Not sure why it suddenly seems this way, but it seems like my Facebook is absolutely exploding with babies. None are mine. Never mine.
Luckily, I still don't have many friends IRL going through successful pregnancies... but I've seen enough happy families, easy pregnancies, and unspoiled notions of "BFP=baby" to make me feel like I'm going crazy. [I'm happy for them, but each time I see it I feel that much worse for myself. And THAT makes me feel guilty.] It makes me want to scream.
WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY NOT ME? Why should anyone ever have to go through two miscarriages (or more) with no healthy child first or in between? Why do I have to be one of that 1% of the female population with a uterine septum? Why do I have to be in the less than 5% of the population who has two miscarriages in a row?
If I actually believed I were being punished for specific sins, I'd be flogging myself right now. At least then I could blame it on something. I'd at least have some excuse, something I could know not to do wrong next time. But there's nothing. All I can do is stumble through life and find some reason to hope that things will work out next time. It's all so very, very tiring.
Hi. My name is Susan, and I am bitter. And infertile.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
The D&C, Take Two
I'm not in the mood to post as in-depth as I did last winter on my first D&C. But I do want to describe it to highlight how it was different from my first one.
I was very surprised at how easy it was! After two similar surgeries under general anesthesia, I thought I knew what to expect. But when we met the anesthesiologist, he told us that I would be under deep sedation, and he'd only go to general anesthesia if I moved around too much. I didn't yet understand what that meant for me, but it sounded good.
Then we met Dr. J, who was on call to do my surgery. She was wonderful, and I got to know why she was the doctor particularly recommended to me in this practice. She listened to me and gave me a chance to ask every question I could think of and thoroughly answered them to the best of her ability. Excellent bedside manner. I had expressed concern about my abnormal uterus and whether there might be any leftover septum that had a role in this loss. As I expected, she answered that it was unlikely since it was a blighted ovum, and she couldn't promise to be able to verify that there was no septum leftover, but she would certainly mention if she noticed anything.
The hospital seemed pretty empty, probably due to the fact that this was two days before Christmas. It seemed like I got to go through each step of the process relatively quickly, all while repeatedly answering questions as to my name and DOB, what procedure I was having done and whether I was allergic to anything. My mom and Erich were there with me, and we took our turns crying. Erich had to go to a rehearsal later that day, so the plan was for me to go to my parents' house and hang out on the couch for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I foresaw being out of it, hugging my box of kleenex, wallowing in sadness.
Then I was wheeled into the OR. The last thing I remember the anesthesiologist telling me that he was putting something in my IV that would not put me to sleep. Yeah, right.
Then I woke up, being wheeled into the recovery room. I opened my eyes and could see Dr. J and she was saying, "It went great! Textbook!" I felt joy at the idea of a textbook uterus. The nurses were fluttering around and one sat me up. I was waking up so fast! I felt like I had taken the most beautiful and restful nap ever, and I felt that weight-lifted-off-my-shoulders sensation I had expected with my first D&C but never had.
After only about ten minutes of hanging out on the bed, I was escorted to the recliner. There was very little bleeding. Erich and my mom got to come over soon after, and then I was eating snacks (delicious, wonderful FOOD after fasting for 14 hours!) and just generally feeling really good. I knew the emotional distress would hit me later, but for the time being I was just enjoying my comfort level. And I continued to enjoy it for the next few days, with negligible bleeding that day and none for the next five days. We were in and out of the hospital in about 3.5 hours, as opposed to the 5.5 hours last February.
So thank you, normal uterus, for not setting me into an abyss of confusion this time. Thank you, body, for not starting to miscarry naturally before the D&C. That really helped my mental health. And, above all: thank you, deep sedation, for not being general anesthesia and allowing me to feel normal so soon after my procedure. You guys really came through for me.
I was very surprised at how easy it was! After two similar surgeries under general anesthesia, I thought I knew what to expect. But when we met the anesthesiologist, he told us that I would be under deep sedation, and he'd only go to general anesthesia if I moved around too much. I didn't yet understand what that meant for me, but it sounded good.
Then we met Dr. J, who was on call to do my surgery. She was wonderful, and I got to know why she was the doctor particularly recommended to me in this practice. She listened to me and gave me a chance to ask every question I could think of and thoroughly answered them to the best of her ability. Excellent bedside manner. I had expressed concern about my abnormal uterus and whether there might be any leftover septum that had a role in this loss. As I expected, she answered that it was unlikely since it was a blighted ovum, and she couldn't promise to be able to verify that there was no septum leftover, but she would certainly mention if she noticed anything.
The hospital seemed pretty empty, probably due to the fact that this was two days before Christmas. It seemed like I got to go through each step of the process relatively quickly, all while repeatedly answering questions as to my name and DOB, what procedure I was having done and whether I was allergic to anything. My mom and Erich were there with me, and we took our turns crying. Erich had to go to a rehearsal later that day, so the plan was for me to go to my parents' house and hang out on the couch for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I foresaw being out of it, hugging my box of kleenex, wallowing in sadness.
Then I was wheeled into the OR. The last thing I remember the anesthesiologist telling me that he was putting something in my IV that would not put me to sleep. Yeah, right.
Then I woke up, being wheeled into the recovery room. I opened my eyes and could see Dr. J and she was saying, "It went great! Textbook!" I felt joy at the idea of a textbook uterus. The nurses were fluttering around and one sat me up. I was waking up so fast! I felt like I had taken the most beautiful and restful nap ever, and I felt that weight-lifted-off-my-shoulders sensation I had expected with my first D&C but never had.
After only about ten minutes of hanging out on the bed, I was escorted to the recliner. There was very little bleeding. Erich and my mom got to come over soon after, and then I was eating snacks (delicious, wonderful FOOD after fasting for 14 hours!) and just generally feeling really good. I knew the emotional distress would hit me later, but for the time being I was just enjoying my comfort level. And I continued to enjoy it for the next few days, with negligible bleeding that day and none for the next five days. We were in and out of the hospital in about 3.5 hours, as opposed to the 5.5 hours last February.
So thank you, normal uterus, for not setting me into an abyss of confusion this time. Thank you, body, for not starting to miscarry naturally before the D&C. That really helped my mental health. And, above all: thank you, deep sedation, for not being general anesthesia and allowing me to feel normal so soon after my procedure. You guys really came through for me.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
A Little Math
My first pregnancy ended at 12 weeks. My second ended at 9 weeks. 12+9=17.
Okay, okay, they were both missed abortions. (Cruelty, utter cruelty!) So if we count how long the babies lived, let's go with 9 weeks for the first pregnancy, and 6 for the second. There was no baby visible in the second, but at six weeks there would only be a fetal pole, which is small enough to disintegrate in three weeks' time. So I'm assuming I had a baby until about six weeks, since that's how big the sac was.
9+6=15.
My point is, I have been pregnant with a living baby for a total of 15 weeks. Shouldn't this give me a free pass to go directly to the breathe-easy second trimester next time? I've put in my time worrying through first trimesters. Been there, done that. My next BFP should make me 15 weeks pregnant. It's only fair!
Why don't the BFP gods ever pay attention to what's fair?
Okay, okay, they were both missed abortions. (Cruelty, utter cruelty!) So if we count how long the babies lived, let's go with 9 weeks for the first pregnancy, and 6 for the second. There was no baby visible in the second, but at six weeks there would only be a fetal pole, which is small enough to disintegrate in three weeks' time. So I'm assuming I had a baby until about six weeks, since that's how big the sac was.
9+6=15.
My point is, I have been pregnant with a living baby for a total of 15 weeks. Shouldn't this give me a free pass to go directly to the breathe-easy second trimester next time? I've put in my time worrying through first trimesters. Been there, done that. My next BFP should make me 15 weeks pregnant. It's only fair!
Why don't the BFP gods ever pay attention to what's fair?
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Bad Ultrasound
I feel like a very unsteady wagon, passively pulled along. But the wheels are about to fall off. At the beginning of the coldest week in ten years. Awesome.
From the day we found out we lost our Vector (baby #2's nickname, long story), I made it my policy not to be strong for anyone. The only way to get through the grieving process is to get through it, cry when I feel like it, all the sooner to feel normal again. But grief appears on its own time. I was extremely sad at first and then I floated along, comfortably numb. But today, for whatever reason, I'm riddled with anxiety, unwilling to face the day, the week. What is the reward for persisting through each day? I'm having a hard time seeing it.
I must continue my policy. I have to continue to face this second loss, or I'll never be able to face another venture into the land of TTC. I can't ever be happy to become pregnant if this blighted ovum becomes merely a vague fear, an expectation of disappointment. This is a sad post, but it's my therapy. Read if you want; it's mainly for me.
We were finally home. It was Monday morning, and we had been in Michigan the preceding weekend, celebrating Christmas with the two sides of my extended family. We intended to be home Sunday night, but a horrible snow storm had us seeking refuge in NW Indiana at Erich's aunt and uncle's house. Early in the morning, we got up and drove the remaining 90 minutes home, glad to do it in the daylight. We had a few hours at home to unpack and shower, then we went off to the scheduled ultrasound, the one I hoped would confirm my own dating of the pregnancy: 9w1d.
Perhaps it was the significance of that date--the fact that Keiki was 9w1d when we saw the heartbeat--or the fact that we had finally started to tell people over the weekend, sharing our joys and nerves that made me very nervous for this ultrasound. The first appointment the week before had served to make me very excited, but the low progesterone issue shook me and I was half expecting bad news.
We had to wait for about 10 minutes before we were called back. The nervousness continued. The tech finally led us to the room, the same tech I had at my other two ultrasounds, the first one good, the second one bad. She asked if I'd had any spotting. Nope! She looked at my chart and said I should be around 11 weeks. I told her that I'm a late ovulator and was looking for nine. Okay then!
She blooped the gel onto my lower abdomen and pressed heavily on my very full bladder as my heart raced. My uterus came into view. It appeared pregnant to me, but we could not see a baby. No comfort had yet arrived. The tech zoomed in a little then asked: "Would six weeks make sense?" And my heart stopped. No. "NO!" I wailed, panicking. It was over, all over. My head started reeling as I heard her say that she could see a sac but that it looked tiny, tiny. No. No. NO.
Then my second least favorite statement, given my history: "I'm going to do an internal." I sat up and looked at Erich, who looked confused but hopeful. It wasn't quite over for him yet, which would be a normal, hopeful person's response. My hope was gone; reality had already crushed me. I left the room, crossed the hall and emptied my bladder, feeling there was no point. I went back in, and the tech left to give me a chance to undress my lower half. I sobbed and sobbed while Erich stayed by my side. "I'm not doing this again, I can't do this again," I kept saying. The tech came back in and was very sweet. She did the internal ultrasound and I didn't even bother to look at the screen. I knew Erich was looking, getting his conclusive proof that hope was gone. She didn't say much else--I know she's not allowed to, but it was clear to her that I already knew what she wasn't allowed to say. This was bad.
She kindly patted me on the knee one more time before she left to see if she could get a doctor to talk to us. We were escorted to Dr. D and Dr. J's office to wait for one of them to come in. I was so, so glad Erich was with me this time. We comforted each other, and I think we were trying to figure out if and when I should have a D&C, given this was three days before Christmas. Dr. D came in. Last time she gave me the platitudes and didn't have much to say, but this was loss #2, time to get down to business and figure this out. I asked some questions as she scrutinized my chart. She was looking for answers, and I appreciated that. We didn't leave with any conclusions, but the point we seemed to be hurtling toward is that my first loss was almost certainly due to the septum; this second loss was earlier and not consistent with any leftover septum or anything. Therefore, they were unrelated and bad luck. I asked if my very long cycles could have anything to do with it, and she was unable to answer.
Numb, sad, and disappointed. We cycled through those three throughout the day, taking turns comforting each other. Disappointed that we never got to tell Erich's family we were expecting, disappointed that we won't have a summer baby, or perhaps any baby in 2009. Sad to have lost another baby, sad to be that sad couple that everyone feels bad for, sad to be missing out on a joyful Christmas holiday. And numb when it all got to be too much.
The more we talked, the more I realized it would be better to get the D&C over with. How nice that I never started bleeding on my own. I felt relieved to be able to schedule it for the next day, even though that meant asking the other organist to cover the Christmas services I was supposed to play. I still regret not getting to play organ this Christmas, but c'est la vie.
Truth be told, I'm still pretty numb a lot of the time. And depressed. I hate winter.
From the day we found out we lost our Vector (baby #2's nickname, long story), I made it my policy not to be strong for anyone. The only way to get through the grieving process is to get through it, cry when I feel like it, all the sooner to feel normal again. But grief appears on its own time. I was extremely sad at first and then I floated along, comfortably numb. But today, for whatever reason, I'm riddled with anxiety, unwilling to face the day, the week. What is the reward for persisting through each day? I'm having a hard time seeing it.
I must continue my policy. I have to continue to face this second loss, or I'll never be able to face another venture into the land of TTC. I can't ever be happy to become pregnant if this blighted ovum becomes merely a vague fear, an expectation of disappointment. This is a sad post, but it's my therapy. Read if you want; it's mainly for me.
We were finally home. It was Monday morning, and we had been in Michigan the preceding weekend, celebrating Christmas with the two sides of my extended family. We intended to be home Sunday night, but a horrible snow storm had us seeking refuge in NW Indiana at Erich's aunt and uncle's house. Early in the morning, we got up and drove the remaining 90 minutes home, glad to do it in the daylight. We had a few hours at home to unpack and shower, then we went off to the scheduled ultrasound, the one I hoped would confirm my own dating of the pregnancy: 9w1d.
Perhaps it was the significance of that date--the fact that Keiki was 9w1d when we saw the heartbeat--or the fact that we had finally started to tell people over the weekend, sharing our joys and nerves that made me very nervous for this ultrasound. The first appointment the week before had served to make me very excited, but the low progesterone issue shook me and I was half expecting bad news.
We had to wait for about 10 minutes before we were called back. The nervousness continued. The tech finally led us to the room, the same tech I had at my other two ultrasounds, the first one good, the second one bad. She asked if I'd had any spotting. Nope! She looked at my chart and said I should be around 11 weeks. I told her that I'm a late ovulator and was looking for nine. Okay then!
She blooped the gel onto my lower abdomen and pressed heavily on my very full bladder as my heart raced. My uterus came into view. It appeared pregnant to me, but we could not see a baby. No comfort had yet arrived. The tech zoomed in a little then asked: "Would six weeks make sense?" And my heart stopped. No. "NO!" I wailed, panicking. It was over, all over. My head started reeling as I heard her say that she could see a sac but that it looked tiny, tiny. No. No. NO.
Then my second least favorite statement, given my history: "I'm going to do an internal." I sat up and looked at Erich, who looked confused but hopeful. It wasn't quite over for him yet, which would be a normal, hopeful person's response. My hope was gone; reality had already crushed me. I left the room, crossed the hall and emptied my bladder, feeling there was no point. I went back in, and the tech left to give me a chance to undress my lower half. I sobbed and sobbed while Erich stayed by my side. "I'm not doing this again, I can't do this again," I kept saying. The tech came back in and was very sweet. She did the internal ultrasound and I didn't even bother to look at the screen. I knew Erich was looking, getting his conclusive proof that hope was gone. She didn't say much else--I know she's not allowed to, but it was clear to her that I already knew what she wasn't allowed to say. This was bad.
She kindly patted me on the knee one more time before she left to see if she could get a doctor to talk to us. We were escorted to Dr. D and Dr. J's office to wait for one of them to come in. I was so, so glad Erich was with me this time. We comforted each other, and I think we were trying to figure out if and when I should have a D&C, given this was three days before Christmas. Dr. D came in. Last time she gave me the platitudes and didn't have much to say, but this was loss #2, time to get down to business and figure this out. I asked some questions as she scrutinized my chart. She was looking for answers, and I appreciated that. We didn't leave with any conclusions, but the point we seemed to be hurtling toward is that my first loss was almost certainly due to the septum; this second loss was earlier and not consistent with any leftover septum or anything. Therefore, they were unrelated and bad luck. I asked if my very long cycles could have anything to do with it, and she was unable to answer.
Numb, sad, and disappointed. We cycled through those three throughout the day, taking turns comforting each other. Disappointed that we never got to tell Erich's family we were expecting, disappointed that we won't have a summer baby, or perhaps any baby in 2009. Sad to have lost another baby, sad to be that sad couple that everyone feels bad for, sad to be missing out on a joyful Christmas holiday. And numb when it all got to be too much.
The more we talked, the more I realized it would be better to get the D&C over with. How nice that I never started bleeding on my own. I felt relieved to be able to schedule it for the next day, even though that meant asking the other organist to cover the Christmas services I was supposed to play. I still regret not getting to play organ this Christmas, but c'est la vie.
Truth be told, I'm still pretty numb a lot of the time. And depressed. I hate winter.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
MAs in the News
Here's the latest in TOTALLY AMAZING and UNBELIEVABLE news from the UK: a woman with two wombs has fallen pregnant!
Read all about it at the Daily Mail.
Perhaps I've become a snob about müllerian anomalies since my months immersed in learning as much about them as the internet had to teach me. Heck, I even make sure to put the umlaut over the "u." So, as such, I find it very hard to be amazed by this news item.
Sure, uterus didelphys is one of the more rare MAs, but it's not unheard of. And pregnancy is very possible and probable. Even the doctors cited say her chances of pregnancy is (only) HALF those of regular women. Dear me!
Here are some of my favourite [see what I did there?] parts of the article:
Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait. You can't see a womb (or even two!) from the outside? (They're probably talking about how her dual bajingos have only one opening to the outside, but still.)
And I bet no one else's septum looked exactly like mine. And no one has my exact liver or just that exact curve of my left fallopian tube. Big deal.
Despite the double womb, she's most likely pregnant with a human baby.
Well, that's true. I believe UD is like having two unicornuate uterii, so there's risk of intra-uterine growth restriction, premature birth, breech presentation, etc.
Those doctors are complete idiots.
I hope you have enjoyed, as I have, our romp through "MAs in the News" today. It feels good to be such a know-it-all, doesn't it?
Read all about it at the Daily Mail.
Perhaps I've become a snob about müllerian anomalies since my months immersed in learning as much about them as the internet had to teach me. Heck, I even make sure to put the umlaut over the "u." So, as such, I find it very hard to be amazed by this news item.
Sure, uterus didelphys is one of the more rare MAs, but it's not unheard of. And pregnancy is very possible and probable. Even the doctors cited say her chances of pregnancy is (only) HALF those of regular women. Dear me!
Here are some of my favourite [see what I did there?] parts of the article:
She was unaware of a bigger surprise to come. Her rare condition, uterus didelphys, had not been detected because her body is normal externally.
Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait. You can't see a womb (or even two!) from the outside? (They're probably talking about how her dual bajingos have only one opening to the outside, but still.)
Although eight in 10,000 women in the UK have some form of uterus didelphys, only one in a million has exactly Mrs Hasaj's anatomy.
And I bet no one else's septum looked exactly like mine. And no one has my exact liver or just that exact curve of my left fallopian tube. Big deal.
'The baby was kicking and wriggling and it felt wonderful. It made me feel like I was any other mum experiencing the joys of pregnancy.'
Despite the double womb, she's most likely pregnant with a human baby.
The condition does pose some problems because the two wombs are considerably weaker than a normal one.
Well, that's true. I believe UD is like having two unicornuate uterii, so there's risk of intra-uterine growth restriction, premature birth, breech presentation, etc.
Doctors have also told her this will probably be her only baby and her dreams of a large family are unlikely to be fulfilled. 'I'm just happy that I've been given the chance to be a mum at least once,' she said.
Those doctors are complete idiots.
I hope you have enjoyed, as I have, our romp through "MAs in the News" today. It feels good to be such a know-it-all, doesn't it?
Thursday, January 1, 2009
I'm Transparent
In the interest of full disclosure, I want to say that the last three posts were actually written today. I hated to see that the first post on the page was filled with such hope and confidence (even though I was the only one who could see it), and there was so much to say since my 12/5 post. Yet I didn't want to write about everything from the perspective of my second loss. I hadn't gotten around to making my update posts, but I had intended to. It was difficult at times, but I tried to accurately portray the emotions I felt at each stage.
I will fill in the rest of the story. I feel as though I have to. It hurts a lot to pull it out of myself, but it's healing as well.
For now, I'll just say that miscarriage completely sucks and I totally hate 2008. 2009 hasn't started off very rosily either.
I will fill in the rest of the story. I feel as though I have to. It hurts a lot to pull it out of myself, but it's healing as well.
For now, I'll just say that miscarriage completely sucks and I totally hate 2008. 2009 hasn't started off very rosily either.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
