonstrate an actual, normal period before that, who knows when the hell that's going to happen.

And I'm scared to death that everything's just going to get worse from here on out. Scared that this is the reason I miscarried. Scared that any pregnancy I do manage, is going to end just the same way. All the literature I found keeps talking about how in severe cases of this, the best way to achieve pregnancy is to hire a surrogate.

Yeah, well, not going to happen. And I don't want to be bleeding all the time for the rest of my pathetically fucked up reproductive life. My mother didn't hit menopause until her early 60s. So I can look forward to being severely anemic, exhausted, and generally sick-feeling from constant blood loss for the next 20 years? Goddamn it. Why can't one single thing work out the way it should? Why can't I catch a single fucking break? I really don't feel like I'm asking too much from life here.

Impatient with all of this.

2008-08-16T03:10:37Z

Have I mentioned before how much I dislike waiting?

Waiting to complete a missed miscarriage rated right up there with my least favorite things in the whole world. July 2008 will probably always go down as the Month of Misery, in my book at least.

But waiting to STOP bleeding, waiting to feel like this whole stupid, pointless experience is finally over? I'm not liking this much, either.

Now, truly, I'm not losing a huge amount of blood each day, at least not compared to the last two & a half weeks; it's just a constant, steady loss. But having said that, enduring what amounts to a heavy (for me) period every day for going on three weeks now is no joke. It's no frickin' wonder I'm tired all the time.

And nothing sounds good except maybe steak. Rare steak. For breakfast. And maybe another bit of meat for lunch and, well, since it's more of a traditional dinner food, it would surely be a nice way to end the day, digging into a nice bit of beef. Of course, the heart attack waiting to happen that steak three times a day would be has kept me from living that particular culinary dream. But it sure sounds good. Better than the ice cream, even, which in my world is pure and simple sacrilege.

The other side of that, though is that I'm getting almost as tired of eating meat (or just craving meat) as I am of bleeding. And that's awful damned tired, let me assure you.

But, ever-hopeful is sort of the IVF watchword, and so I'm fervently hoping that when I go in for what I hope is my final HCG check on Monday, that my bleeding will either be GONE, miraculously tapered off to nothing over the weekend, or at least that my doctor will wave his Magic(ultrasound)Wand, assure me that everything's been passed, and then maybe let me start taking DHEA supplements to prepare for the next try instead of making me wait for a real period, which, at this rate, might happen sometime in November. If I'm feeling wild & crazy, I imagine the good doc prescribing something estrogen-ish to convince my uterus that the emergency evacuation is over now, and would it kindly go back to being a fairly unobtrusive part of my body again...?

Not that I even know if there is such an estrogen-ish thing prescribed for such a reason, but I honestly can't believe that it's important for my body to keep bleeding like this. And hell, hormone manipulation is something that my body responds really really well to - not to mention being something that's right up my doctor's proverbial alley. And hey - I've been astonished at the different things that estrogen-ish pills and patches and pokes in the belly and ass have wrought in the last four months, so why not another application for the stuff? As long as I've given in to the artificial shit, let's go whole-hog and do it right, eh?

Or maybe I'll just go eat another hunk of meat. I begin to understand the concept of vampirism. I'll bet being a hungry vampire feels a lot like this - gauging the appeal of every meal based on how red and drippy it is.

Blech, says this recovering vegetarian.

RIght before I start wondering if it might be time for a midnight snack...

Food meme

2008-08-14T22:15:43Z

Simply because I'm sick about posting about the gross stuff coming out of the lower part of my body, here's a meme dealing with all about the gross stuff that can go into the top part. Have fun.

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects (Dried caterpillars count? What if it's ants in chocolate?)
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

Oooof.

2008-08-13T12:46:38Z

So I was thinking, yesterday, about posting a blog today about how nothing dramatic ever happens anymore, (besides finding out that I'm too anemic to donate blood because I've been dripping little teeny-tiny bits of blood every day over the last two weeks.) But then I decided not to write it because, really, in the greater scheme of almost anything, spotting is boring.

But then last night. Ah, last night. It was a night made for a bit of conjugal joy, because really, folks, I'm feeling 100% these days, other than the occasional pink-stained t.p. And the boy is leaving for another college-investigatory trip with daughter, and what with the prospect of being apart for three days...

(and yeah, I know we're pathetic, but hey, otherwise this whole infertility thing would be easy to solve with just a bit more attention paid to make sure we're actually having sexjust like the good doctors ordered.)

Ahem.

Anyway, after the festivities, while performing my normal womanly ablutions, I noticed that, well, blood was running down my legs Er, quite a lot. And all of a sudden I was passing huge clots again - though without the killer cramping, this time. Just bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. What a night.

I guess the conjugal joy thing was a bad idea, so no need to tell me so. But I'm usually pretty good at gauging my own body, so this took me completely by surprise.

I guess it aint over yet, which is a shame, because just between you & me? This whole bleeding thing is really getting old. Sort of messy this morning, but I don't think my uterus has actually turned inside out and left the premises yet, which is good, because I've got plans for her if I can ever get back on track.

Grrrr.

slouching toward normality...

2008-08-07T02:08:51Z

...or as close to it as I can approximate.

Seriously, I'm feeling so much better. Still bleeding, but nothing dizzying. No double-me-over cramps as my uterus attempts to turn itself inside out. I even hope to be able to donate blood at work on Friday, since NYC is having a shortage of my type, and since I have no fear of needles left in me. And as far as hemophobia goes - hah!

It's been a month since I found out what would be happening this summer. Five weeks since estimated fetal death. It feels disloyal, somehow to that almost-baby, and to my own pain, to be recovering so - dare I say it? - well and relatively quickly. But I think I am. Doing well. I mean, four weeks ago I was raw with pain. Absolutely incapable of setting it aside for even a moment to deal with life. That wasn't very long ago, though it feels like it was.

It helps that I don't feel shitty anymore. Hmmph. Ok, more honestly spoken, I don't feel pregnant anymore. I hadn't realized how much of my misery really was physical/chemical. It helps that, looking back over my records, I came to peace with the fact that sprog was too tiny from the beginning, and that if my own, brutally honest doc (bless 'im) had been in town, I likely would have known from week 5 that things were not looking great for teeny-sprog. There was something wrong from the beginning, and the indications were there, I just didn't have the experience to understand, and my doctor's replacement was too conservative to try to prepare me ahead of time (not that I would have been in any better place to have had even MORE warning that this wasn't going to work.)

But somehow, knowing that this pregnancy was doomed from the beginning - I don't know why, but that makes it a bit easier for me. They weren't superstar embryos & it simply wasn't meant to be. Shitty to even look at those words there, & I was (& probably never will be) never in any mood to hear them said out loud, but here, in the privacy of my own head (and the publicly accessible space of my own blog) I can say it & know that it's truth. Something was wrong with almost-sprog. It simply wasn't meant to be.

But, I do find it comforting that my body was good at being pregnant. Whatever other troubles we have that make it tough to start a baby growing, I'm good at incubating one, once it's there. Which seems to me to indicate that I might have a decent shot at carrying a baby to term as long as my ovaries can be persuaded to produce some non-sucky eggs. And, even if they can't be tricked, hey - at least the economy's so shitty that women are selling their eggs in never-before-seen numbers. That's cause for cheer, right?

Right?

*sigh*

Puppy-hunting helps. Well, it helps, but it also helps that the boy's willingness to give me something I need so desperately makes me realize why I fell so deeply in love with this man. It helps that when he told his best friend that we were getting married, probably at city hall, best friend said, "Er, why not drive up here? (NH) I am a justice of the peace, you know."

We didn't know that. We said, yes please, and especially if he'd be willing to put on the fake "mawwidge" accent/lisp from Princess Bride. That would be awesome.

Truly, whether or not he'll do the Mawwidge speech, I'm thrilled. And touched. And grateful to be able to make our wedding day special without making a fuss over it, if that makes any sense. And delighted not to have to get married in New York City. Or Vegas. *snort*

So, nothing new here, most likely, until the 18th, when I go in for what I hope will be my final HCG test under the OB-auspices. I'm hoping that a real period will follow right on the heels of this bleed-out, and that we can get back in the baby-makin' game.

moving towards normal...

2008-08-04T20:45:48Z

...slowly but surely.

My HCG levels are dropping faster than I'd feared they would. 124, down from 1800 a week ago. Thank any-deity-who's-listening.

And, I'm feeling correspondingly better. Which is more of a relief than I can say. I don't know if it's the psychological release of everything being really & truly OVER, or if it really is just that I simply don't feel like undiluted shit all day every day. Don't really care because, for whatever reason, I just feel better. Making eye contact hasn't been too much of an effort all day.

Today is really the first day that it hasn't felt like the world revolves around me and my pain. And it feels good to re-enter the land of the living. I was sick of being the center of that shitty universe.

And the boy is home for the next week. Which helps. He's been falling all over himself, trying to help me out. Which helps me psychologically, even if I don't really need the pampering these days. I'm feeling so much better than I was even just two days ago that it isn't to be believed. I smiled at a baby today instead of looking away and holding back tears. Definite progress in the march toward Normal.

Of course, maybe the change in mood is just because the boy agreed that we could start looking for a puppy. Finally. It's actually entirely possible that this is just anticipatory dog-joy.

Woof.

Pride goeth before a fall - AKA the Fates smack me down

2008-07-31T23:49:33Z

So I went to work, and it wasn't that bad, though I did find out that my extraordinarily sympathetic boss is moving back to Korea where she can be a housewife & concentrate on getting pregnant/staying pregnant. I will miss her. And envy her.

But that wasn't the most fun.

The most fun was realizing that I really was fine. Well, at least as long as I was sitting at home in bed with my feet propped up. Working - even as a librarian - means being up and down, sitting, standing, reaching for books, storming over to holler at obnoxious kids, sitting, standing. That didn't work out so good for me. Oh god.

So after an afternoon of cramping, I started bleeding a lot - gushing, actually - while trying to find some guy a copy of Oedipus Tyrannus. I got too lightheaded to see anything and basically crawled downstairs so I could get to the restroom without ruining more clothes &/or bringing a shelf of books down on top of me as I collapsed. Made my excuses to the assistant manager, whose response was "go, please go!" and got on the subway & home without much more of an incident. Though I think the clothes just might be ruined after all.

My complacency certainly is.

So I have tomorrow off, and I suppose if I have to, I can call in on Saturday though that will leave my co-workers dangerously short-staffed. Of course, me dashing off in the middle of the day, or passing out and being hauled out of there in an ambulance would also leave them short-staffed, if that's my main concern. I guess I simply don't know how to judge "ready to go back." I mean, I honestly felt fine this morning, and I really really really thought the bleeding was tapering off and would soon be gone entirely. I even went to work wearing just a panty-liner instead of the great big honkin' sleep-through-the-night-even-when-you're-bleeding-like-a-pig-at-slaughter pads.

Hah. Serves me right.

So much for all my pride about my suddenly cooperative body. You'd think I'd learn by now not to crow over any-damn-thing. Not two pink lines on a HPT. Not a heartbeat. Not a goddamn 1-day-that-wasn't-so-bad miscarriage. And the boy is out of town with a daughter again. Where I encouraged him to go, since, hey, I'm fine now. Ugh.

So ok, Fates. I have officially gotten it. Message received. Thanks for the reminder. Yep, I know. No, no plans for anything at all tomorrow. In fact, I'm thinking lying in bed all day with my feet up is gonna be da bomb, ok? Nothing going on here, you can just go pester some other cockeyed fool. Please, in fact. It's been a long few weeks.

Defying Fates

2008-07-31T13:37:22Z

Whew.

I feel better. Better physically and even better emotionally than I have, really since we found out that I was going to lose the baby.

The bleeding's already tapering off, and I had a couple of cramps yesterday, but nothing that a couple of tylenol couldn't deal with. I had hot & sour soup for lunch & tom yum soup for dinner, (comfort food in my world) and both stayed down and tasted great despite the insanity of eating soup when it's this hot & muggy.

I'll be going in on Monday for my weekly HCG test, and likely for an US scan, if I know my doctor. Which is fine. I'm feeling confident that this is over, and that everything that was supposed to happen, did.

This whole experience actually, in a weird way, makes me appreciate my body a little more than I have in the last few weeks/months/years. Because, see, my body apparently sucks as far as girly-functions go. It wouldn't give me the baby I want, and even when I tricked it, it refused to give me the pregnancy I wanted. But it handled the miscarriage without needing more interventions. It dealt with everything pretty efficiently (if later in the game than I would have preferred) and when it was over, it apparently decided to let me off the hook, hormonally at least, for a while.

ie: I haven't wanted to kill a receptionist or a loved one in nearly 48 hours.

Which is a nice, refreshing feeling.

Never thought I'd say this, but damn it feels good not to be pregnant.

And I'm back to work today. I considered bailing again, but decided that was too much, and that I will desperately want those sick days back sometime during my next, successful, full-term pregnancy.

(So there, Fates! I defy thee!)

Well, that was something...

2008-07-30T13:55:10Z

It looks like I will not, after all, be a candidate for a D&C today. Uncooperative body finally comes through on something I'm asking of it.

Of course if I'd had any notion what yesterday would be like, I'd've signed up for the surgery the day after I found out what was going on, just to preclude any possibility of having to go through that.

Understand, I've had a miscarriage before. When I was 25. I was probably only a week or two late at that point and deeply ambivalent about the thought of being pregnant. It was a heavy, painful period. Nothing more or less, and it was emotionally troubling, but really not a physical blow at all.

Yesterday. Wow.

Right after my post about the crazy-ass moodswings & inappropriate humor thing I've got going on here, right after the cramps that merely buying a latte were apparently able to induce, everything started rolling. Put it this way - when I weighed myself this morning, I weighed 5 pounds less than when I weighed myself yesterday. I'm estimating some of that is dehydration - I really couldn't get anything (like water) to stay down. But I honestly think at least a couple of pounds of that was blood and tissue. I wasn't expecting so much blood, in such a short amount of time. We're talking 8 hours, tops, before I started feeling - well, not good. I still feel like someone beat me and then jumped up and down on my lower abdomen for kicks - but better. Definitely better.

And the boy came home via Fung-Wa bus in the middle of the night. Which, although there wasn't much for him to do at that point, made me feel better just knowing he was there, and knowing if I passed out again on my way to the toilet, at least I wouldn't lie there all night long.

It was scary. And messy. And upsetting to watch my body reject everything so decidedly. And physically, the worst pain I've ever felt. Worse than when I shattered two bones in my arm and had to wait over 24 hours for a table in the OR. Bad pain. Bad pain made worse by the fact that I kept vomiting during the worst of it, which made everything that hadn't hurt from the uterine cramping hurt from the stomach/intestinal cramping instead.

But it's also over. Over quicker than I feared it might be. I'm still bleeding, but I'm talking bleeding like, say, a heavy, painful period. Not like I'm going to die sometime soon.

I'm taking today off work because I need to be able to stand up for more than 2 minutes at a time, but I think if I can keep anything down, I'll go back tomorrow.

And in the meantime, I'm thinking it's going to be a long day of napping, and sipping juice and boullion and maybe, if I'm feeling crazy, a cup of gazpacho for dinner.

Because living crazy? It's what I do.

sprog_blog @ 2008-07-29T14:20:00

2008-07-29T18:55:50Z

So I keep having flashes of inappropriate black humor and it's sort of starting to wig me out. I mean if my closest friend tried to turn what I'm going through into an opportunity for a giggle, I'd probably never speak to her again. This attitude must be apparent, since the boy - who, though I love him dearly, is not known for his tact or willingness to leave any subject un-laughed about - hasn't even attempted to find a spark of funny in anything that's been happening to me lately. Which is good. Which is why he's not walking around with a frying-pan shaped dent in his head, or looking around for another girlfriend, or both. I mean, humor is not appropriate. Not right now, & come to that, I'm not sure I'll ever be ready to yuk it up regarding this period in my life. Ever. Nothing funny about it.

So why is it that my brain won't stop already with the colorful commentary?

Point in fact - After getting a phone call from the woman at the clinic where I'm scheduled to have a D&C tomorrow, who called, in fact, to work out payment details since she figured I really would be in no shape to deal with them tomorrow, she signed off by saying, "I hope you have a great day."

Well, no, actually. I'd say chances are good that this will not be a great day, by any measure. How could it, you stupid fucking bitch? And, come to that, do they give you lessons in what not to say? I mean, I know sympathy tends to make me break down, but is an angry patient really that much easier to deal with than one who's leaking from her eyes as well as her girl-goods? (See? More and complete inappropriateness going on here.)

After I hung up, (and thankfully my self-control lasted long enough to hit the 'end' button on my cell-phone,) I spent the next fifteen minutes explaining in great graphic detail to the empty room exactly why this couldn't possibly be a great day, and why. Some of the lines I came up with were rather funny, if I do say so myself. I should reserve a spot on the midnight miscarriage amateurs' hour at the local humor club. I'd be a hit. "Take my uterine lining. No really--" Badda-bing.

And when the first real knock-me-over cramps of the day started just after I'd bought, (but before I'd enjoyed) my first cafe latte in over a week - because, hey! what can it hurt except my sleep patterns, & due to said outrageously painful cramping last night, I'm not enjoying much in the way of sleep anyway - my first spoken words (again to the empty room) once I could gasp past the pain were: "Damn, they TOLD me caffeine wasn't good for a pregnancy in the first trimester, but do I listen? No..." This, while I'm clutching the toilet with both hands, wondering if vomiting or screaming is a better response to this level of pain & helplessness. I'm pretty sure trying for a laugh is not a good response on any level. Even when it's just myself I'm trying to amuse. (And yes, I usually do speak out loud to myself when I'm alone. Holdover from many happy years surrounded by many pets.)

So what gives with the running commentary. The running inappropriate commentary? Am I trying to distract myself? Am I trying to confuse everyone around me? I know I've freaked out a friend at work with a blackly funny comment that slipped out, and I'm pretty sure that the boy has given up trying to track my mood swings (from bitterly amused to despondent in less than half an hour. Hear me roar, I am Hormonally Imbalanced Woman!) But seriously, am I thinking it's going to make for an amusing story later on to regale the ladies at the book club meeting with? I mean, I know I regularly give out too much info on my girl-goods here: it is, after all, a blog about dealing (hah) with infertility. But by the same token, I'm certainly not expecting to get a giggle from my loyal readers out in cyberland: women who, for the most part, found this blog because of their own struggles to carry a baby to term. I think they'd all mostly agree with me - nothing funny here. So, really -who am I trying to impress here with my quick wit?

I don't know the answer to that, but I'm ready for the mood swings to dissipate almost as much as I'm ready to finish passing the physical remains of this failed pregnancy. Waiting for a call-back from my doctor, where I'll likely get to detail the exact amount, severity, and texture of the bleeding over the phone so he can decide if it's worth showing up to the surgery tomorrow, or not. I wish I could leave the house long enough to go buy another coffee without risking a re-enactment of The Death of Marat. Or that a bottle of merlot would magically appear to refill my now-empty latte cup. Stupid Brooklyn. A baby-store on every block - two within shouting distance of home - hawking fancy strollers and bottles and cute little onesies, but I have to hobble a quarter of a mile to buy a latte or a bottle of wine? Somethin' just aint right here.

And I'm not talking about my innards, for a change.

Still bleeding...

2008-07-29T13:06:09Z

...slightly more than yesterday, but the cramping is way more intense.

Wow.

Let me say that I don't have a lot of basis for comparison, being one of those women who suffers only a teeny tiny bit each month. Translation: Once a month, I have one cramp, just enough of a twinge to let me know that my period's starting. Otherwise I'd never know anything was happening down there.

I figured this would be more of the same.

It's not, and I'm not even bleeding heavily yet, though I can't believe that's far off.

My doctor called yesterday with the results of the bloodwork and to let me know that they're holding my appointment for surgery tomorrow in case I want to go through with it. I don't think I will, but we'll see. I'm bailing on work today, because I can't imagine being on the desk when one of these stop-breathing-and-just-try-to-hold-on cramps hits, and also because I am unreasonably terrified of bleeding heavily on the subway. Like my fellow riders are bears or sharks and will be able to sense my weakness. *rolls eyes at own idiocy*. Actually, I think it's more just a deep aversion to being somewhat helpless & in pain in a public place. Going back to the animals metaphors, I know exactly how cats feel when they hide in a small dark place to lick wounds, get over feeling sick, etc.

Of course, the good news is that my HCG levels were down around 1800 yesterday - down from 8000 the week before. So things are progressing faster on that front than I'd feared they might.

Not much else to report, save that I'm really looking forward to this being over, I really hope I'm not pissing off my co-workers too much by bailing this week, and I feel really lucky to have the doctor that I do. His receptionists might not know how to do their job, but I feel like he's handled this better than I ever would have dreamed it could be handled.

And now I'm going to go gasp and whine in a dark place for a while longer.

Crazy-sad

2008-07-28T18:29:54Z

Still spotting, though now it's accompanied by some pretty regular cramping. Looks like this is it, so I was able to cancel my D&C appointment for mid-week. I did take the day off work, but so far I could probably have sat my butt in the chair & answered questions. Maybe not, though. God, I just want this to be done. Hurry up, body. You've figured it out - finally - now get a move on.

I still had to go in this morning for HCG tests, and when my doctor had a look at me, he ordered some tests to measure infection, as well. Not feeling so great = not looking so hot, I guess. Then, as I was congratulating myself for having gotten through another incredibly painful reminder of what I didn't have to look forward to, he chased me down the street to ask if I had anyone to talk to, and would I like the names of any, you know, people to talk to.

And here I thought I was just sad. Turns out I'm crazy, too.

Maybe next week, if the dropping hormones don't do enough for the sadness. Or the craziness.

sprog_blog @ 2008-07-27T10:31:00

2008-07-27T14:36:04Z

Hmmmph.

I spotted a little bit of blood this morning, but haven't seen anything since. Intestinally upset, though, which would be par for the course if I were about to start a normal period. Hah.

So I'm hopeful (hopeful? Now there's an inappropriate word in this context) that this might 'resolve' or 'complete' or whatever the hell weirdly vague term it is that doctors use in this situation before my appointment on Wednesday.

Maybe I can get lucky here at the very end of things. I wouldn't turn down being the beneficiary of a little bit of luck at this point.

Bad country-mouse. No jam for you.

2008-07-26T23:34:19Z

Ok, so who would have thought that buying pectin in the biggest city in the country would be so hard?

Of course, that's likely the problem right there. New Yorkers are generally better known for making money than making jam.

I spent all bloody morning wandering around Brooklyn, looking for someone - anyone - who sold pectin and a canning funnel, since mine is boxed up somewhere in Connecticut. *sigh* No luck.

So no jam.

Instead I got some writing done, I listened to Finnish music all day, and managed to avoid Goth-depression & tequila all day (though I was not able to resist the lure of the Entennman's chocolate cake.

All in all, I think I did ok.

But I'm still pissed that you can't buy canning supplies in Brooklyn. No wonder I hate it here. Damn it all.

sprog_blog @ 2008-07-26T09:30:00

2008-07-26T13:59:24Z

So I did it. I made the appointment for the D & C. Oh, that makes it sound so simple! Hah. Over the course of three days, over the accumulated course of at least three hours of actually being on the phone, I dealt with one idiotic receptionist at my clinic after another, none of whom knew what they were doing. I mean, at one point, when they put me on hold, they actually connected my line to another patient who was also on hold. I mean, really, come on! At least learn to use the phones.

They seem to have hired most of their receptionist staff based on nothing more than whether or not the young woman speaks a couple of languages other than English. Which is great, you know, for an internationally patronized clinic such as this one. I'm sure patients who only speak Russian or Arabic or Japanese are reassured to find that someone is there to explain things and translate. However, I do not think I should be put in a position to have to explain to an IVF clinic receptionist exactly what a D&C is, or why I require one. Nor should I have to explain that I have no fucking clue how to schedule one, that's actually her job. I'm sure I'm becoming well known by these receptionists as "that really cranky patient who yells sometimes". I can't bring myself to care.

I finally spoke with the medical biller, who is the only one who actually seems to know what's going on in the front office. It turns out my doctor isn't licensed? (-or whatever the real term is-) by my insurance company to perform this procedure. He's only allowed to put embryos in. So if I want him to perform the procedure, I'll be paying a hefty out of pocket charge - which I'm glad to do.

Boyfriend suggested I just walk in to Planned Parenthood, which suggestion I nearly ordered him to shove up his ass. This is already the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But going to a Planned Parenthood, where, bless 'em, their main concern is helping women to NOT get pregnant, where they would be - quite naturally - assuming that I just wanted an abortion because I didn't want this baby, and that this wasn't one of the saddest, most emotionally upsetting days of my life but just a little, you know, annoying and scary? Um, no thank you. I've been to planned parenthood in the past, and I suppose, if I ever became, um, normally fertile again - hah! - I'd go to them again. They're good folks providing a very damn much-needed service. But not a service I want - even in thought - to be jinxing myself with. Does that make any damn sense at all? It sounds to me that I'm afraid if I get a D&C at an abortion clinic, that the gods of babymaking will decide I am not worthy & will not let me have another try? Damn, my brain's a weird place to live, sometimes.

But the other real reason is that I know my doctor will be cautious and careful of my delicate uterine lining. He will err on the side of caution, just as I'd prefer. He will take his time and do it as perfectly as he can. And I trust him with my unconscious, splayed-to-the-world body. I trust him to be kind if I need him to be, when I wake up, and I trust him to be bracing and plain-spoken if that's what I need instead. I trust him to handle this as gently as it can be handled, and honestly, I feel like I truly NEED gentle handling right now.

So I'll have the procedure on Wednesday, and I go in for pre-op bloodwork/physical exam on Monday.

Boy has been at a writing convention this weekend, and then when he gets back on Sunday, he'll be leaving the next morning to take a daughter up to school in Boston. He'll come back in time to bring me home from this procedure, and then he's leaving the next day to take another daughter to look at colleges in Toronto. Not great timing for any of this. I'm feeling needy and bereft and he's very far away both physically and mentally. Which is causing tension. To say the least. We really need to hash out some things, and part of me is ready to turn it into a massive, drag-out fight, and the other part of me just wants to let it lie, because I don't want more aggravation in my life right now, I need cuddling and soft words and someone to stroke my hair and tell me over and over again that it will be all right. And that's his job. I just want the boy in my life more than he has been. I wish he had stayed home from the convention. Or that it had even occurred to him to offer. But it didn't. And I'm depressed over a whole host of things - um, obviously - but problems with the boy are right up there.

Hoping the immediate decrease in hormones will help level out my emotions, because I'm a basket-case right now. Thinking of spending the entire weekend under the covers with the lights out. Or doing needlework. Actually, on that level, I'm considering checking to see if the fabric stores in Manhattan are open on weekends. Then I might go buy fabric for skirts and spend the weekend sewing clothes. Because, hey - why not? When in doubt, sew. I don't know. Or maybe I'll do some canning. I know the boyfriend's family misses homemade peach preserves each year at xmas. Weird not picking the fruit from a tree, but I guess going to a store is how most people do it these days. I was the odd one who had an orchard out my back door. Which I miss. tree-peaches are better than market-peaches any damn day. And while canning would heat up the house, it'd also make me feel like I accomplished something, and that's a good feeling, I guess.

I guess I'm off to buy sugar. And jar lids. And peaches & apricots.

There. I decided something. And it doesn't even involve a dark room with dreary music from my Goth days playing in the background. Or candles. Or tequila. I'm making progress. Yay me.

Finally talked to my doctor last night...

2008-07-24T14:05:54Z

...and it was an illuminating, if somewhat discouraging, conversation.

I told him I was starting to get really antsy about getting started again, and that I'm tired of feeling like shit all the time, and that it seemed to me that my HCG numbers are dropping really really really slowly, yes?

He said yes, and that he had been planning to talk to me at my next blood draw on Monday about this. What he basically said was:

A. These HCG numbers really aren't dropping the way he'd like to see.
B. Me feeling so physically crappy all the time probably has something to do with the fact that the goddamn fucking USELESS placenta is still growing, producing hormones, having never received the bulletin that the audition's over & everyone can go home now. He's also starting to get slightly concerned about the possibility of infection, since I've been carrying this non-viable pregnancy for almost four weeks after that heartbeat stopped.
C. He imagines that I will, next cycle, be a candidate for DHEA but that, unless I'd like to be their guinea pig for "Use during end of pregnancy", he wouldn't recommend that I begin said protocol until I'm at <5 HCG again.
D. However, they're using a 6-week, instead of a 4-month DHEA protocol these days, so that's good.
E. However, at the rate I'm halving, it could still be another four weeks before I lose all "products of conception", and then another 10 weeks after that for my levels to return to "not-pregnant" levels. At which point they'd want me to wait for a "normal menstrual cycle" before we could start shooting up again in preparation for another round of fun.

Fuck.

So, all things considered, he recommended that I make the appointment for a D&C, for late next week. If my body decides to step up to the plate before then, great! (Well, depends on how you view the concept of great, I suppose). Otherwise, he'll do the procedure and that will - he hopes - get things started a little quicker for me. Which should let me finish this process a little quicker so that I can climb back up in those stirrups again, asap.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

And I keep putting off making this phone call, though I'm not sure why since I'm sort of resigned to it all at this point. It just sounds so unpleasant and so, I don't know - out there in the world. I was really hoping I could end this at home where I could grieve and deal with it in private, on my own. I'm still hoping that, to be honest. But I guess it's time to deal with it so that I can get going with the original plan which was, I keep reminding myself, to have a real live baby.

It's Tuesday, my least-favorite day of the week

2008-07-22T23:22:09Z

Mostly because that's the day I go in for my weekly HCG tests at the baby-makin' clinic. That's where all my tests are classified as 'preg.' instead of 'decidedly not-preg'. Which sucks.

On the good (good?) news-front, my HCG numbers are still halving - however, the bad news is that we're looking at a half-life of about a week, so at this pathetically slow rate (pauses to do some quick calculations...) I'll be down to about zero & ready to start trying again in a mere two and a half months.

Which is flat-out ridiculous. Not to be stood for. So I've asked for a phone appointment with my doc, to see what the next theoretical step is. Because if it's DHEA, which I suspect he'll recommend, since that's what this clinic is apparently ALL about, then I think I need to be on it for 4 months or so to reap all the ova-benefits. In which case, this whole 'let it happen naturally' thing will work out fine, since it's not like I'm gonna be using that space or those hormones for anything during that four-month time frame anyway. Well, nothing that (in my case) leads to babies, anyway.

But if he thinks I'm not a candidate for DHEA for some reason, then I think I'm going to start pushing pretty hard for the artificial, induced, 'knock me out and get it out of me' option. Damn the risks. I know he doesn't prefer to do it that way, but it's been two weeks now, and about three weeks since they estimate that Sprog died. Not so much as a single spot or a cute little cramp. Nada. Things are still happily chugging along in there, not yet having received the message that it's too little, too late.

Argh.

So, enough, already. I have a life - a reproductively challenged life in which the time left before I am completely and utterly unable to bear a child is beginning to give way to the tick-tock sound of impending doom. Doom with the big thunder and scary scary horsemen and maybe a vampire or two thrown in for kicks.

So we'll see what the doc says tomorrow. And if he thinks DHEA might work wonders for my younger-than-they-act ovaries, then I'll try to start taking that asap and pray to whatever god Rapunzel prayed to that it doesn't do a number on my already-thin hair. But either way, I hope I'll be able to decide on one course of action or the other tomorrow, since it will make me feel like there's still a goal to be moved toward that doesn't totally suck shit through a straw.

Saturday.

2008-07-19T22:33:38Z

Still waiting to start to miscarry. Still waiting.

Not that I should really be looking forward to misery and blood, but I guess I'm really believing that this one is over, and I need to start looking forward to the next attempt.

I'm drinking a glass of hard cider, even as I type. Yum. I'm still dealing with prednisone-headaches, but nothing like the evening of death I endured two nights ago. And is it very wrong of me to admit that I'm really enjoying the freedom from injections (and let me say I hope my doctor takes my current lack of miscarriage into account my next time around. I'm thinking that fucking placenta is producing plenty of progesterone to maintain a pregnancy already, and I was at 8 weeks when I stopped injecting. Here's to the fond wish that progesterone injections will not be indicated for the full 12 weeks next time! The lumps in my ass are slowly disappearing, though the side that endured that incredibly painful mistake is still pretty sore and pretty lumpy. Better, though.

And, just to give you way too much information about my life, I'm really really REALLY glad to be off pelvic rest. Damn, that was a long time with no conjugal joy...

The boy's daughters have been mostly absent since he told them that I'm not some passing fling (which still pisses me off, because after having lived here for more than a year, I would HOPE they might have figured that one out on their own.) But they're all still talking to their dad in more or less complete sentences, which is the most important thing. It's not like I've been close to any of them, for this period of not-closeness to be an abrupt change. And tomorrow, the youngest daughter goes back to her mother for a couple of weeks. Which will be a relief, I have to say.

As for me, I'm still waiting for my body to figure out what's going on. But I'm trying to do other things & think other thoughts in the meantime. Trying to get back into the writing habit, and trying to remember all the things I love to do that have nothing to do with babies. Hard though that is, sometimes, to remember. I decided today that the best way for me to look at this miscarriage is that there was something wrong with the baby. Its little cells weren't dividing or sealing up properly. It had too many - or not enough - chromosomes somewhere in there. We knew they weren't superstar embryos to begin with, and much better that the sprog die on its own than for me to have to make a horrible decision in another couple of weeks. I'm glad that decision was taken out of my hands. And now I just want it to be over so I can get started on trying again.

I've been checking out past contributors on CycleSistas, and was struck by how many of the IVFers are currently pregnant, even if they didn't get that way on their first cycle. It's encouraging, I guess, even if I have to stifle "it's not fair!" thoughts when I see how trouble-free some of these pregnancies have been, after sperm meets egg. But it is encouraging. The DHEA research I'm reading has been more than encouraging, and luckily for me, I ended up (through no real fault or credit of my own) at the premier clinic that's been dealing with this protocol. When the senior partner had the US wand halfway up me a few weeks ago, he asked, (because making conversation is really what a woman wants to do while a stranger roots around in her girl-goods) "So, how did you find us?" I had to admit that the website was easy to navigate, the receptionist was nice, and they were able to see me right away - on Good Friday - when I called, as opposed to the three month wait some other clinics had. It was pure luck, though I've been so very pleased with my care there, especially compared to some of my friends who went with Cornell or other top-dollar clinics in town. Also, I think they automatically put second-cycle IVFers on it, so I won't even need to do much convincing of my doctor, which is nice. I'm not feeling persuasive these days, just bullying. It might also mean that the horrible fight with boy might be moot, since I think this clinic prefers a few months on DHEA before trying again. Ok. I can live with that.

My insurance will cover two more tries, and really, even if we don't get lucky these next couple of times, I'm willing to go the donor-egg route. I'm willing to adopt (though that's going to be a tricky proposition, given my age, the boy's age, our unwillingness to adopt anything other than an infant, and our previous marriages/divorces/currently unwed state of being. [Which was, actually, the reason for his springing the whole 'we're getting married' thing on his kids. I told him we should probably get cracking, due to the adoption issue, and he moved on it. I cannot fault this man. He is trying very hard to give me what I want so that I'm in a place to give him what he wants. I want a baby, he wants a wife. We'll both get our wishes in the end, I think.])

But all that's at least a few weeks in the future. Let's see - what else is occupying previously pregnancy-occupied space in my brain these days?

Still trying to finish the quilt I started three years ago. I love hand-piecing, but I really don't have the patience for hand-quilting. But I want that quilt on my bed instead of on the chair in my bedroom, so that's good incentive to finish it. I'll get there before winter, I promise. I'm still plugging away at the cross stitch I'm trying to finish before I die. I love cross stitch, and I really love intricate cross stitch, but this one is like 500 stitches x 400 stitches, and it's baby-themed, and it's just taking me for-damn-ever. Hmmm, other ponderings? I really need to start working out. It would be a good thing for me to lose about ten pounds before our next IVF attempt. Since I found it difficult to maintain - let alone diminish - my weight while on the drugs. Though I did. I weigh exactly what I did when we started, but I'd like to do better this time around. Of course, I'm still in the comfort-food stage of grieving, so that's not likely to happen for another week or two.

And I have tomorrow off work, too, which is a better thing than I can really express here. In a way, the insurance thing is keeping me from moving forward at work. I've known since the beginning that this stupid schedule where I have far too few two-day weekends was not going to work for me, but how could I look for better working conditions when it would mean giving up the insurance that was covering something like 80% of this. And then, how could I consider changing insurance carriers mid-pregnancy? Maybe I'll start seriously job-hunting again, to see if I can find something that allows me a life outside of work. I think it would make a difference as to how much I like living here, and I think that would only help my relationship with boy, my state of happiness, and possibly my conception-affecting stress levels.

So there. You're all caught up with my life, and I'll try not to post again until I have something IVF-related to talk about.

Hah. As if that's going to happen.

Oh boy.

2008-07-18T14:29:48Z

So yesterday was the first day I wasn't on prednisone, and I nearly didn't make it home.

Started getting light-headed on the subway which, if you've never feared fainting on NYC's subways at rush hour, is a treat not to be missed. Nothing like fearing for your life if you pass out instead of just being embarrassed about the fuss. Made it back home without actually blacking out, and immediately collapsed on the bed. Boy ran out of the room, and I heard him yelling on the phone but simply couldn't go find him to see what was wrong.

At that point, I wasn't even thinking prednisone withdrawal, was more thinking massive infection. But there was no fever, and no cramping and so nothing to really worry me; so I just waited it out. This morning, I'm a bit better, though I feel like I truly understand the meaning of the word 'wan' for the first time now. I feel wan. I look wan, too, according to the boy. Actually, I think his exact words were, "Holy shit, I've never seen you look so white before. Are you dead?" No, I just play a dead person on tv, but thanks for asking.

So this morning, when I got up and didn't immediately fall over, I went to the computer to check prednisone withdrawal symptoms. Sure enough. Low blood pressure, light-headedness, chills, trembling extremities. Fun times, but not life threatening. Most likely. A bit worse reaction than we could have expected, given that I tapered off an already low dose over the course of a week, but nothing too scary. I guess now we know I'm sensitive to steroids. Good to know.

And this morning I'm better, not worse, at least physically. Mentally is another matter.

Because, see, the other thing that happened last night, the thing that all the yelling on the phone was about, is that the boy chose to tell his youngest daughters about our marriage/baby plans last night. And all fucking hell broke loose. His youngest daughter has given him an ultimatum - she'll move out the moment I announce a pregnancy. His middle daughter apparently hung up on him, then called him back so she could practice her cursing for a while. Hysterical doesn't really begin to cover it. She's an excitable girl. And the boy is upset, and I'm upset - beyond upset, really. Because how can I ask him to make a choice between his daughters and me? It's not in me to enjoy what I want, if it means that other people are miserable. And how could this not make him miserable? So I'm angsting over this, and then he announces that he thinks we should wait until October or November to try again. This knocked me back a bit. We've already waited, er, far too long.

Obviously.

So it turns out he doesn't want to have me due (as if that's a given!) during the same general time frame that his daughter's due to graduate from high school. So I should just wait until winter to start this process again.

I did not take this suggestion well at all. I mean, I've been awfully damned patient with his kids and their crappy attitudes, their rudeness, their unbearable rudeness. I've put up with the expectation that I should put off my life so as not to impact theirs too much. I've put my life on hold, put my own feelings aside, and pushed my emotional well-being to the back-burner in an attempt to make this all easier on them.

And I should put off something that cannot be put off any longer? They hate me already, and I should jeopardize the rest of my fucking life because of hs graduation conflicts? To hell with that.

Because no matter what I do, or try to do, or don't do - it doesn't work. Now they're whining that they don't know me well enough for their father to marry me. Not that they've ever shown the slightest inclination to get to know me. What they mean is that we are dissimilar. We're from dissimilar cultures, educational backgrounds, socioeconomic backgrounds. We have very different values, different experiences, different ways of relating to the world. In short, I'm nothing like their mother, or like them, for that matter. And I think it freaks them out a little bit that their dad fell for someone so very different from anyone they've ever met in New York.

And I simply don't know what to do about it, or if I can do anything about it. And at the moment, I'm not even feeling that inclined to try.

Because, you see, I keep trying to become involved in their lives and I keep getting rebuffed. When daughters are at dinner, the only topic of conversation (literally) is celebrity news, and reality shows. The boy wants to know why I don't join in these conversations - well, that would be mostly because I have nothing to add that wouldn't be insulting. I don't know - or care - who most of these folks are, and I'm not about to start watching TV at this point in my life in order to be able to stay current with an entertainment trend I find repulsive. "Just be yourself," he pleads. Well, I am being myself. Myself happens to be introverted and shy. Myself dislikes conflict and the vicious behavior these kids tend to exhibit at the dinner table. Myself could not give a shit about celebrity gossip, and finally, myself thinks it's more polite not to say anything in such a situation, than to join in with what I actually think about the lame-ass, waste-of-time subject of the conversation.

I'm just heartsick, and I feel like I'm being asked to do, and give, and accept too much. I want to go away for a while. I want a vacation from my life. I woke up crying last night. Sad dreams, because, you know, I didn't get enough sobbing done last night.

I'm cried out, I'm exhausted, I'm sick, and I'm still waiting to get rid of this dead baby.

I'd be glad it's Friday, except that means I have to go home tonight. And right now, that sounds like a worse deal than being at work all day.