Have you taken a look at YOUR uterus today?

I went for the SHG this morning, and I was basically in and out of The RE’s office in 15 minutes. The RE performed the test, and I experienced no discomfort or even any weird sensations with the saline going in the uterus. He declared that everything looked clear and also shared that my blood clotting results all came back normal. All good news, of course.

I asked again to confirm that we were okay to try on our own this cycle (well, using the “secret” Clomid that he doesn’t know I’m taking), and he said there’s no reason we shouldn’t, so we shall continue with that plan. Which should be interesting because our peak time for trying? It falls this weekend when we’re at Cedar Point. Because that’s exactly what I want to do after a long day at an amusement park. With a three-year-old asleep in the other bed. I will note, however, that the last time we went to Cedar Point, I found out I was pregnant with Baby B a few days later. Note to self: Figure out the secret ingredient at Cedar Point — roller coasters? funnel cake? running away from costumed characters? — and try my best to let history repeat itself. The timing isn’t exactly the same this time around, but that would still be funny if it happened that way.

Anyway, if this cycle doesn’t work, next cycle will be Clomid + trigger shot + timed intercourse. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move on to Clomid + trigger + IUI, doing one to three cycles of that depending on funds. If that doesn’t work…well…your guess is as good as mine.

I’ll tell you a tale

So how’s that for a downer of a post before the weekend? In the interest of painting the picture accurately, I should point out that I don’t feel that way all of the time. I don’t even feel that way most of the time. But it’s there.

In fact, there are times where I feel like I’m leading a double life: The happy-go-lucky, fun life where we take our daughter to her first circus and plan trips to amusement parks and take silly pictures. Then that’s contrasted by the dark inner life of dealing with the struggle for a second child (and the other failures that I feel right now) — the side that most people will never see because I generally prefer to keep that more private and work through it on my own.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…

There are times where I feel so confident in my parenting abilities, knowing that we’re preparing Baby B well for the life that is ahead of her. Yet those times where the threenager-ness wears me down and I wonder what the heck we’re doing still pursuing a second child.

…it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness…

There are times where I just have to believe that if we keep at it, we’ll end up with our much-desired second child. But there are other times I just look back at the past year and a half of coming up empty and starting over and crushed hope and wonder how we ever got here. No one thinks they’ll be in these shoes, but it’s even harder to believe you’ll be there when you did successfully have a first child. And there are those times where I just can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel and can’t picture us as a family of four because of all the obstacles we’re having to jump to get there.

…it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity…

Probably 90% of the time, I don’t think about our challenges. I’m enjoying my husband, enjoying my daughter, enjoying the fantastic life we have. I’m too busy playing make-believe games with Baby B to think about infertility. If someone asked how happy I was in my life, I’d give it a solid 9.5 out of 10. Yet… Yet when quiet moments present themselves — in the shower, in the car, going to sleep — very often it’s all I can think about, and that’s when I am sucked into that dark vortex of doubt and failure and “why bother?”

…it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness…

There are times I cannot believe we were so fortunate to have Baby B come into our lives. I see good things in our future with her, and I know we’ll always make the best of what we have. I have to think that if it happened once, it can happen again. But there are so many times I wonder how much longer we can keep up with treatment cycles, not just financially but also emotionally.

…it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair…

With each new cycle comes renewed hope for the future as we’d originally envisioned it. A clean slate. But with each failed cycle, we’re right back at square one. Again walking the wrong way on a moving sidewalk while everyone else zooms past.

…we had everything before us, we had nothing before us…

This is A Tale of Secondary Infertility.

How to lose your confidence in 19 cycles

aka: The one where I admit just how much my self-confidence has been shredded

aka: Someone has to finish last (looks like it’s me)

Once upon a time, I used to be good at doing things. Or, if I wasn’t good at it, I put forth a certain level of stubbornness tenacity and drive that I either eventually succeeded or I still found enough value and fun in what I was doing that it was worthwhile to continue. Over the course of trying — and failing — for our second child, however, I have found that my self-confidence in pretty much all areas has been reduced to basically nothing. I am no longer good at the things I used to be good at, and sometimes I don’t even seen the point of even continuing to try them, especially when the people that surround me are much better at those things than I am.

Take for example Lexulous. Historically I have always been good at word games such as Scrabble and Boggle. One of the applications on Facebook is the game Lexulous, which is basically a rip-off of Scrabble but with very slightly different rules (you have 8 tiles instead of the 7 you would have in Scrabble, for example). I’ve played with a variety of people who have a range of word game skills, and I used to win some games and lose some games — and it used to be fun and challenging. In the last year or so, my performance has plummeted to where I’m lucky to win maybe 10% to 20% of my games now (if that). And there are a few people whom I lose to ALL the time, and let’s be honest: After you lose 20 games in a row to someone, the fun is zapped for me — to the point that there are a few people that I can no longer play the game with (The Husband being one of them). To be surrounded by people who constantly defeat me doesn’t do much for the confidence I have in myself.

I’m really close to wanting to quit completely.

Once upon a time, I — well, I wasn’t ever good at running, but I still did it. Despite the fact that I’ve never liked running, I did it because races instilled in me a sense of accomplishment and it’s a good form of exercise. But in the last year or so, my disdain for running has grown exponentially. While I’ve never had talent in this area, my performance lately blows. I did a three-mile run yesterday in 37 minutes. For those who don’t know how ridiculous that is, I did my first 5K (when I wasn’t in the greatest shape) in about 32 minutes, and most normal people could WALK 3 miles in less than 37 minutes. Every single step of that run I was filled with absolute unhappiness and disdain at what I was doing. I felt good about nothing. I get NOTHING out of running anymore (except a reminder of how much I suck at it), my performance is abysmal (when it wasn’t stellar to begin with), and I’m surrounded by people who excel at it way more than I ever will (which reinforced the fact that I really, really suck at it). Here’s how bad I am: They say you know you’re pushing too hard if you cannot carry on a normal conversation with someone. Even at my peak fitness and while going as slow as possible (just barely above a walk), I still huff and puff and cannot carry on a conversation. I suck, everyone else is great, and it makes me feel like an even bigger loser. Should I compare myself to others? No. But let’s be real: “It’s a great accomplishment to just make it to the starting line” only goes so far.

I’m really close to wanting to quit completely.

Once upon a time, The Husband and I created a wonderful child. That path wasn’t easy, either, but we stuck to it and ended up with a wonderful daughter. But this time around it’s even harder. And it’s hard not to feel like everyone around us has it easier than us in this department. They decide when they want to get pregnant, they are expecting, and they get their beautiful little baby nine months later. Each new pregnancy announcement stings, and the self-confidence shrinks more each month with each failure amid all these other people who seem to make it look so easy.

I’m really close to wanting to quit completely.

I wish I didn’t have this attitude, but it’s basically gotten to the point that I don’t even want to bother trying things anymore — whether an old activity or something new — because I know I’m going to be a failure at it, and why bother kicking my self-confidence when it’s already down? Logically I know that’s not the right approach because how am I ever going to succeed at anything if I don’t put myself out there, but failure upon failure leads you to believe that more failure is in your future. And of course it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy because that attitude leads me to not put forth my best effort, leading to even more failure.

I know there are plenty of ways to get past feeling like this — finding new hobbies or not surrounding myself with all the people who succeed where I do not, for example — but really, I think I’m just in the stage of needing to feel like crap. There’s not much that’s good about this situation, and I just need to feel the utter suckageness of it. In going through the five stages of grief, this is one of those stages you must go through before reaching acceptance. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Begin again

My first post-miscarriage cycle began yesterday, coming after 34 days. I think last time it was around 33 or 35 days. This is cycle 19 trying.

My sonohysterogram (SHG) is scheduled for Tuesday, August 31, which will be cycle day 7.

The RE would not give me Clomid this cycle because he wants to make sure the SHG is clear before I become pregnant again. If that looks good, he said we can try on our own this cycle, but with ovulation issues and it being too late to begin Clomid by the time the SHG is done, the chances of that happening naturally are greatly lowered.

Confession time: Basically a friend recently offered to send me her sister-in-law’s unused Clomid (50mg), which I gratefully accepted. I am choosing to take it this month, doing days 5-9 (which should help encourage a single, more mature follicle compared to taking it days 3-7, which encourages more follicles). If the SHG is clear, then I’ll have that extra boost when it’s time to try again. If the SHG isn’t clear, I can simply stop taking the Clomid and we skip this cycle while looking at fixing anything that needs to be fixed.

It’s so hard to think that I should be 17 weeks tomorrow — on the verge of feeling movement and knowing the sex, yet here I am, starting over once again. I realized yesterday that a success this cycle would result in a June 1 due date. My due date with this most recent pregnancy was early February, so that was really eye-opening to realize that four months — A THIRD OF A YEAR —  have been completely wasted.

But here’s something kind of neat, so follow along with me. The first baby that I lost was due in June. Then I went on to have a baby that was originally due in early February (though was born in January). Then I became pregnant with a baby that was due in early February. Now this cycle could end up with a baby due — again — in June. One loss, one success from February babies. One loss — and possibly one success?? — from June babies. There’s a certain cyclical tidiness of this possibility that gives me a good feeling. (Though, I’ve fallen for that good feeling before and it didn’t turn out so well, so I still remain mostly dubious. But it’s still kind of a neat possibility to think about.)

Wordless Wednesday: What’s wrong with this pillow?

Mommy and me Monday

Baby B and The Husband both came down with colds on Friday night, postponing our original plans of going to the state fair the next day. We stayed in on Saturday, they had a low-key day together on Sunday, getting plenty of rest, and the cold seemed pretty mild for both of them.

We came to the point of deciding whether to keep Baby B home from preschool on Monday. By daycare rules, she was allowed to attend, as she showed none of the symptoms that would require she stay at home. But I couldn’t help but think that it might be better to keep her home one more day to rest, hopefully avoiding more sick days later in the week. (It’s much easier for me to take time off early in the week compared to later.)

And after a 13-hour day at work on Sunday, I have to admit I was kind of looking for a reason to not have to go in on Monday.

So the decision was made that Baby B and I would stay home. Necessary? Absolutely not. Worthwhile. Without a doubt.

Since we’ve been taking Baby B to preschool on Fridays recently even though I don’t work that day (it seems to be more important she go every day now that she’s in the preschool room and it’s more like an actual school environment), she and I haven’t had a day alone together in a while. So it was high time we changed that.

We kept the day pretty low key, but we still had a great time together. I was bombarded with questions about The NeverEnding Story. (Yes, we let her watch it. It was her second time. She very calmly decided that she would be scared of the rock giant, but nothing else. And she wasn’t. But let me tell you, it is HARD to explain the movie to a three-year-old, particularly The Nothing, which is an abstract, metaphorical concept that even adults have trouble grasping. Still, she quite enjoyed it, and I expect we’ll be watching it regularly.)

We spent a good hour and a half pretending that she was the mommy who was dropping me off at school and then she had to go to work.

We made a HUGE tent with pillows and blankets — not for her but for The Dog!

We danced to songs throughout the day. Or rather: She danced to songs and I flailed like a fool, as I have NO dancing ability whatsoever. Thankfully she doesn’t judge me for it. Or if she does make fun of me, she keeps it to herself.

She “read” Charlotte’s Web to me (or as she calls it: Charlotte and the Spider Web), giving quite an accurate rendition of the book based on what she observed in the illustrations.

With the exception of an intense but short (less than 5-minute) tantrum when I wouldn’t let her have mini-marshmallows (because she didn’t eat her lunch), we had a fantastic day. I don’t dare say that maybe we’re starting to come out of the threenager stuff, but it was nice to get a glimpse of returning to life without that drama — and nice to get a reminder of what it was like before Age Three took over our sweet girl. (Incidentally, Age Three should be an actual medical affliction.)

I am hopeful that we are going to have many more good days like this in the future.

Only doesn’t have to be lonely

With only a certain number of treatment cycles remaining in the ol’ family budget, I’m trying to prepare myself for the possibility of having just one child. On a good day, this is something that doesn’t make me sad, and it’s something that I think I could really get to like. On a not-so-good day, it’s the worst thing in the whole entire world, but perhaps that’s being a bit dramatic.

So here, in no particular order, are some of the advantages to having a family of three:

*Daycare costs for only two more years, with absolutely no double daycare costs with two children.

*There would be more money available for fun things like museum outing and family trips.

*It would be easier (and less expensive) to fly with just one child.

*College expenses for one!

*Not nearly as many childhood activities to juggle.

*No more diapers ever again. Also:  no more potty training!

*We know exactly who broke something (well, either her or The Dog, I suppose).

*No more age 3 (if we survive this time around).

*No sibling fighting/jealousy or accusations of favoring one child over the other.

*Multiple recent studies show that only children are more likely to reach higher levels of achievement and show no social disadvantage over time.

*Selling and/or giving away our baby stuff sooner rather than later.

*More quiet time and less chaos for Baby B for reading and doing homework.

*Baby B would have her own space and more privacy (ie, no siblings to snoop through her diary).

*I always wanted to have a girl, and I was fortunate to have one the first time. While a boy would be a very welcome addition to our family, I think I feel like I’d be missing out on more if I hadn’t had a girl than if I don’t have a boy.

*We won’t have to divide our time between two children and feel like one child is getting more or less attention than the other.

Some of it is a bit of a stretch, but I’ve got to find the silver lining in case this is the direction it goes.

Wordless Wednesday: Have apron, will bake

The good (not the bad or the ugly)

It’s not all doom and gloom in our household, despite the fertility and miscarriage challenges and the typical threenager issues (which we’ve mostly had a reprieve from over the past week or so).

**********

Baby B moved to the preschool room at daycare about a month ago (easiest transition of them all!), but they began the official preschool school-year curriculum on Monday. There has always been some sort of curriculum at the school, even in the infant room, but this seems like a more intensive curriculum, and I’m curious to see what kinds of things they will cover. Baby B will be in this room for the next two years, until she begins kindergarten in 2012.

**********

After a little bit of a rest, we have lots of fun plans coming up! We are planning a return trip to the State Fair either this Saturday or next (depends on the weather). We will take Baby B to her first circus on August 27. We were hoping to take her last year, but we were in Denver during the weekend that it came to town. And after our great success with Kings Island and the fact that I can again ride the rides, we’re pretty sure we’re going to go to Cedar Point amusement park over Labor Day weekend.

**********

Being in the preschool room, we’ve already begun the barrage of birthday party invites. We’d gotten a few here and there from classmates in the past, but it seems as though in the preschool room, everyone invites everyone in the class. (That may be an official rule, but I don’t know yet.) We attended two birthday parties on Saturday (thankfully an hour apart and at the same place), and despite my dread over going, I’m glad we went. I’m just not much for small talk with other parents, but it turned out being pretty fun.

After attending the parties, I still have no real desire to do a huge kid birthday party for Baby B, but I’m at least more open to the idea than I was before. It would have to be at a kid-friendly location (bounce place, etc.) since our house is small and I do not want to play social director for preschoolers, but man those types of parties can cost a lot of money!! At least no decisions need to be made now.

**********

For well over 2 1/2 years, The Husband has been the preferred parent of Baby B. I don’t know what changed over the last week or two, but something happened and now she’s showing signs of preferring me. (Maybe that’s also why it feels like we’ve had a little reprieve from the threenager stuff. We’re not butting heads because she’s too busy trying to caress mine.) I’ll admit, in a way it’s nice that she’s showing me such attention after such a long spell of often actively trying to exclude me, but honestly I just have no idea what to do with it since it’s not been our norm.

Meteor metaphor

As I sat outside on late Thursday night (more like early Friday morning) observing the annual Perseid meteor shower, I was struck by how similar that quest was to our journey trying for a second child.

I’d seen other meteor showers, yes, but I wanted to see another one — just as we have one child but would like another.

I prepared myself as best as possible to optimize my chances of seeing a meteor: I went outside at the peak time, and I made sure to look in the direction of origin. When we first began trying, we pinpointed ovulation and put as much in our favor as possible.

The meteor hunt began to take longer than expected, with minutes piling up and turning into an hour. After my eyes had adjusted, I realized there was a faint haze over the sky that obscured about half of my viewing area, just as we learned of a couple of physical issues in our way of trying for a child. In both instances, disappointment predominated. Still, there was a chance of success, so I stayed the course.

Frustration washed over me as I saw several (what I call) “phantom meteors” — just tricks of the eye — in my peripheral vision, and I lamented that I bet there were other people in other parts of the country who were seeing multiple meteors per minute with their better viewing conditions, while I had yet to see any at all. It was much like the feelings of “everyone else can get pregnant with seemingly no effort, yet here I am still waiting.”

At one point, I’d been looking for a meteor for long enough that I wondered if I should call it quits for the night. But I kept thinking that even though I’d seen other meteor showers — so I’d had the experience before — I wanted to see this one. But I was pondering, “At what point do I just go inside and give up?”

I ended up needing to take a forced break. The Dog, who had been outside with me, was grumbling to go inside, and he wanted water. I used that time to stretch a little and refresh myself, then I was going to give it one last shot before hanging it up.

I went back outside, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the cloak of darkness again. The lingering haze came into view, but I noticed this time it was slowly drifting east, no longer obstructing as much of the sky. My view was still not 100% clear, but I had a slightly better chance of success this time.

I waited impatiently for about five more minutes when a bullet-fast streak of light appeared in the sky, right where I was looking, charging determinedly up in the sky. I gasped audibly. Obviously the whole goal was to see a meteor that night, but after the long wait, it was even sweeter to see. Finally I could call it a night, moving on to go to bed that night and satisfied at accomplishing the goal of the night.

You’d better believe that shooting star had a major wish thrust upon it by me and by all those other people waiting for their own brilliant meteor on a dark, haze-filled summer night.

Clean slate

I had my follow-up with The Midwife earlier this afternoon. After being informed by the receptionist that my appointment was at 2 p.m., not 1 p.m. (um, no, it was not…and I’ve still got the appointment reminder on the answering machine as proof), they said they would make sure to work me in. About 10 minutes later I was called back by The Ultrasound Tech, who thankfully led me to a different room than last time. She took a look, did the measurements she needed, and declared that it looked like everything was clear. Normally not necessarily good news, but in this case it was.

I returned to the Official Pregnancy Convention waiting room and was called back to an exam room within 5 minutes. I had more of a wait back there — just over 30 minutes — but I’d much rather wait there than out in the main waiting room. (Though a note to big doctor’s offices: Could you maybe have ONE room that doesn’t have baby pictures/announcements plastered all over it? Just one?)

The Midwife came in and confirmed what The Ultrasound Tech had said, that everything looked as it should. She said there were no dominant follicles and my lining wasn’t that thick, so she thought I still hadn’t ovulated yet (guessing in another week or so) and should expect my period probably in about 3 weeks (though of course that’s not scientific and could vary).

She asked when the last time I had blood work with them was, and I reminded her we hadn’t had any done. She thought for a moment and said, “Well, we need to make sure the hCG goes down to zero, though this ultrasound makes it seem like it has.” I said, “What if we go by the ultrasound and a negative pregnancy test?” I told her I’d done one last week and it was very negative (believe me, I’m qualified to know what those look like), and she asked me to do one more today or tomorrow, and if that was negative too, then we didn’t need to do blood work. If it’s positive, of course I need to call her back.

She said, “I hate to even broach this topic right now, but do you know what you’re going to do with trying again?” She was relieved to know that I had already met with The RE this week and had a plan going forward. She said she was confident and hopeful (aren’t they all?) I would be pregnant again and would return there soon. As we parted, she said, “I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you.”

That makes two of us.

Book it to the library

I finished reading my most recent library book and put on hold the book I’d mentioned before, Miscarriage After Infertility, and had a chance to pick it up earlier this week.

No muscles needed to lug this book home. It weighed in at a whopping 89 pages, with a huge font size. When I picked it up off the shelf, I felt like I’d picked up a CliffsNotes version of what the book really should be.

It seemed like more of a pamphlet, really.

Not much to say about that subject, I guess.

I am generally not a super-fast reader (I read for work and have to read very carefully, so that spills into pleasure reading, as well), but I had this thing polished off in less than an hour.

My review: It was, eh, okay. It was nice to have some of my feelings validated, but I’m not sure I really gained anything new from it.

In honor of the CliffsNotes size of the book, I will summarize the points of the book pretty quickly here:

• You probably hate the idea of being at square one again. (Yes, definitely.)
• You probably experience a constant struggle with having hope and experiencing hopelessness. (Yes. Clearly I have some degree of hope if we’re resuming treatments, but at this point it basically feels like going through the motions and I don’t expect it to work.)
• You probably feel like you’re running out of time. (Yes and no here. They were mostly talking about age-related pressures, but I’m 33 and haven’t felt that. I do feel like I’m running out of time as far as being able to financially continue treatments. That cannot go on indefinitely.)
• You probably feel a lot of anger. (DING! DING! DING! We have a winner!)
• You probably feel a lack of  understanding, both from others and regarding how this could happen after going through all you already have. (Sometimes, yes.)
• You probably feel guilt. (I’m a big no with this one. I know nothing I did caused this, so I’ve got no guilt about that. We also have infertility issues from each of us, so I don’t feel guilty that it’s completely an issue on my side.)
• You probably feel isolation and a lack of concern from others. (Sometimes, yes.)
• You probably feel numb. (Eh, not really. Anger and bitterness predominate.)
• You should aim to gain strength through adversity. (Gee, you think?)

So while I can’t say it was a waste of time to read (considering how little time it took to get through), I can’t really say it was overly helpful. It was nice to know that my feelings in this situation are normal, and it helped hearing some personal anecdotes from people who have been through it.

The catch, though, was that it was a bit isolating because all of the anecdotes (except maybe one that I recall) were from people going through primary infertility, so they have no other children and face the possibility that they might not ever have any. Adding secondary infertility to the cobweb of our issues complicates matters for me even further; as a reader, reading stories from women with primary infertility who experience a miscarriage and don’t know whether they’ll ever have a child at all…well,  I’ll say that it does put my situation into perspective because I’m so fortunate to have Baby B — but at the same time having those as the only anecdotes makes you feel kind of like a greedy jerk, to be honest. Which doesn’t exactly help with the feelings of isolation and lack of understanding.

However, I know no book is likely to address our exact situation — there are so many variables with all of this — so I tried not to think about that too much and just got through the book so I could return to pleasure reading. In a way, I was relieved not to be mired in a miscarriage book for weeks on end.

Wordless Wednesday: Just horsin’ around

REcap

I got off the elevator on the fifth floor, made the familiar turn to the left, and paused just outside the office door, taking in one last deep breath before venturing back to The Land of The RE.

I had hoped to never return, yet there I was about to open the door again.

As always, I was greeted cheerfully by the receptionist, who remembered me and didn’t say in words that she was sorry for my loss, but she didn’t have to, as she said it with her eyes and her expression. I was almost immediately called back by one of the nurses, and as I was going to the consultation room, I walked past the primary nurse at the nurses’ station. She was so kind. She said, “I’m so sorry you have to be back here.” She paused before quietly saying, “What happened?” I got choked up as I told her that there was no heartbeat at my 10-week appointment and I finally miscarried at 12 weeks. It’s not often that I have to say it out loud, and clearly the pain of the fresh wound is still very near the surface. If it’s possible to give a hug with a sympathetic facial expression, she did just that.

I had about 5 or 10 minutes alone in the consultation room, so I was able to recompose myself in order to talk about moving forward.

The RE came in and also said he was sorry for my loss and that I had to come back there. He said that with two miscarriages now, they place me in the recurrent miscarriage category.  (Whether my insurance company agrees is a different story. I know there are a couple tests that they will not cover unless you’ve had three consecutive losses [ie, no live births in between].)

Because I have had a successful pregnancy as well as two other pregnancies, he does not believe my tubes are blocked, so he still wants to pass on the hysterosalpingogram (HSG) for now. One cause of recurrent miscarriage can be a uterine abnormality, so he wants to do a sonohysterogram (SHG), where they fill my uterus with saline to check for physical abnormalities. He wants me to have this done before getting pregnant again, so I will call to schedule that when I get my first period, but because it will be done between cycle days 5 and 14, we’re officially out for trying that next cycle.

Because of the clot that was present during the last pregnancy, he wants to have some clotting tests done to check for thrombophilias. Specifically, I will be checked for cardiolipin antibodies and lupus anticoagulant. I had the blood test for that today, but the results won’t be back for two to three weeks. The fix for that would be baby aspirin or Lovenox injections during pregnancy.

He said we could return to treatments with whatever aggression we would like. I told him that IVF was off the table (which thankfully he didn’t push), but he did say we could jump to a super-stimulation cycle (with hormones injected to induce ovulation instead of Clomid) immediately if we wanted, but the estimated cost of that is $1,500 to $2,500 per cycle. We may have one shot at that, so I suspect we’ll save that for our last-ditch effort.

I asked again about use of Femara to stimulate ovulation, but this is an off-label use of the drug that is not approved by the FDA, so until a policy statement comes out suggesting the use of the drug for ovulation, he said he does not feel comfortable prescribing it.  (My OB was the same way.) I’m sure it comes down to not wanting to face career-threatening litigation if something went wrong with a patient taking it, so while it’s frustrating from my point of view, I can also see the situation from his side too.

So I think the current plan — always subject to change — is this:

• Wait for next period. Call The RE to schedule SHG. Officially sit out that cycle.
• Wait for results on clotting tests.
• Ease back in with one or two cycles of Clomid (with ultrasound to check for ovulation), hCG trigger, and timed intercourse.
• Up to probably three more IUI cycles, including a possible super-stimulation cycle as our last effort.

Overall I feel pretty good after the appointment, finally feeling like I can take a few steps forward. Of course, taking forward steps so soon after the loss can result in feeling even more crushed if the cycles don’t work or result in another loss, but this is the only way I know to proceed that might offer good results.

The risk to my heart is so great, though I know the potential reward for success is even greater.

Just relax

It came on Saturday.

Tucked away in a card sent in a pretty purple envelope.

I thought it was going to be a card of support — but it was that and so much more.

A gift certificate for a deluxe spa package including a massage, pedicure, manicure, facial, and lunch.

On top of that, a $325 check to be used toward our upcoming RE expenses.

An early gift from Santa?

A peace offering from the infertility fairies?

Even better…it was a very generous gesture from the girls on my miscarriage support-turned-mostly parenting message board.

I am the lead manager for the board (of which I have been a member since my first miscarriage in November 2005), and I had no idea about this scheme they were concocting behind the scenes.

To say I was — am — floored is an understatement. I’m not moved to tears often, but this brought them on.

I keep reading over the card, which lists all the people who contributed money to this gift. The names begin on the bottom half of the left side of the card, then your eyes shift to see the entire right side filled with names. Overflowing…nearly leaping off the page. Forty-five people in all, from a board that has 117 members total — and of course not all of them are regular, active members, so this represents a significant portion of the board’s members. I keep reading over the names of the members, just in complete awe that they would do something like this for me.

I’d been pondering getting a massage as my “make myself feel better” gift, but I kept hesitating. Financial decisions these days, at least for non-essential purchases, often come down to: Should that money actually go toward upcoming expenses at The RE? Most of the time, I tend to pass on such purchases. Now I can get that desired massage and more. I’m going to try to schedule it at the end of this month, when I’m waiting for my cycle to begin so we can start trying again. At that time, I’ll need to find a way to get back into the right frame of mind to start over, so very likely it will be very good timing for that.

The check will pay for the doctor and lab portion of an additional IUI, and we’ll just need to pay for the meds and the ultrasound. To have one more chance at this beyond what was within our means — I’m so thankful.

These wonderful women have helped restore a bit of the faith I’d lost in the universe and the notion that good people deserve good things. I’ve not met most of them in real life — only a small handful — but they were kind enough to contribute to these generous gifts, and I am forever grateful. And let’s not forget the women on the board who were unable to contribute financially but still always offer their loving support. They too are very appreciated.

I consider myself so fortunate to be the manager (and a member) of such a fantastic group. These women cheer each other’s triumphs and lament each other’s challenges. We may be scattered across the country, but I can feel their love from afar.

I love you, girls.

Deal or no deal

Since the miscarriage, I’ve had several people ask me, “How can I help? What do you need?”

Such simple questions on the surface, and of course thoughtful and caring, but nearly impossible to answer when you’re trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make any sense and don’t always know what you need.

I’ve also been thinking about why I feel the need to “put on a happy face” around others. I’ve had several people who have said, “You don’t need to do that around me,” which again is very appreciated, but it got me wondering why I prefer to do that.

And it all led to a realization about myself that was long overdue: I deal with all difficult situations internally. When silence falls — when I am alone with the thoughts that are my internal soundtrack — I trudge through the pain and confusion and resentment and jealousy and try to reach a better place on my own. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.

I’m like this with other things too. If I’m having a difficult time with something in parenting, my first thought is never to call my sister or a friend to ask for advice from their experience. It might be helpful, yes, but I know from my own past experience that the answer is always within me somewhere, waiting to be discovered, and I just need to do what I can to find it there. When I’m upset to the point of screaming and crying and thrashing about, I would much rather experience those moments alone than have someone there watching me.

So because I work through these things so internally, my biggest desire when I’m with other people seems to be normalcy — acting like life is good and happy and nothing is bringing me down. And it’s not a lie; much of life really is enjoyable most of the time. Being normal around other people — whether at work, with friends and family, or even when interacting with the grocery store cashier — gives me that escape I need from my troubles and helps reassure me that not everything sucks right now. (Though when I’m alone with my thoughts, it would take major persuasion to convince me of that fact. I’m sure I’ll have a post along those lines before long.)

Of course, the downside to acting normal around others is that they often have no idea how much the pain eats at me and think everything is Just Fine when maybe it’s not. Most people, even close friends, say they didn’t realize how bad my morning sickness was when I was pregnant with Baby B because I kept to myself just how bad it was. For my own sake, in order to get through it, I had to minimize it and deal with it internally; there wasn’t really anything that anyone could do anyway.

The other danger in acting normal is the fear that others will forget the difficult time you’ve been through even though it’s still a pretty big part of your internal life. A miscarriage is not like losing your pen at work. It’s losing a part of yourself. Even though I had to remove myself emotionally from thinking of it as an actual baby when I was waiting to miscarry, it’s still just that: the loss of a baby. The loss of the hopes and dreams you’d started to envision for your family. The loss of the little taste of success you’d finally felt after dealing with infertility. Ultimately, too, it is the loss of time, as well.

Having gone through this before — albeit without the side helping of infertility leading up to it the first time — I know that there are really only two things that can make it better: the passage of time and getting pregnant again. The first is inevitable; the second is not guaranteed in our case.

But once again, that is something that time will reveal to us.

WW: Reunited and it feels so goooood

Family reunion

So after our successful side trip into Philly, we caught as much sleep as we could in Scranton and then got ready so we could meet Baby B at noon. We got a phone call when they were about 40 minutes away (right on time!), and we arrived at our meeting spot in a hotel parking lot about five minutes before they got there.

We saw the car pull into the parking lot, then caught a glimpse of Baby B in her car seat, tossing her body side to side and kicking her legs with excitement. They parked and The Husband rushed over to open her door and get her out of her car seat, giving her a big hug before she even stood up. He held her and they embraced, and once again all seemed right in The Husband’s world. 🙂 (To say he missed her greatly would be a major understatement.) Not one to miss out on some reunion hugs, I spoke up and said, “Hey, what about me? I want some hugs too!” The Husband brought her over to me, Baby B giggling because she was so excited, and she climbed into my arms for a huge hug and multiple kisses. As much as it was nice to live without the threenager-ness for a week, it was also little moments like these that were very missed on my part.

We chatted with Grandpa B and Grammie for a few minutes before hitting the road; we were willing to have lunch with them again, but they insisted we should get on the road since we had a long drive ahead of us. The drive home went very well, with Baby B even taking a nap in the afternoon. (Of course, that meant she was basically awake until about midnight, but who’s counting?) She told us all about her adventures in Connecticut: going swimming, seeing her cousin, going to Dinosaur State Park and mining for some “gems” while there, going to get doughnuts, helping Grandpa B with some grocery shopping, going out to get the newspaper each morning, making peanut butter cookies with Grammie, seeing the mouse that Grandpa B’s cat caught, the shed snakeskin they found, all the animals she saw at the farm they visited, sleeping with their springer spaniel, going to the playground and swinging “WAY UP IN THE SKY,” helping water their tomato plants — all kinds of fun things!

We pulled into our driveway right at 2:30 a.m. (putting us on the road for 14 hours, though we took longer lunch and dinner breaks so Baby B wasn’t stuck in her car seat all day without a chance to run around a bit), and I basically made a beeline for bed since I had a long day of work ahead of me the next day while The Husband transferred a sleeping Baby B to her bed and got the car unloaded.

I’ve attended many traditional family reunions through the years, but this has to be the best one, hands down.

Have black dress, will travel

I’m very glad we decided to do the side trip into Philadelphia for the show. We made pretty good time on the way up there,  until we hit the outskirts of the city, where apparently they thought it was a good idea to have just two lanes of traffic approaching downtown. It took us 45 minutes to go about 8 miles. (I told The Husband, “Um, there’s a REASON Atlanta has 8 lanes of traffic each way.) But we made it there by about 7:45 p.m., then set about the task of looking for something to eat.

We were parked near our theater in Chinatown, but it turns out most of the restaurants there close by 7 or 8 p.m., so that wasn’t really an option. (Plus there are only a few things in Chinese cuisine that I like, so that was going to be a challenge too.) The Husband asked for some recommendations at the hotel beside our parking garage, so we set about to find the nearby cheese steak place they recommended. (We weren’t really close to the big cheese steak places and didn’t want to drive or walk that far, so we were more limited.) We got to the restaurant about 5 minutes before 8 p.m., but they were already cleaning their grill in anticipation of closing at 8, so the only thing they had available was old-looking pizza. We’ll pass, thanks. Too bad you missed out on some business there, buddy. At least you’ll get home early. We walked another few blocks in a couple different directions, but everything in this area was closing at 8 (or was already closed). Finally we saw a McDonald’s and decided to just give up looking for something unique and go with that.

Little did we know that we certainly found something unique…

First was the fact that there were signs everywhere stating that paying customers had a 20-minute limit at their table. And that the bathrooms were locked and needed to be opened by an unhappy-in-her-job bathroom attendant/janitor who declared to The Husband that she was going to quit her job and she didn’t want to be “cleaning off man-piss anymore.” After he returned with this story of his bathroom trip, I declined on a trip there myself and decided I’d just wait until we got to the theater.

Did I mention the homeless guy who came into the restaurant and tried peddling scented shea butter (which he had displayed in a bandoleer he was wearing) to some of the people sitting at tables? Thank goodness he didn’t come to our table, as The Husband was ordering at the time and I was left there by myself. (It was crowded enough that I needed to grab a table so we had a seat.)

Then there was the (also homeless) woman who was “talking” to her friend a couple tables over. Incidentally, talking = basically screaming at the top of her lungs about what a jerk this one guy is and how she should have gotten a rape kit done after this one night, but it’s okay, because she knows that god is on her side. For most people, this might have been more of a hushed conversation, but not for her! She made sure the whole store could hear!

I told The Husband: “Hey, at least they don’t have to worry about us with the 20-minute limit at the tables. We just want to scarf down our food and get the hell outta here!”

As we escaped unscathed, it is now freaking hilarious. Very unsettling at the time, but makes for a funny memory now. I never really felt unsafe, per se, just very out of my element. Who knew that I’d be dressed in a black, velvet dress with black fishnets and a choker on and feel like the most normal person in the room?

We went over to the theater after dinner, arriving there around 9 p.m. This was a music festival, so we caught the end of the first act, as well as all of the next two acts, before Voltaire took the stage a little after 11 p.m. As usual, he was charismatic, funny, charming, and enjoyed playing the heck out of his songs and interacting with the audience along the way. And as usual, it was a great time and very worth the effort to attend. The show let out around 12:30 a.m., we hit the road, and arrived at our hotel in Scranton just before 3 a.m. Thankfully the hotel was willing to let us extend our checkout time, so we were able to sleep until about 10:30 a.m., which was actually more sleep than we’d gotten the night before.

We have now seen Voltaire in Atlanta (too many times to count); Cincinnati; Columbus, OH; Dayton, OH; Lexington; Louisville (twice); and now Philadelphia. I’m so glad we were able to escape for a bit and enjoy anther show before our big return to being Very Responsible Parents.

(Coming tomorrow: the much-anticipated return of Baby B!)

You know you have a girly girl when…

In the car on Saturday, we were listening to Baby B’s favorite CD, the Disney Alice in Wonderland soundtrack. At one point Alice says something about trousers, so Baby B asked, “What are trousers?” Fair question, as we don’t usually use that word here.

The Husband said, “Oh, they’re like pants.”

She was silent for a minute, then very seriously said, “What are pants?”

Eeek…she’s been obsessed with dresses for so long that she forgot what pants are! 😉