High, but Doubling
I have no idea what this means, except that my HCG levels more than doubled.
Welcome to the Club
If you have been there, you know that the days and weeks after your (first) loss are excruciating. You are sad. You are angry. You are empty.
The only people that understand, really understand, are those that have been there.
If you have been there, here is someone who is muddling through that awful time right now.
Just the Facts, Ma’am
4w/1d (about 15dpo) = 310 HCG
Ultrasound shows a corpus luteum on the right ovary and a thick endometrial lining; nothing else is visible this early.
Repeat draw on Thursday. Next appointment is a week from today for another ultrasound.
HCG level is, according to the nurse, very, very good. According to Dr. Google, I am off the charts for a singleton pregnancy, but I am not going there right now. One thing at a time.
I am Weak
I was riding home on the bus and the urge to pee on a stick was just overwhelming.
I knew it was too early, but I just couldn’t help myself.
My cheapo tests are not here yet so I used a First Response ( = $$) to test on 7-8 dpo.
I know this is not going to shock you, but it was negative.
Then I ripped the test apart and really looked at it.
Still negative.
I hate the two-week-wait; it turns me into a lunatic.
(… and then I went upstairs and fished it out of the garbage to have another look. Still negative. Pathetic. )
That’s What She Said
This post is how I wish I could write, but don’t. It’s not just what she says, it how she says it.
Oh, well.
I have other talents.
Day of Atonement
Today was Yom Kippur. I am not Jewish, so it holds no religious significance for me.
It was on Yom Kippur, three years ago, that I learned of my first miscarriage and, a few days later, had my first D&C.
The pain has abated and there are days when I don’t think about it, but my heart is still broken. Even with my happy, healthy son here, I often yearn for what was taken from me: the romance of pregnancy, the optimistic outlook, and, of course, the pregnancy and child that never was.
And then it happened all over again.
But this story, at least this chapter, has a happy ending. S is 15 months old and is, quite honestly, perfect. When I imagined being a mom, I didn’t really think about late-night feedings, cracking nipples, and incessant spit-up. Motherhood now, however, very much resembles what I imagined it would be. It is indeed the hardest job you will ever love.
So, this chapter, this phase, of this blog comes to an end. I am too busy trying to balance everything out between my professional life (teaching, publishing, tenure requirements, etc…) and being a mother to S. I don’t really have the energy at the end of the day to blog about it as I am too busy just, well, living it.
But this story is not over, because, of course, I want another one. Not now. But soon. I need to have my body to myself for a little bit. I need to figure out how to be the kind of mom and professor that I want to be. I need to get my mojo back, because it’s been years since I have seen it. Once I get this all figured out (or admit defeat), I will be back.
And, because everyone loves a cute kid picture, here is Baby S:
An Heir and a Spare
I remember when Princess Diana gave birth to Harry and the media quipped that she had fulfilled her duty of providing the royal family with “an heir and a spare.” At the time, I thought it was a very odd thing to say but an even odder way of thinking.
I was talking to my friend the other day and she brought up her step-sister, who had a series of miscarriages before ultimately giving birth to her daughter.
The step-sister now wants another child because — and I am paraphrasing here — you don’t want to put all your eggs in one basket. She said something about never knowing what could happen and wanting to have more children because she lives in fear that something might happen to the one she had. My friend was horrified and said she just could not understand how a 21st-century mother could think like this.
But I do understand. Two miscarriages taught me to be this cynical.
I don’t worry about Baby S (who isn’t really a baby anymore!) constantly or obsessively, but I do know, first-hand, that shit happens. I want another child because I want another child; I want to have children that can grow up together and learn from one another. Yet I understand what this woman was saying. You lose a pregnancy and you see how fragile and delicate life is. You see how your hopes can be shattered in a minute. In my case, I do not think I will ever completely let my guard down. I try not to let this fear for Baby S overpower me or color how I raise him, but it is always there. Always.
Isn’t It Ironic, Dontcha Think?
My horrendous migraines are getting better. I had a month where I had one almost every day and it was truly awful. My neurologist recommended I use a new type of magnesium supplement, upped the dose of my migraine medicine from 20mg to 40mg, and recommended that I take Reglan along with my regular medicine when I get a headache. Reglan is typically used as an anti-nausea medicine but it has also been found to help reduce the severity of migraines. It is also used for — hold onto your seats here, folks — stimulating milk production.
I have decided to stop pumping this week and I am now getting migraines due to the hormonal changes and one of the meds recommended to help with the migraines stimulates milk production.
Are you laughing? I am not laughing.
It has been three days since I have pumped and WOWEE!! do my breasts hurt. I worked down to pumping just once a day and it took until last night to get really uncomfortable, but I know if I pump again, I will just stimulate more milk production and I will have to start this process all over.
I made it a year and I want my body back. I need to lose weight. At Baby S’s 12-month check-up, his pediatrician suggested we give him cow’s milk in a sippy-cup, and he seems to like it. While part of me still wants to pump and give him breast milk (I keep hearing the “human milk for human babies!” rally cry of the breastfeeding mafia in my head), I made it a year and I just can’t pump anymore.
I am just taking Tylenol and hoping my body gets the “no more milk, please” message soon. If we get cabbage leaves in our CSA box, I may try that, too. Hopefully, I will feel better in a few days.
Edited to add: I am doing it cold turkey because while I know that this may make my bewbies sore(er), it will minimize the duration of the hormone drop, which is what causes my migraines. If I string the process out over two weeks, I am going to suffer that entire time with headaches.
Fill In the Blank
This phrase brought someone to my blog:
“What if my teenage son wants to suck on”
Lucky them, they got this blog.
What on earth did he want to suck on?
My mind goes to dirty, dirty places.
Because It’s Always Something
The magic number for fertility in my head was always 35. I know that in reality your eggs do not shrivel up and die the day you turn 35, but somehow it is the number that always stuck in my head. For some reason, and I know this is somewhat out-dated thinking, I regard having a baby over 35 as “high-risk” and “dangerous.” I know that people do this all the time and have perfectly healthy babies; I also know that you can be much younger and still have something go very, very wrong with your pregnancy or your baby. It is just something that has very effectively been programmed into my brain. Interestingly, I can look at other people and their plans quite objectively but I feel that, for me, 35 is some sort of fertility ledge.
I turn 35 in November.
I feel fairly confident that I “cured” my miscarriage problemg, in so much as that can ever really be done. Perhaps the two miscarriages were a fluke or perhaps Baby S was a fluke, but in treating the hypo-thyroid and using the blood-thinners to address a probable auto-immune issue, I feel fairly confident that I am doing all I can to prevent another miscarriage.
Somehow, though, I feel like waiting until I am 35+ to try again is tempting fate. My logical mind says “really, how much of a difference can a few more months make? If you start trying a year from now, how much will your eggs really suffer?” The irrational side of me feels like waiting is ensuring that I will miscarry or will have a baby with genetic abnormalities. I know this is not rational, but it increasingly plays in the back of my mind. I worry about being able to conceive again, about spacing children, about handling two kids and working, but even more than that I worry that by waiting, all I will be left with is genetically mutated eggs.
This is not something I can even really write about well, becuase it is not yet fully formed in my mind. I can usually talk some sense into myself, but the fear keeps creeping back. I just worry it is my intuition.
The Circle of Life
I held Baby S for the first time one year ago. I had a quick labor, about 5.5 hours from water-breaking to the three-push delivery. I lack the words to describe how much I love him. I am more proud of him than anything else I have done.
And yet, as I predicted, his birthday and that joy will always be tainted for me.
Yesterday was Father’s Day and I have no father. On 27 June 2008, my father committed suicide, five days after my son, his first grandchild, was born.
Sometimes Baby S looks like my dad when he smiles.
Oh, I Forgot One
7) I pee involuntarily when I cough, sneeze, or — most horrifyingly — when I laugh.
Pee. In. My. Own. Pants.
And, yes, I Kegel.
I heard this doesn’t go away. My mom told me to buy Depends if I ever get bronchitis.
But he is just so darn cute that I almost don’t mind! (Almost.)
There, I Said It
Niobe put up another Niobe’s True Confessions. I found the first edition horribly unsettling (is everyone really cheating on their spouse and/or having suicidal thoughts?) and I can’t bear to read the second. Instead, I will post my own version of “true confessions.”
1) I do not enjoy breastfeeding. On 22 June, I will have made it a whole year. Baby S has refused to nurse for over a month, so I pump between 2-3 times a day. I do it exclusively because the health benefits for him, which are particularly important given all the auto-immune issues in our families. I don’t even remember loving it when he was actually nursing. There were days when it was okay, but mostly I felt like it was a chore. Still, it is a minor chore and may bring him a lifetime of health benefits, so I pump. And pump. And pump. I will continue to pump until I go back to school in the fall.
2) Giving birth was not a transformative experience. Having a baby was/is a transformative experience, but pushing him out of my bajingo did nothing for me except, well, to get him out. I would have been fine with a C-section if it had been necessary.
3) I weighed 30 lbs. less when I was 9 months pregnant. Fuck.
4) I have the worst acne I have ever had while breastfeeding — huge, cystic zits that really hurt. I have gotten facials, I have applied zit creme, I have used every product imaginable; nothing seems to work.
5) The only thing that keeps me from wanting to try again for another baby right away is my trip to Europe scheduled for next spring. It’s the hormones talking, I swear. My logical mind is no match for my hormonal mind. A 2+ week European trip, however, is no match for my hormonal mind.
6) Having my own biological baby has made me more interested in adoption. Go figure.
Short Version: I Didn’t Ask
Longerish Version:
I was grocery shopping this evening and the late teen-ish, very early 20-ish Japanese couple behind me were buying groceries. And an ovulation kit. Which I think she thought was a pregnancy test. But I didn’t ask. Because that would be really rude. And I am sure they were totally trying to get pregnant on purpose.
Yes, It Was Worth It
To get to this point in my life, my heart had to break in half. Twice.
I had to have a D&C to remove dead embryonic tissue from my uterus. Twice.
I spent most of my third pregnancy terrified that it would end without a healthy baby. When I wasn’t worrying about that, I was throwing up.
Still.
I fall more in love with him every day.
Yes, it was worth it.
I am even considering doing it all over again eventually, which, although I am still a cynical bitch regarding all things pregnancy, I think is the ultimate gesture of optimism.
