I Miscarried.

My phone rang this morning at 8:32.  

I answered it. 

"Is this Robyn?"

"Yes."

"Hi Robyn I'm calling for some background info before your ultrasound today." 

Oh shit. 

My 20 week ultrasound. I made the appointment my 7th week of pregnancy. Almost three weeks before the  missed miscarriage. I assumed the hospital would cancel it. I didn't want to cancel it. I didn't take it off the calender on my phone. I left it on my calender at work. Self torture maybe? Objective acquired. 

I couldn't bring myself to erase the last vestiges of being pregnant. Maybe I wanted to pretend I was still pregnant. Like I would, on a subconscious level look at my calender and pretend I'd see the baby that day. My subconscious and the hospital didn't get the memo that there was no baby. 

My caller sounded so damn chipper. So fucking proud of himself for making this phone call. For getting "some background info." Well here's some background info for you - I miscarried that baby. 

He was mortified. I could tell. His reaction reminded me of someone backing out of a room after walking in on some unspeakable act. Like the gym coach banging the principal's secretary. That kind of stumbling awkwardness. 

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." It's not. It never is, is it?

"Thanks for your time."

"Sure." 

Click.

Brought To You By First Response

I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant this cycle. Scratch that. I'm not fucking pregnant. And not being pregnant is pretty hard to think about.

DPO after DPO - and nothing. I hated coming to this blog with nothing to write about.

My boobs aren't sore.
I'm not bloated.
I've got just as much gas as I would any other day of the month.
No metal taste in the mouth.
No implantation cramps.
No implantation bleeding.
My cervix is like a yo-yo- there's no rhyme or reason to that damn thing.
Cervical mucus? Hell I think I always have cervical mucus. 

Two BFNs. One at 10 DPO and one at 12DPO. 

Not. Fucking. Pregnant. 

This message brought to you by First Response. 

Missed Opportunity

And one more thing, I fell asleep Sunday night! We were supposed to DTD, BD, rock the boat, bump pelvics, do the dance - MAKE A BABY! I can't believe after all the angsting and counting and PEEING I fell asleep! We got home from our holiday travel and I freaking crashed. So we only had sex once. The day I got the positive OPK.

HOLIDAYS! I never been so frustrated with the opportunity to eat chocolate pie in my entire life.

Go. Or No Go. Which Is It People?!

Let me preface this story by saying the OBGYN I picked first couldn't perform my D&C. So I had to call another one who could. I've been seeing the second OB for post-op check ups, but I had planned on returning to my first OB when I get pregnant again.  Had planned, being the key phrase here.

I called my first OBGYN, the one I liked, and told the nurse we were trying again. I was happy about it. Triumphant even. It was an "I'm back bitch!" kind of moment. 

The nurse freaked out. 

She said it was impossible for me to have had two periods this soon. I had the D&C October 12, I had my first period October 22. My second period came along November 13. She actually said, "...let me get this straight..."

I know what "let me get this straight," means. It means bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. 

She said, and I quote, "I am going to bet you that what you think was your first period wasn't your period."

Uh, excuse me? I know what a period feels like and I'm sure I had two. That's one thing my body does that's not so much a mystery any more-that bleeding once a month thing. 

Plus, I'm not overly used to being told I'm wrong. From anyone. I'm the one with the answers right? I'm the one in control....right? Right???? Dead wrong. Not this time. Not here. Not in these miserable moments of TTC. 

Our conversation after that turned into one of those childish he said she said moments and I said, "but my other OB said that it did sound like my period and she said it was normal." 

And the nurse said, "But obviously your cycles are still off because your second period came too quick."

And I said, "But my other OB said that was fine, and she's having me come to the lab on Monday to check my progesterone levels."

And the nurse said, "Surely she doesn't think you'll be pregnant." 

And finally she ended the argument with a roundhouse kick to my face, "I recommend you not try again until February." 

I cried after that phone call in my office. And then I didn't check my makeup and went to court. Total mascara fail.

Cover Girl let me down.  

If there's any moral or point to this story it would be this, sometimes you have to go with your gut. 

We're picking the advice we like the best and screw the other one.

First TWW 1 DPO: Continued

From 9:30 am to 2:30pm the symptoms are as follows:
Boobs: nothing
CM: dry
Cervix: High, soft, closed
Temp: I don't temp
OPK: I think I'm done testing
Cramps: Twinges every now and then

NOTE: Yesterday I had a headache and tons of the right kind of CM around 12:30pm. 

Conclusion: no symptoms.

Look I'm not an idiot, I know there's like zero chance of having any pregnancy symptoms at 1 DPO. But I've got to do something to pass the time. 

First TWW: 1 DPO &....Mars

Officially in the first Two Week Wait. Meaning, I had a surge, we BD'd, I think I O'd yesterday, so today is Day 1. 

No, I don't temp. Not yet. And yes, we only BD'd  once this cycle. The day I got the positive. We were at my mom's okay, stop judging.

This is going to be, hopefully, a running commentary full of what I'm sure will be a crazy symptom spotting, boob squeezing, mucus checking, dialogue with myself. And today is Day 1. 

I woke at 8:30 am. Sunday. I woke up tired. Okay. I fixed breakfast (pop tarts- I know, go me), cleaned the kitchen, and started a load of laundry. 

9:30 am. My husband walked into the kitchen with his plastic Star Wars cup that he uses as a coffee cup. Yes we have coffee cups. We have a ton of coffee cups. He just likes that cup. 

He walked into the kitchen and popped out the old K-cup. We have one of those cool at first then later impossibly annoying and expensive Keurig coffee makers. I mean, $10 for a box of 10 coffee K-cups! He popped in a new cup, snapped the lid shut, and punched the button. Our Keurig coffee maker sounds like it's lifting off when it's fixing a brew. 

BRRRBRRBRRBRRBRRBRRBRRBRBRBRBRBRRGLGUGLGUGLUG g guggugugugg guzzle hiiiiiiisssssssssssss.   

Steam curled off the top of Obi Wan's head and I saw the plastic cup melt a little. No, he doesn't care that he's melting a perfectly good one dollar plastic cup from the Dollar Store. Nor does he care about  the flecks of paint and plastic melting into his coffee.   

"We're in the two week wait," I said to him. 

No, he doesn't know what that means.

His response? He found evidence of life on Mars. 

How does a wife react to a husband who seriously thinks he discovered life on Mars? 

"That's nice." 

"You don't believe me."

Well no... "It's not that I don't believe you... I just don't...," care, "...think it's that big of a deal." 

If the NASA rover discovered a stash of Martians planning a Martian New Year's Eve party I wouldn't give two shits so long as I was still getting BFN's. 

"You'll see," he said, "When NASA makes the announcement, I was the first one to know!" 

"Okay hun." ....Meanwhile....Oh my god my boobs feel sore! 

Number Crunching: TTC

22 hours from positive OPK to first sign of really wet CM.

8 hours from positive OPK to BD.

3 hours from positive OPK to negative OPK.

19 hours between negative OPK to positive OPK.

14 hours between BD and first sign of really wet CM.

10:30pm time of sex.

11:00pm earliest time the sperm entered uterus per Webmd.

November 25, 2012 @ 2:30am is 36 hours from positive OPK.

November 24, 2012 @ 2:30pm is 24 hours from positive OPK.

November 24, 2012 @ 2:30am is 12 hours from positive OPK.

If I ovulated 12 hours from the positive OPK the sperm was technically waiting for 3.5 hours. Plenty of time for the sperm to prepare and penetrate the ovum. If I ovulated 24 hours from positive OPK the sperm was waiting for 15 hours. This is still within a 24 hour period, the sperm should be capable of penetrating.

If I have sex at 10:30 tonight and I ovulate 36 hours from the positive OPK then the sperm will be waiting around 3.5 hours.

I'm gathering up eyelashes, wishbones, dandelions, pennies, and birthday candles.

Cycle Day 6

I've been googling OPK stuff and I found a great website with some interesting FAQs.

POAS - OPK FAQ

To date I've pee'd on 5 OPKs. This is cycle day 6.

I've slowed down on the baby forums. I started seeing a lot of the same posts and since I don't have anything new to report bodily function wise it was getting a little boring. I'm done with my period, and now I'm waiting for the smiley face.

Waiting! Ugh. I hate the waiting.

And if you don't know, Clearblue digital ovulation predictor kits give you a smiley face when an LH surge is detected. And if that sentence gave you more questions then answers then let me rephrase. The smiley face means HAVE SEX! (For those TTCing).

I'm worried I'll get my smiley face on Thanksgiving, at my mother's house, five hours away. I can just imagine us excusing ourselves from the turkey and sneaking off to the blow up mattress in the spare bedroom. EW!

Peeing On A Stick: The Beginning of an Obsession

Another pregnancy purchase: OPKs.

Ovulation Predictor Kit.

I bought 20. At Target.

I've pee'd on two and it's only Cycle Day 4.

Cycle Day 1 - Again

I started my second cycle November 13. I woke up to it. It was a nice little, whoa before my morning coffee. It was five/six days early. 

Before my D&C I had pretty regular cycles, 28/30 days. Nothing crazy. Now, I have no idea. It's like I'm 13 and starting my period for the first time. 

BUT since this marks the beginning of my second cycle it means we are free to start trying again! Whoo hoo! 

That wasn't an accurate expression of my true excitement. I say again: WHOOOOOOOO HOOOOO!

And let me just say, In my experience peeing on an HPT is like taking your car to the car wash. Want rain? Wash your car. Want a period? Pee on a stick.

Big Fat Negative

Not Pregnant.

I'm around 9DPO or 10DPO...maybe. I didn't track so I have no idea when I ovulated. It's my first cycle after the D&C so I don't even know if I'll have a 28 day cycle. But I'm obsessed with being pregnant. 

It is literally all. I. think. about!

At Target today I found myself in the pregnancy aisle. "Found myself," isn't exactly accurate. I walked over there on purpose. When I didn't see the tests near prenatal vitamins or lube I hunted them down. But I like to think it was a "whoops" moment, like oh what have we here? And, don't mind if I do.

I bought the 6 day advance early pregnancy test. Not the digital Cadillacs but by no means a jalopy. I had to pee at Target. No, despite what you just thought I did not check at Target. Although it did cross my mind. 

I pee'd on it when I got home, in secret. I hid the remaining stick in my makeup bag. I didn't tell my husband. 

It was negative, of course. I didn't expect it to be positive. But then again, that's not quite accurate either. In a little way, in a tiny irrational hopeless obsessed way, I did expect that second line. I still do. 

It's in the bathroom, behind the towels. In case I want to check back later.    

Stymptom Spotting: Nasal Stuffiness

Nasal Stuffiness. Now tell me why all the hype about a heightened sense of smell if you can't even smell anything? This might also be the reason I wasn't particularly blown away by the so called "super smell pregnant-power." For the first month I couldn't smell anything.

I thought I had a cold. I had no idea a stuffy nose was a sign of being pregnant. I would blow my nose and think, how in the world can I tell if I'm pregnant if I can't even check to see if I can smell?! It was a forest for the trees type of scenario for sure.

If a heightened sense of smell can be equated to a super power then the stuffy nose is definitely it's kryptonite. Come on, you knew the Superman reference was coming.

Symptom Spotting: Sense of Smell

Heightened Sense of Smell. Before I was pregnant the first time I had no idea what this meant. I equated it to Spiderman, like getting spidey-senses from a spider bite. So I waited on something that cool to happen.

Some articles describe women throwing up at the smell of their favorite hand lotion, or running for the hills at the slightest hint of the odor of eggs. And I'm not saying those aren't true examples. I'm just saying its not always like that, and for me those articles were pretty misleading.

When I walked by my co-worker's office and smelled the Dr. Pepper in the cup on her desk I didn't think wow Peter Parker would be amazed. Or when I caught a whiff of cheese-its and knew my five year old step-daughter was sneaking snacks before dinner, I didn't think that was necessarily a mind blowing experience.

I noticed a heightened sense of smell in a much less noticeable way. A more practical way. When I was pregnant I could find a dog turd in any corner of the house. (We have a puppy in potty training). And now that I'm symptom spotting for the second time, knowing what I know now, I'm much less dismissive when the cheese dip in the crock pot smells like pumpkin pie.  

On an unrelated note, I'm listening to Nicki Minaj. What the hell is "pelican fly?"

Eating With the Dead

My two previous ramblings about the Indian Funeral had a point. And that point is, the tribe of my husband believes that in the hours after the burial the dead will share with the family a last meal, a feast.

We shared a meal with my husband's grandmother, after her family took up shovels and rakes, took off jackets and hats, and buried her themselves. The men dispatched by the county to take care of such things stood in the background in their faded denim, watching the family take up their shovels.

Grapes of Wrath dirt makes a terrible lonely and hollow thud when it hits a casket 6 feet deep. Being Baptist, I'd never heard such a sound. Baptists don't usually bury their dead. We don't eat with them either...

But my husband's tribe does. And during the feast, while I sat behind my husband, spouses can't sit beside the blood-kin, I thought about our little one, gone too soon. The family probably wondered why the white girl was crying on her fry bread.

I didn't just eat with his grandmother. I ate with my baby too.

Back in the Day

Because sometimes I just feel like 90's R&B.

It brings back:
Tape cassettes and CDs on the high school bus. Skipping the third song because that's where the scratch is. Writing notes in class. Folding the note in that cool way, writing "pool" on the tab instead of "pull." The taste of lukewarm Budweiser jacked from our parents' fridge, and cheese-its. The feel of rough concrete under my thighs, and the sound of crickets and cars driving by. Usher, LL Cool J, Mariah Carey with the rainbow panties, and Will Smith. Dirt roads. Sleep overs. First kisses. First break-ups.

When getting pregnant was a terrifying thought.

The Effect of Not Knowing

I'm putting myself through agony. My husband and I BD'd November 1 and November 8. I O'd somewhere in between those days.  

I've counted from October 22nd to today, and to yesterday, and to the day before that. I've counted so many times I have to count again to make sure what day this is. And still I'm not sure. Is it 8dpo? Or 6? Or 7? 

And every online ovulation calculator, calendar, chart, etc says something different. I might as well not even waste my time relying on those. But I will. Because I can't help it. The process is such a mystery, so uncontrollable, so stealthy, so secretive in my own body that it doesn't even seem fair! 

Why is my body keeping secrets from me! Or did it tell me, and I wasn't listening???  That's the real agonizing question. And then I started wondering, was that cervical mucus stretchier than I thought it was? Did I feel twinges the other day? Is this stuffy nose trying to tell me something?

When I'm lying on the bathroom floor with legs spread and feet on the counter and finger in my yoo-hoo up to my knuckle and I'm thinking, is it open, or closed...open...it feels soft, what does hard feel like..am I even touching my cervix...-Okay that's when I know this baby making thing has gone beyond rational.  

But whatever. When I go to the bathroom at work I don't care if  my co-workers wonder why I'm taking so long in there. I check my panties, I look at the toilet paper, I look for mucus. I pull my shirt up and look at my boobs, are they bigger, is that a vein, are my nipples sore, are they tender, do they stand out more? 

And then the following day I think...was my cervix soft yesterday? Or did I imagine that. 

Bitches.

Bitchy female co-worker to another less bitchy but very pregnant co-worker today at work, "Ugh why on earth would people wish being pregnant on themselves." And then they dish on how awful it is to be pregnant. Bitches.

The Funeral Part Two

After we drove over the Green Bridge, the bridge with the Green Man, we turned left onto a narrow blacktop. On the corner was an old red and brick fire station, barely kept running on what I'm sure was a diminished fire tax revenue.

On the left side of the narrow blacktop, set back against the fall colored trees, was an old looking tent or canopy. Under the canopy sat a huge, what looked like a...it sounds corny but it looked like a big cauldron or a big wok, over a smoldering fire. Men sat around the fire in captain's chairs. I was reminded of old men smoking and drinking beer and sitting on porches. 

I pointed it out to my husband as we drove past. "What's that? What are they doing over there?"

He shrugged, "I remember going down there when I little," he said, "but I don't remember that much about it."

Little did I know that's where the "feast" was cooking.

The funeral itself was beautiful. Sacred songs were sung, heart felt eulogies were given, tears were wept, prayers were said, hugs were passed around to everyone. 

People introduced themselves as sons or daughters of so-and-so and members of the this-and-that tribe. I was continually asked who I was. My husband began telling people I was from the "Scottish Tribe." From my pale skin, freckles, and red hair I guess it was obvious that my ancestors never hunted a buffalo. From my genealogy research I can confidently say that no, we hadn't. For that brief moment of meet and greet after the last song was sung but before the casket was carried away I became "The wife from the O'Malley family of the Scottish Tribe."

The name was made up of course. My husband thought it a hilarious joke. 

It wasn't until we arrived at the grave sight that things took a turn from slightly parallel to my Baptist experience with death minus the diaphragm belching native songs to a distinctly different and, to my white mind, a weird place.

Driving To The Funeral And Green Men

My husband and I went to an Indian funeral. 

He's Native American. If you want to know blood quantum, he's a lot Native. One-half to be exact. His grandmother, who passed away, is of two specific bands who celebrate a warrior existence. 

My husband is Indian, but he is also very white. And I don't mean the color. 

The day before the funeral my husband said, "there's going to be a feast."

"A feast?" I was shocked at the use of the word "feast." Who seriously uses that word in an everyday sentence. 

"Yeah," he said, "I guess we're eating afterward." 

That's what I mean when I say my husband is white. He didn't get the significance of the word "feast." And of course I didn't either. I'm raised Southern Baptist, I've never been to a non-Baptist funeral in my life. In my world, after a funeral, we eat casserole. So I thought, cool, can't wait for some chocolate pie.

The day of the funeral my husband and I drove from our cozy suburban neighborhood into the autumn colored hills of back wood country. 

The town we drove to stopped growing twenty years ago. Maybe even thirty or forty years ago. 

The first road sign I saw was, at first, unrecognizable. It made me disoriented, like the "off" feeling you get when you glance at your living room right after rearranging the furniture.  

The sign was not like the typical stop sign. It said, "Sook So <ee <it." I think the octagon shape made it feel familiar. And maybe the red color.

After the sign we crossed a bridge. It was metal, and painted a hunter green. Later, driving from the cemetery in the back of the car, my husband's Aunt told us she used to be afraid of the bridge. 

"Our people called this the Green Bridge. We had a story for the bridge," she said, "our people would say a little green man lives under the bridge. When my father would take his post at the gate into town I would bring him food, and I when I got to this bridge I would always run because I didn't want to see that little green man." She chuckled, and then in a soft voice, in a tenor and a pitch I think only native peoples have she said to the glass of the car window, "We Indians are a scary people." 

Ovaries Are Saying Yes. I'm Sure They Are.

Right now I'm thinking about sex. 

I think sometime this weekend I either ovulated or am about to ovulate. Sometimes women just know. Besides, it's CD14. (remember the abbreviations).  If we had sex today I think it would happen. 

"IT" should be obvious. 

I think it would. 

Damn that doctor and her Two Cycle Limitation. If I bring it up to my husband I think he'd say no. I think he would not want to have unprotected sex. Even though we had unprotected sex three days ago... 

Do I ask him if he wants to have sex, to TTC? Or leave it alone... It's frustrating. I honestly think two cycles is dumb. There's so much conflicting information about how long to wait. I also honestly am afraid to go against doctor's advice.

Anyway, I send this question out into the internet void. 

November! Finally!

October is over. I'm still tense, waiting to see if November will hit us with the force of this past October. We've had so much going on the last thirty days.

It's the second of November and so far the remaining pets are still alive, no one is sick, no one is dead (again), and we got paid. Although we do have to go to a funeral Saturday. My husbands grandmother died October 31st. I guess that was the creme de la creme - in other words, the icing on the cake, the straw that broke the camels back, the cherry on top - and every other corny phrase that basically means:

"can't shit just get better already?!"

It has to be better because my husband and I BD'd for the first time since the end of September. When we found out the baby had no heartbeat October 4th it was just weird to think about "doing it" with you know...yeah....

Then after the surgery I  was on two weeks of "pelvic rest" - no tampons, douches or penises - Doctor's own words.

November 1st we did "it"! Without a condom. Which is a little nerve wracking because... well if you've been reading you know the because. If you not, let me fill you in: Missed miscarriage in October at 10 weeks, then D&C, then first cycle October 22nd, then we were told wait another cycle to start trying.

I'm only 22 days from the D&C. I've had one cycle. I'm scrounging around baby bump forums reading about others getting pregnant after a D&C. There is sooooo much conflicting information out there.

For today I've decided to take the "if I'm ready it will happen if I'm not it won't" approach. Because after all, what the hell else can I do?

It's A Boy

We took my step-daughter trick-or-treating tonight. 

Every year when we go to that first house we're both kinda nervous, and she clings to me, and the lights are on as we creep up the sidewalk - I always think, "Is this gonna work?" I get a little worried that when I ring the bell the homeowners are going to come to the door and ask me what I'm selling. As if the magic of leaving the porch light on is somehow going to vanish between one Halloween and the next.

Like one day leaving the light on isn't going to mean anything any more.

It's a silly worry. No one's told me to go away.

Standing in the fifth driveway of the night, watching my little Monster High girl ring the door bell, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was my co-worker, announcing to everyone via mass text that her daughter was having a boy. Whoo hoo.

While thinking about whether I should respond with the obligatory albeit fake congratulation my five year old step-daughter yelled, "No one is coming! Should I ring it again?!"

"Sure," I yelled back, "Ring it again!" And I put my phone away.

6 Weeks

"Try again in December." That's what the doctor said. "It'll go by fast, with the holidays."

My husband said, "It's a little over one month. It's not long." 

This is exactly how long it is:
It is 4,205,648 seconds
It is 70,094 minutes 
It is 1,169 hours
It is 48 days
It is 6 weeks

What am I going to do for 6 weeks? It feels like an eternity. 

This may sound dramatic, but you can't look at someone dying of thirst and say, "wait 6 more weeks, you'll be fine. Just focus on something else for a little while." Does that person just stop being thirsty? No. I wouldn't think so.

Go Away October

A friend paid us a surprise visit on Sunday. When the doorbell rang we thought it was our neighbor returning our dog. He frequently escapes from under the fence. Lately it's been a source of contention between us and the neighbor. So when the doorbell rang my husband and I froze. Shit, is what I first thought. 

But when we opened the door and saw who it was we were relieved. Well, I wasn't entirely relieved because it was the friend who's wife had the baby shower I skipped out on. Damn. 

But when we filled him in on our recent bad news I didn't feel so bad. We've had a rough month...

-Missed Miscarriage

-D&C

-My husband's grandmother had a stroke and we had a late night rush to the ER, the way our luck is going she could pass away by Halloween. We're all still kind of waiting...

-Our cat ran out and a stray dog killed her

-We took the stray dog to the pound and since we told them it killed our cat in front of our very eyes I'm guessing it didn't last long. 

He said he was sorry he only brought us a political yard sign. 

How Stupid

How stupid was I? To think I could get pregnant again, so soon after the D&C. 

We discovered no heartbeat October 4. I was 10 weeks pregnant. The baby measured 9 weeks. I was sent home, told to wait. In my older posts I talk about the wait, and the decision, and the surgery. 

After the D&C my first cycle started October 22. I thought we could start trying again. I thought we could be carrying the news home for Thanksgiving. I thought this could be the week.

The doctor sat down in front of me today. One of her eyes is a little...off. Sometimes it rolls a bit, not much but enough to notice. I always try  not to stare, to focus on what she's telling me. It's only the third time I've seen her so, I haven't gotten over the initial- shock is too strong a word, lets call it "awareness." The initial awareness that something's not quite right with one eye. 

Anyway, she looks at me with her eyes, both of them this time, and asks what the plan is. "Um, well...I started last Monday, my first cycle. Bled for five days..." At this point see I was still thinking we would be back in the baby making sack by Saturday. I was thinking she was going to agree with me.  

"We're ready to start right away." I said that last bit positively, with certainty, this is what we want. 

My doctor looks like a grandmother. With a lazy eye. She's older, she feels maternal, she even sounds like a grandmother. Her speech is soft and a little slow, and she punctuates every bit of her bad news with a smile, a smile that says it hurts now but wait, it won't hurt long.  

"Well," she says, "you know when a woman gets pregnant so soon after something like this there is a 50/50 chance, " and I KNEW she was going to say "they get pregnant again." I was ecstatic! I had built this moment up in my head, I KNEW what she was going to say. 50% chance we'll be pregnant again, I'll be eating turkey for two by Thanksgiving. I knew she said that. I knew it. 

So stupid. 50% chance of being pregnant again? That doesn't even make sense. Where did I get that? 

"There's a 50/50 chance of another miscarriage." That's what she really said. And when you read in books that common little phrase, "took a minute to sink in," ha, I know exactly what that feels like. 

For the first time in my whole entire life something "took a minute to sink in." 

Did she just say that? Why? She's telling me to wait. She's telling me its safer. She's telling me she wants to monitor my progesterone. She's telling me it's better to do it this way. 

I don't believe her. And I'm angry. And I feel stupid. 

The Heron

My husband and I had to attend a democratic thing. A dinner. No, correction. A "roundup." 

"What's a Democratic Roundup?" My husband asked the girls in the front office. That's what we call them, The Girls. Even though one is old enough to be our grandmother. They giggled at him. They always giggle at him. Even when he's throwing a tantrum - which sometimes happens. 

"It's where you wear your best cowboy boots and hat," the youngest of The Girls said. Only she said it where the word "hat" sounded like "haaaiit." You know, fake country, long and drawn out. "Then you eat BBQ and cornbread." Again, fake country. Long and drawn out. 

Turns out she wasn't far off. There was a "Best Dressed Cowboy," and "Best Dressed Cowgirl" award for the night. And we ate brisket with BBQ sauce. 

Driving to the "roundup" the two lane blacktop curves around, hugging what is like a wet meadow. Standing in the glassy water was a heron. I was driving, and caught just a brief glimpse as we sped past. I would not have seen the bird at all if my husband hadn't stirred in the seat beside me. "Here lately I've seen that bird every time I come through here." 

"I don't remember ever seeing that bird," I said. 
"I do, I've seen it every time lately."
"Maybe it's just you."

He laughed, "I'll call it Cooper." 
"Good ol' Coop," it was my turn to laugh.

Later, after dinner, thinking about the heron I Googled "heron symbolism." 

Apparently Native Americans believe herons represent the ability to move forward, they also represent lessons in patience.

Coincidence? Maybe. 

Then again, my husband is Native American.  

CD2

I have never been so excited see AF.

All the melancholy, morose feelings were gone. Thank you Jesus. I'm normal.

I'm officially counting now. Monday was the day. The real first cycle day. And today is CD2.

If you don't know what AF or CD2 means, let me explain. If you do know, were you as shocked as I was to learn all the acronyms and abbreviations on the internet for women TTC'ing, or, in other words, trying to conceive? It's a whole new language!

Some of my favorites are:
CD - Cycle day
O- Ovulation
AF- Aunt Flow
DPO - Days past ovulation
CM - Cervical mucus (gross I know, but you get surprisingly wrapped up in what your mucus looks like during the TWW)
TWW - Two week wait (that painfully agonizing two weeks post ovulation before you can get your BFP)
BFP - big fat positive
BFN - big fat negative

Those are just a few, there's a whole host of baby bump related letters. I'm a pregnancy forum stalking junkie.

My Sappy Song List

Remember my rum and coke pity party? Click the link to hear the music.

It's Okay - A Playlist

I also found a number of sad pins and I made a Baby Loss board.

The good days get better, and hopefully the bad days hurt less.

I'm Being Selfish Today- On Purpose.

Turns out, I may not be having my cycle. After the initial bleed it stopped. And nothing else happened. Today there's nothing. 

Last night I wallowed in self pity. I made a playlist of sappy songs. I cried. I stayed up too late. Had one too many rum and cokes. And fell asleep on the couch. I woke up this morning with gummy eyes and a bad taste in my mouth. And I smelled bad. 

And to top off that late night pity party- I'm being selfish. I'm purposefully skipping out on a baby shower today. As I am typing the expectant mommy is probably drinking pink punch and laughing at melted snickers in diapers. 

I can't do the fake poopy game today. Not today.

First Cycle Day?!

Am I having my first cycle day since the D&C?! No way. It's way to soon. But when I looked again, it was still there!

Shut. Up.

D&C on October 12th. Bled for three-four days. Then nothing. And today, October 20th- Hello! It's been exactly one week since my D&C. 

TMI? I'm sorry. Go find another blog, we're trying to get pregnant over here.

I see the doctor for my post-surgery check-up October 29th. I could be back in the game! 

Staying Positive

I've got this stupid pregnancy photograph board on my Pinterest account. It's all these photos of pregnant women posing for their pregnancy photo shoots. I saw it this morning with my morning coffee and thought, "ugh I've got to get rid of this board!" But, I'm having a change of heart.

Because everyday is like taking one step further from our miscarriage. It feels less painful. Less emotional. Less hurtful. Less angry. Less despondent. Less all those things people feel when they grieve. 

I'm keeping the board AND I'm going to add one - Pregnancy Announcements. 

I mean come on, isn't this too stinking cute?!

When Someone Doesn't Know

I had someone in my office today who heard through the grapevine that I was pregnant. But the grapevine did not tell him I was un-pregnant. 

He came into my office with a question. I do that for people, answer questions. In fact, you could say that's my full time job. Answering questions. I get asked questions about everything. I'm like Google in high heels. 

So he had a question. And while he's sitting at my desk, asking his question he says, "It smells like food in here." It was 1:30, someone had just eaten lunch in the office. Did I mention he's an investigator? 

I said something like yes and I nodded and I'm sure I smiled politely. Then he says, "If I were pregnant I couldn't stand to be in here." He gave me a big smile. He waited for his joke to sink in. "Not that I"ve ever been pregnant," another big smile. I smiled back, I'm sure I did.

  

Feeling Alone

That's it. I'm out for this month. And more than likely I'm out for the next month. 

I don't know what to compare it to. I can only think of one analogy:

Imagine you're at the Olympics. You've spent your whole life preparing for this moment. You're at the starting line and the gun is about to go off and then you'll be running down the track - toward gold. 

The gun goes off and you take off and then three steps later, before you even get the chance to taste competing you crash - your ankle spontaneously breaks! For no reason! 

It happens they say, these spontaneous breaks. No one can really say why. Wait four more years. You'll be fine. Just try again. There's still time. 

Meanwhile everyone else is absolutely stampeding past you. Hurtling themselves forward at alarming rates, heading for your gold, getting your applause, your recognition, your moment! And no matter what anyone says, you know you may never get to this point again in your entire life. It may very well be over.  

That's what it feels like. You're out, just like that. And everyone else is herding away happy and content in their own pregnancies. You are out of your cycle group, you are out of your birth month group, you are now behind the rest of your friends who got pregnant around the same time as you. 

I'm back in that very large group of non-pregnant women and I feel very very alone. 

The Effect of Pregnant Women

I stood next to a pregnant woman today. I know her. We're friends. She got pregnant three weeks before I did. She had miscarried this summer and by the beginning of August she was pregnant again. Everyone felt really bad for her, including myself. And when I got pregnant I kept comparing myself to her and I would think, "I won't miscarry." "That won't be me." But it was. 

Standing next to her was painful. She had her little baby belly and her cute maternity dress. I said hi to her but didn't ask her how she was doing. I hope she didn't think I was being rude. I think we both felt a little awkward, her for being pregnant and me for being empty... Neither of us knew what to say. She did her business and I did mine. When she was done she left. 

People in the room seemed awkward too. We all know each other. Everyone knew she was pregnant and I was not. No one said anything to her about her pregnancy. 

I kept watching her. I hope I was doing it discreetly, but I probably wasn't. I watched her lean over the table. The table pushed her dress tight against the bottom of her stomach, stretching the fabric over her baby bump. She stood up on her toes and her tummy pooched out. I saw her rub her stomach once. 

It may sound mean of me, but I was relieved when she left. 

D&C: The Surgery

The hospital scheduled my D&C for the wrong date but they were "adding me on." By the time the nurse in Surgery figured out the dilemma it was almost noon. I signed in and waited with my husband - a woman sprawled on the couch behind us was snoring, her pants were down and I could see her thong. I pointed it out to him and we shared an immature chuckle. There was an older guy on his speaker phone yelling about a car. He kept asking the woman on the phone if she was Sherry. Yes, she kept saying, this is Sherry. 

The nurse at the desk didn't have my chart. I told her I was scheduled for today but the hospital got the date wrong. "So you aren't having the surgery today?" She asked. "Oh wait, you're the add on." She produced my file and shuffled through the pages. Turns out I had no anesthesia paperwork in my file. I was starting to wonder if this was one of those eerie portents, a warning - maybe if I had this surgery I wasn't going to come out alive. And people would say, all those signs... the wrong date the wrong paperwork - why did she go through with it?

 I signed the permission slip - I give consent for the hospital to put me under and to suck out my fetus. 

When they finally swept me into Surgery, away from admits and the general hospital population, I felt better. I'm not going to say I felt great, but I felt better. My husband sat with me in a private room and stole Fall Risk bracelets from the desk drawer. He put on my surgery cap. We made fun of the hospital gown. The anesthesiologist gave him a sticker for good behavior. 

After the IV was in and  I was tucked under warm sheets waiting to actually go to surgery, the door opened and a young nurse entered. She had a pamphlet in one hand and a piece of paper on a clipboard. She handed me the clipboard and asked me to read it. I saw the words "Floral Haven," and immediately handed the clipboard to my husband. "You read it," I said. Floral Haven was a funeral home. Later he told me the form gave the hospital permission to cremate our baby's remains. I told him their timing sucked. The nurse handed me the pamphlet and then, because she knew the timing sucked, she snatched the clipboard and practically ran from the room. I looked at the folded up rectangle in my lap. MISCARRIAGE was stamped across the top. I handed that to my husband too. He handed me a tissue. 

The rest of the procedure went off without a hitch... as far as I know. They knocked me out in the operating room and I woke up thirty minutes later. The first thing I wanted to do was pee. It was also unfortunately, the very the last thing I wanted to do. 

But I peed, and thank god everything seemed to be okay.   

D&C: Wrong Day?

It was time for the baby to go. For two days after we found out I didn't take a shower. I didn't want to look at my midsection. That might sound weird. I don't care. It's part of why I'm writing this down. To get the weirdness out. 

For several days I kept thinking, there is a dead baby in there. When I got dressed I thought, I'm putting a shirt on over my dead baby. I'm walking the dog with my dead baby. I'm taking my dead baby to work. 

Horrible horrible thoughts. I was in a terrible melancholy mood. Friday couldn't come fast enough, and I think my husband would have agreed with me.

Friday morning I got up early and despite the warning not to eat or drink anything after midnight I had a cup of coffee. And half a brownie. In five hours my baby was going to get sucked from my uterus, I needed some chocolate and a little caffeine. I told my husband I wasn't supposed to eat or drink, but that I was going to eat this anyway. He was okay with that. It's one of the reasons I love him.

He also made us late. It's one of the reasons he drives me crazy. Schedules are suggestions to him. "You don't really have to be there two hours early," he said. 

"Yes. I do." 

"We'll just be waiting around for two hours." 

When we parked the truck in the parking garage we were already thirty minutes late. It was a fifteen minute frantic walk around the hospital looking for surgery before we found Surgery Admit. Despite the circumstances the nurse at the desk did not respond to my situation with "character." 

"You're here for what?" She asked.

"A D&C." I said for the second time since our initial introduction.

"What time were you scheduled?"
"One o'clock." I looked at the clock on the wall, it was 11:45. We were scheduled to be at the hospital at 11:00 for Pre-Op Admissions. But my husband was my driver, and I've already talked about his attitude toward schedules.

"What doctor?" The nurse asked, looking at a computer screen. 

"Blackstone." 

"What's your name."

I told her. Robyn Jones. 

"You aren't on our list. I don't have your chart. Can you sit over there please?" Sure, of course. I was dressed in sweatpants and no operating room to go to. This is why we get here two hours early. I started to cry.

The nurse came over after a few minutes with a piece of paper. I saw she had scribbled my name down. And it was spelled wrong! Relief was so intense I almost laughed. That's why I wasn't on the list. "My name is wrong," I said, "It's R.O.B.Y.N. Not with an I. It's my fault, I should have spelled it for you." Whew. I smiled at my husband, I don't remember if he smiled back. She shuffled off with my corrected name on her paper. 

"Is your birthday May 2, 1983?" She called from her desk.

"Yes." 

"I found you! But you are scheduled for 11/12/12 not 10/12/12," this time she was the one laughing. Not really laughing, just a chuckle, but to me it was a mean spirited hateful laugh. Like, you dummy you came in on the wrong day! Come back in a month. Haha.

"No," I said, "you have the date wrong. It's scheduled for today." 

She looked doubtful. "What are you scheduled for again?"

For the third time, "A D&C." 

"Let me call the surgeon."

Over the whoosh of the automatic OR doors opening and closing I could hear her muffled conversation with the doctor's office. I was having my own internal conversation with myself, I'm not leaving here with this baby, I'll go to another hospital, I'll find another doctor, they'll have to pry me out of this chair if they think I'm leaving without one less person- 

"Ma'am," the nurse was back. "We're adding you on." 

Thank you Jesus.