You can't make this up

I work in analytical chemistry. I needed some information on a Passing Bablok regression and did a Google search. I got as far as "passing bab..." when I noticed that Google's helpful pull down menu included a "passing bablock regression excel" search term, and I clicked on it. Well, I thought I'd clicked on it, but in reality I clicked by mistake on the listing right underneath it. And the very first search result was, of course, someone asking how you can tell if you're passing the baby or just a bunch of blood clots.

And so I cried at work once more. Not too much, hardly anyone noticed,  I think.

This stupid incident reminded me that:

a) I'm still very sensitive to the topic.
b) I used to have a blog where I whined about these things.

It's been a hard month. Even if it included the joy of meeting with very dear friends and family members, it also included the anniversaries of my two losses. It's been also a time of transitions and new challenges at work. The slow process of tapering off my antidepressant dose is not helping. I have not contacted Dr. Careful at all. I guess have no clue what I am going to tell her because really, I'd rather not go through another cycle.

For the same reason I find it hard to write about infertility. If I hate it so much, why am I so unwilling to do something about it?

Guilt

The spouse loves me more than he ever loved DS. He said so, during our conversations of what to do next, and I was struck by guilt, because my own feelings are different.

Don't get me wrong, I love the spouse more than anyone in my life right now. But the moment I saw a heartbeat, I had an overwhelming feeling of unconditional love that surpassed any love I had ever felt for anyone before, the spouse included. It is extremely hard to describe. I am crying as I write this. I think I will forever cry whenever I remember my little boy.

There is an additional feeling that puts me to shame. I always wanted to be a mother, and I think I would have left the spouse if at some point he did not want to or was not able to be a father. It shames me to know that I would have hurt him so much, especially in the face of my own fertility issues.

We talked for a long time about adoption, fostering, donor eggs, embryo donation and surrogacy. None of those seem good enough to him (and not all of them seem good to me either, but I wanted all cards on the table for now).

What he wants is another FSH-HCG cycle followed by another IUI. Yes, that is what he wants, in spite of Einstein's definition of insanity (doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results). I'm not really into it, but if this might bring him closure, why not? What's a few more pricks and bruises?

But first,  we have to visit my sister, who is still doing chemo. We're also visiting my in-laws in the same trip. After that, my brother in law will come and visit us. And then my parents are coming for Christmas and possibly staying until Epiphany, which we celebrate on January 6.

I don't want to cycle while traveling (ugh, I just conjured the image of a TSA agent confiscating my needles), or with guests in my house. I know, I know, tick-tock, tick-tock, the biological clock is running out of time and so on and so forth.

But to me, this cycle is kind of useless. My biological clock, as I see it, has already given up. So it really does not matter if I do it in January instead of November or December.  Hope has nothing to do with this cycle. This time, it's just Guilt.

Mourning

For the past two days, it's been hard for me to keep tears back. It's not that I've been watching soap operas or reading tear-jerkers. It's just that February is coming to an end, and just about everything around me reminds me of all he horrible events of last year. The spouse has missed most of my crying moments, but yesterday he was with me when it happened.

I hate that. He tries really hard to cheer me up, but it never works. It only makes me feel that, for some reason, I am the only one grieving for our loss. Either he was never as attached to our baby as I was, or he just got over it quicker.

He sometimes says something about missing the old dog and I get really mad. Yes, I too miss the old dog. But I miss my baby even more, and it hurts that he mourns the dog but not the baby.

This only makes me hate the old dog even more for his bad timing. His death will be forever associated to the miscarriage.

Teddy Bear

Last Saturday we spent over a hundred dollars in pet supplies. When the old dog died, I gave away all his things to the local shelter. Food, treats, beds, blankets, toys, towels, coats... The only things I kept were the grooming supplies, a hand knitted sweater and that little brown teddy bear, which in the end was the only toy that interested him. He last played with it five months before dying. I left those things in a plastic bag at the bottom of the linen closet. Sometimes, when pulling out cleaning supplies, seeing the teddy bear made me sad.

When the yellow dog arrived, I decided she could have the teddy bear. I don't want it to be stashed away, bringing me sad memories whenever I come across it. I prefer to watch the yellow dog chewing on it. Given how rough she plays, the teddy bear will not last too long. But you know what? It does not matter. If that teddy bear ends his days being destroyed by a doggy, he will have served his original purpose.

Once upon a time..

When I was very little, if someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, my standard response was: "I want to be a mom with many kids". I later had more interesting answers, such as marine biologist, geologist or chemical engineer. Maybe I was overcompensating because, as I grew up, my first choice seemed kind of lame.

In the end, I became a biochemist with a so-so career path, sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always interesting, and always some degree of professional satisfaction.

But you know what? After all these years, deep inside, I still want to be a mom with many kids.

Guilt

Dr. Funny was one out of only three choices my insurance company gave me. He specializes in marriage and family counseling. Another therapist specialized in children and the third one in sleeping disorders. So I chose Dr. Funny.

When I met him, I was convinced things would not work out. He must be in his seventies and, like myself, is a foreigner, although his ethnic group is more respected than mine. I did not think I'd have anything in common with this guy, but, given what little choice I had, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Oh, but there are a few things his culture and mine share very well: For example, women typically marry  young and have kids right away. Women are expected to follow their husbands' or their fathers' decisions. And the guilt!, the guilt! Oh, he understands that perfectly well. Guilt is a big thing in his culture too. People use guilt to manipulate you and to get you in uncomfortable situations. Dr. Funny has a lot to teach me in this regard.

I felt guilty for not spending Christmas with my family. For not wanting to visit them. For not traveling with the spouse to visit his family.

According to Dr. Funny, why should I care? I had the worst year ever. My baby died and I almost died too. I had to quit my job due to unexplicable and scary health issues. I am scarred, depressed and in mourning.  I have a hard time taking care of myself, I cannot cater to other people's needs, much less listen to their useless advice or their clueless pronouncements on my reproductive health.

This sounds too much like the woman I do not want to be anymore. But it works: the guilt is gone. And I don't really feel sorry for myself. I had a rough time, I still have a long way to go, but I am recovering.

I'm glad I found Dr. Funny.

PS. Still not period

Hushing up

I know pregnancy is not contagious. I know this for sure because throughout the years I've endured pregnant friends making me rub their bellies so I could get some of their baby dust. And, of course, it never worked. Frankly, I never thought it would. But at least now I have empirical evidence.

And so I also assume that infertility and miscarriage are not contagious, but apparently the general public has some weird ideas. When I came out about my infertility, I faced avoidance. It's almost as if people fear they'll get it too if I discuss it openly. As for miscarriage, people explicitly tell me not to talk about it anymore, as if by sweeping it under the rug I'd get to feel any better.

Of course, there is the other extreme: bringing fertility into every conversation.  At some point I had to explain the miscarriage to my nosy yoga teacher. And then she could not stop herself from talking about how beneficial yoga is for fertility. Out of the blue, doing a stretch, she'd say things like "this creates more space for the uterus, if you are trying to get pregnant".  It got to the point where I told her that if she ever mentioned the words uterus or pregnancy again I'd stop the lessons. And of course she kept at it so I stopped the lessons. I now do yoga with a DVD, thank you very much.

She must miss me, because she's been asking about me. A close friend told her I am doing OK. She now tells everyone that she "cured" me. Of what, of miscarriage? Gee, it's true. I haven't had another one. But that's probably because I have not gotten pregnant.

What is wrong with people?

On forgiveness

I hate my ovaries and my uterus. I should be kind to them, tell them pretty things, nourish them and forgive them. That's what the therapist says. But I feel like a hypocrite when I try.

I also hate my dog for dying when he did. I loved that dog, he was almost 18 years old and in spite of his age he was a darling. He had some health issues, but you could still tell that he was enjoying life. And then he got an infection and had a couple of bad days.

It's like he said: "OK, this is not fun anymore. I'm going to have breakfast, go take a leak, and then I'll come back, lie on my favorite spot and stop breathing." And that's just what he did.

I always envisioned him dying in my arms. I resent that he took that away from me. I was still very weak from the miscarriage, lying in bed in the guest bedroom and I could not even say goodbye. It was the spouse who notified me that the dog had stopped breathing. I begged him to bring the dog to me, but he did not dare move him. So I hauled up my ass leaning on my walking stick and yes, I made it to the living room only to find my dog's cadaver. He was gone.

I know I should not hate my dog because, really, what else could I have wished for him but a peaceful, natural death? An old dog's death is not a tragedy, unlike the miscarriage. I certainly don't hate my baby for dying, I just hate my body for killing him. So I am very confused about why I feel this way about my dog. I hope I can forgive him one day for his bad timing.

Forgiving my uterus is going to be much harder.

An old picture

I'm cleaning my camera and found that picture. I had downloaded it more than a year ago but left it there. What, normal people don't take pictures of their peeing sticks? Well, for me, this was a miracle worth recording.

Oh I have ultrasound pictures, but those are staying in their box for now otherwise I'll start bawling and crying and not write a single word.

He was a boy. One of those shameless boy fetuses that happily display their parts for the ultrasound technician to see. His name was DS. And no, that does not stand for "dear son", those were actually his initials. We had chosen names years before we were actually able to get pregnant. During the last days of my pregnancy I prayed that I could at least get to baptize my child. And yet, he was dead before we knew it. One day after the miscarriage, I baptized him in my prayers.

I remember the joy of that positive test, and the second test I did just to be sure, and the love I felt as soon as I saw a beating heart and the excitement later when we actually saw a head, a little torso and limbs and what I thought was a pointy nose and a smile... and I can't help but think that I want all that again.

But I also have the awful memories of the anguish, the broken hopes, the pain and the horrible sense of loss. And I definitely don't want that ever again.