I'm doing... okay.
In some ways I think that all things considering, I'm doing pretty well. Functioning in most aspects of my life. Not feeling the out-of-control despair of past losses. Getting through most of the day pretty unemotionally.
But... I have a really hard time getting out of bed in the morning or off the couch on weekends. I can't seem to climb out of the hole of laundry, mail, emails, work, blah blah, that started to pile up as soon as I saw that second line. I'm having a really hard time finding my give-a-shit about most things. I can see outside myself to know that I'm showing some signs of depression, but who cares (ha! see I can still joke).
Hope is taking a pretty hard hit right now, especially since my follow-up with my OB last Friday. I went into it with the mindset of "no big deal, just a follow-up to the D&C" and to put aside my emotions - I didn't even have my husband come with me. I even survived the 30-minute wait in a packed waiting room of uber-preggos, blocking it all out. But that composure lasted about 30 seconds once I got in the room.
Unexpectedly, my test results were already in for the genetic testing of the "products of conception": normal karyotype, no chromosomal abnormalities.
I instantly lost it. I know this must seem weird that this upset me - that should be good, right? Wrong. It means no answers. It means no absolution from all the doubt and self-blame of what **I** might have done wrong. It means we have NO F'ING CLUE why this pregnancy failed, or what we could possibly do differently to change our outcome.
I was so emotional, but my doctor was sitting in front of me, without the slightest impatience, trying to talk to me. So I pulled my head out of my rear enough to try to take advantage of it and ask some questions. He thought that it likely pointed to egg quality, which can manifest itself in other ways besides chromosomal. He gently expressed his concern about this working out for us, asked if we've thought about egg donor, etc. etc. To which I sobbed, "I just don't know how to give up." I asked about how crazy and illogical we were to be thinking about IVF - give my eggs a looksie and pick the best of the lot - and he thought some of the data against it was outdated, that maybe it could help us, at the very least we were not unjustified in exploring it. I expressed all my fears about what I could be doing wrong, and he vehemently reassured me that aside from taking some specific medicine, there was nothing I could DO to have caused this. He asked if I was getting the emotional support I needed, and suggested a therapist that specializes in loss.
By the end of the conversation, he was wiping away his own tears. Which just totally blew me away, to see such genuine care and compassion for us. Unfortunately our situation is not his specialty, there is only so much he can do.
And so it's back to Dr. B next week. I am very curious to hear her recommendations. This past loss is on her hands, so to speak. So no more dismissing my concerns and questions, no blaming it on my past care.
I'm trying not to over-think it til then, but easier said than done. The fear of never having a biological child has been present since our first loss, but I always manage to push it down and focus on hope. But the fear is winning right now, and pressing on my chest like a weight.
And I found out something that I wish I didn't know. My OB gave me a copy of test report to make sure I had it for my meeting with Dr. B. And it noted the gender. I can't even bring myself to write it here, it is too painful, and has made the loss very fresh and very real.
Wish I could leave on a brighter note, but not seeing much bright side right now. Maybe tomorrow.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Unexpected kindness
Has been a long week, emotionally and physically. Funeral services for my uncle. Still recovering from the D&C. Trying to process this last loss, and what it means for us moving forward. And then Mother's Day.
Yesterday I started to come back to life - got a pedicure and eyebrow wax, went to the grocery store, made dinner, showered. But then today knocked me on my ass again - everywhere I turned was a reminder of what I didn't have, what was still so elusive for us. I kind of puttered about the house, a little of this and that, not really accomplishing anything, before crawling back in bed for a few hours this afternoon. Almost blew off dinner with my family, but managed to drag myself out and while hard, was better than wallowing all night. My littlest nephew seemed to know exactly what I needed, and crawled into my lap and snuggled for the first 20 minutes I was there.
I came home to find an email from an old friend in my inbox. She suffered 2 miscarriages when trying to start her family. This was years before kids were on my radar or that I could fully comprehend what she was going through, but I knew that it shook her up terribly. After my second loss when I was feeling so alone and confused and desperate for help, I reached out to her. She was so full of both information and empathy, I clung to her like a life raft. Eventually I found a support group, resources, this blog, etc., so I leaned on her less, and to be honest wanted to relieve her of having to dredge up all her past pain. It's probably been 8 months since we've spoken (since I live under a rock and hardly talk to anybody) and she certainly doesn't know about our most recent loss. Which makes her thoughtfulness and kindness all the more amazing. She wrote:
Thinking of you today especially, and I hope you are doing well. The love in your heart for the angels you have lost is real. I continue to pray that you one day will be holding a child of your own. You are a mother. May God bless you, keep the faith that your time of motherhood is still only beginning.
It brought tears to my eyes and warmth to my heart, and was exactly what I needed to hear. I share it here, for all of you who deserve it as well.
Yesterday I started to come back to life - got a pedicure and eyebrow wax, went to the grocery store, made dinner, showered. But then today knocked me on my ass again - everywhere I turned was a reminder of what I didn't have, what was still so elusive for us. I kind of puttered about the house, a little of this and that, not really accomplishing anything, before crawling back in bed for a few hours this afternoon. Almost blew off dinner with my family, but managed to drag myself out and while hard, was better than wallowing all night. My littlest nephew seemed to know exactly what I needed, and crawled into my lap and snuggled for the first 20 minutes I was there.
I came home to find an email from an old friend in my inbox. She suffered 2 miscarriages when trying to start her family. This was years before kids were on my radar or that I could fully comprehend what she was going through, but I knew that it shook her up terribly. After my second loss when I was feeling so alone and confused and desperate for help, I reached out to her. She was so full of both information and empathy, I clung to her like a life raft. Eventually I found a support group, resources, this blog, etc., so I leaned on her less, and to be honest wanted to relieve her of having to dredge up all her past pain. It's probably been 8 months since we've spoken (since I live under a rock and hardly talk to anybody) and she certainly doesn't know about our most recent loss. Which makes her thoughtfulness and kindness all the more amazing. She wrote:
Thinking of you today especially, and I hope you are doing well. The love in your heart for the angels you have lost is real. I continue to pray that you one day will be holding a child of your own. You are a mother. May God bless you, keep the faith that your time of motherhood is still only beginning.
It brought tears to my eyes and warmth to my heart, and was exactly what I needed to hear. I share it here, for all of you who deserve it as well.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
"I'm so sorry for your loss"
Dealing with the loss of my uncle and the loss of another pregnancy at the same time is proving to be painful in unexpected ways. I didn't realize how much it would hurt to hear "I'm so sorry for your loss" and to only have one of these losses acknowledged.
It hurt a little when a friend from high school noticed the obituary in the paper and send me a very thoughtful text. Although we are close, we don't live in the same city and I haven't wanted to fill our limited communications with my problems, so she lies on the other side of the knows/knows not divide. It made me acutely aware that one kind of loss gets published in the newspaper, and the other is held as a secret, too private to even share with a friend.
It hurt a lot when we went to dinner with some of my husband's siblings last night, and they were so forthright and inquisitive and sympathetic about my uncle, and did not give even the slightest acknowledgement to everything else we'd been through this week. And they knew.
My husband sends out the word of my uncle to his siblings? Within 30 minutes I had 3 text messages of condolences. He sends out word of our pregnancy loss? Absolute silence. And my siblings weren't any better - my mom told them earlier this week, and I haven't heard a peep from them.
We are close to our siblings. They know everything about what we've been through. During past losses, I wasn't really able to talk about it without getting distraught. But in the past year I've joined a support group and I blog and I've opened up and regularly talk about what's happening with us. I've even talked to them about how I understood, but that it hurt that they didn't reach out during past losses.
Their silence makes me feel ashamed. Their silence makes me feel like they don't have the slightest understanding of the magnitude of our pain. Or that our pain is so great, that it's too much to handle, that it makes them uncomfortable.
I don't want to sound whiny or ungrateful, or that I'm so self absorbed that I don't recognize the difference in these losses. Of course I recognize that the life of my uncle, all that he accomplished and the people that he touched in his 67 years, his importance to his family, completely and absolutely dwarfs our loss. But it's still a significant event to us, another heart-breaking and devastating setback in our quest for parenthood.
I don't blame or hold it against any of them personally. (Well, maybe just a little in my wounded state, but I will forgive.) It just puts a spotlight on how poorly as a society that we deal with miscarriages and supporting women during early pregnancy. And makes me all the more grateful that I have this community of women (and some very special people IRL) who completely understand and know exactly what to say. I want the support of my siblings, but I need it less, having all of you in my corner.
I've loved reading the Bust a Myth posts (including this pulled-me-from-the-brink-totally-made-my-day rant about the stupid shit people say to you about miscarriages from mommyodyssey). But this one by Esperanza about miscarriages not being perceived as real losses is hitting particularly close to home. (Thank you to missohkay for leading me to it.) She wrote:
"For a woman miscarrying the pain is corporeal and emotional and visceral and very, very real. It is mixed with guilt and helplessness and confusion and a complete obliteration of hope. The added isolation that women can feel when they realize that their loss is not validated by others renders their pain that much more unbearable. When their loss is not recognized they endure yet another loss. It seems an unnecessary burden for someone who is already suffering so much."
Yeah. What she said.
It hurt a little when a friend from high school noticed the obituary in the paper and send me a very thoughtful text. Although we are close, we don't live in the same city and I haven't wanted to fill our limited communications with my problems, so she lies on the other side of the knows/knows not divide. It made me acutely aware that one kind of loss gets published in the newspaper, and the other is held as a secret, too private to even share with a friend.
It hurt a lot when we went to dinner with some of my husband's siblings last night, and they were so forthright and inquisitive and sympathetic about my uncle, and did not give even the slightest acknowledgement to everything else we'd been through this week. And they knew.
My husband sends out the word of my uncle to his siblings? Within 30 minutes I had 3 text messages of condolences. He sends out word of our pregnancy loss? Absolute silence. And my siblings weren't any better - my mom told them earlier this week, and I haven't heard a peep from them.
We are close to our siblings. They know everything about what we've been through. During past losses, I wasn't really able to talk about it without getting distraught. But in the past year I've joined a support group and I blog and I've opened up and regularly talk about what's happening with us. I've even talked to them about how I understood, but that it hurt that they didn't reach out during past losses.
Their silence makes me feel ashamed. Their silence makes me feel like they don't have the slightest understanding of the magnitude of our pain. Or that our pain is so great, that it's too much to handle, that it makes them uncomfortable.
I don't want to sound whiny or ungrateful, or that I'm so self absorbed that I don't recognize the difference in these losses. Of course I recognize that the life of my uncle, all that he accomplished and the people that he touched in his 67 years, his importance to his family, completely and absolutely dwarfs our loss. But it's still a significant event to us, another heart-breaking and devastating setback in our quest for parenthood.
I don't blame or hold it against any of them personally. (Well, maybe just a little in my wounded state, but I will forgive.) It just puts a spotlight on how poorly as a society that we deal with miscarriages and supporting women during early pregnancy. And makes me all the more grateful that I have this community of women (and some very special people IRL) who completely understand and know exactly what to say. I want the support of my siblings, but I need it less, having all of you in my corner.
I've loved reading the Bust a Myth posts (including this pulled-me-from-the-brink-totally-made-my-day rant about the stupid shit people say to you about miscarriages from mommyodyssey). But this one by Esperanza about miscarriages not being perceived as real losses is hitting particularly close to home. (Thank you to missohkay for leading me to it.) She wrote:
"For a woman miscarrying the pain is corporeal and emotional and visceral and very, very real. It is mixed with guilt and helplessness and confusion and a complete obliteration of hope. The added isolation that women can feel when they realize that their loss is not validated by others renders their pain that much more unbearable. When their loss is not recognized they endure yet another loss. It seems an unnecessary burden for someone who is already suffering so much."
Yeah. What she said.
Friday, April 29, 2011
An even greater loss
Yesterday our D&C went smoothly. I am feeling good about our choice to go back to my OB. We were at a very highly regarded women's hospital, and I felt so well taken care of. Without us ever having to say two words to anyone, both our nurse and the resident working with my doctor seemed to know our history and expressed such genuine sympathy at our situation, and I think really went out of their way to make us comfortable. Being able to just go to sleep, and wake up having it all over with is such an amazing gift, at least one small way to make this ordeal easier. I lost my emotional footing a bit walking into the hospital, realizing once again that we were there NOT to deliver a baby, but managed to hold it together pretty well after that. Still a little sore and taking it easy today, but overall doing okay.
Unfortunately there are no limits in the universe to the number of bad things that can happen in one day. Last night I got the call from my parents that my uncle (my dad's only sibling) had passed away.
We first learned of his diagnosis with a rare form of thyroid cancer a year ago January, about the time I was going through miscarriage #3 and my first D&C. That loss rocked my world terribly, I was such an emotional mess, the lowest I think I've been this whole journey. So as the news unfolded about my uncle, it was slow to sink in and for me to notice how terribly my dad was taking the news. But once it did, I could relate to the shock of getting devastating news from a doctor in a very deep, dark, and profound way.
He was originally given 3 months to live, a year and 4 months ago. (I remember having the horrifying thought that I was willing the next 3 months to fly by so that we could start trying again, while he was praying for that same period of time to stand still.) But he was a fighter, and got second opinions and found clinical trials and raised over $50,000 to get a researcher assigned to his rare form of cancer.
His family organized a fundraiser last fall, and it was such an amazing event and way for all his loved ones to be there and support him in person. Towards the end of the evening we had a moment to talk, just the two of us. He told me that my dad had told him about our struggles, and he shared that he and my aunt had also struggled in starting their family. With everything going on for him, the fact that he took a moment to reach out to me, to comfort me, was incredibly touching and meant so much. He held my hand and we shed a few tears as he said, "We'll both get there. Somehow, we're both going to get there."
Yesterday he lost his battle, and we did too, though our final outcome remains to be seen. His services are scheduled for next Tuesday and Wednesday, which is making me incredibly thankful that our plans changed to bring closure to our loss this week and not next. I am going to have to find the strength to be there for my family during this sad time, and mourning our personal loss will have to take the backseat for now.
Unfortunately there are no limits in the universe to the number of bad things that can happen in one day. Last night I got the call from my parents that my uncle (my dad's only sibling) had passed away.
We first learned of his diagnosis with a rare form of thyroid cancer a year ago January, about the time I was going through miscarriage #3 and my first D&C. That loss rocked my world terribly, I was such an emotional mess, the lowest I think I've been this whole journey. So as the news unfolded about my uncle, it was slow to sink in and for me to notice how terribly my dad was taking the news. But once it did, I could relate to the shock of getting devastating news from a doctor in a very deep, dark, and profound way.
He was originally given 3 months to live, a year and 4 months ago. (I remember having the horrifying thought that I was willing the next 3 months to fly by so that we could start trying again, while he was praying for that same period of time to stand still.) But he was a fighter, and got second opinions and found clinical trials and raised over $50,000 to get a researcher assigned to his rare form of cancer.
His family organized a fundraiser last fall, and it was such an amazing event and way for all his loved ones to be there and support him in person. Towards the end of the evening we had a moment to talk, just the two of us. He told me that my dad had told him about our struggles, and he shared that he and my aunt had also struggled in starting their family. With everything going on for him, the fact that he took a moment to reach out to me, to comfort me, was incredibly touching and meant so much. He held my hand and we shed a few tears as he said, "We'll both get there. Somehow, we're both going to get there."
Yesterday he lost his battle, and we did too, though our final outcome remains to be seen. His services are scheduled for next Tuesday and Wednesday, which is making me incredibly thankful that our plans changed to bring closure to our loss this week and not next. I am going to have to find the strength to be there for my family during this sad time, and mourning our personal loss will have to take the backseat for now.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Wait, no, er... NOW we know.
Went to see my OB yesterday for another ultrasound. I hadn't been to his office since mc#3 a year ago January, but I was surprisingly unemotional being back there, maybe because the bad news had already been given, and I was just feeling grateful to be seen and helped.
My OB agreed that the pregnancy did not look promising, but wasn't 100% confident so proposed to wait until next week to schedule the D&C, and to do a quick ultrasound beforehand just to be sure. He was so kind and patient and informative, and said that he didn't want to put me through any additional emotional pain by waiting. But I was feeling pretty sane (versus in the past where waiting one extra minute felt like torture) and felt that having shown up on his doorstep out of the blue that morning, I should respect his recommendation. I updated the few people I needed to at work, and tried to settle in for another week wait.
Woke up this morning with some regrets about not getting things moving forward this week, knowing deep in my heart that there was no hope left and no reason to wait. And my body must have agreed because as I made my last pit stop before walking out the door to work, I discover I'm starting to bleed. Have a fleeting moment of panic, then sadness, then relief that my body was answering all those yet unanswered questions for us.
I called my OB, and we're now scheduled for a D&C tomorrow. Part of me still has reservations about having a procedure versus letting my body do this naturally (especially since seems to be moving along on its own now), but my husband and I decided that having the best chance for testing and information is our priority right now. Tomorrow will not be pleasant, but I know exactly what to expect and that I will feel well cared for.
I'm doing okay. Having a definite plan is doing wonders for my psyche. And I know it's just an arbitrary date, but having this whole mess completely contained in the month of April seems emotionally tidier somehow.
Sorry to have dragged you all along on this roller coaster; part of me wants go back and delete this whole debacle from the record. Thank you again for all your kind comments and prayers. And I totally understand if at some point there's just nothing left to say :)
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
No more ambiguity
We're done wondering. It's over.
Had our ultrasound late yesterday. Betas continued to rise (6231 to ~15,000), gestational sac grew (from 8mm to 12mm), but the faint spot of a yolk sac had disappeared and there was just nothing else there. Per Dr. B and the tech, the edges of the sac didn't show the signs that it was really digging into the endometrium and thriving like it should.
Dr. B said with medicine it's never 100% certainty, but she was 99.9% sure that this pregnancy was not viable.
We discussed our options. Wait for it to happen naturally and try to collect a sample on our own (she gave us a sample container at our last appointment). Schedule an in-office procedure with her, no anesthesia. Schedule a surgical D&C with either my OB or a colleague of hers.
No option is particularly appealing. The last thing I want to do is wait, but I'm scared about the risks of infection (for good reason) and scarring (after just having a hysteroscopy) with more invasive procedures. Getting this done with Dr. B would be the fastest least complicated option, but enduring the physical pain of that just seems like more than I should have to deal with right now. The procedures give us a better chance for collecting the sample for testing, but I have a deep down terror that it WON'T be chromosomal, which opens a huge can of emotional worms over what I or my body did wrong.
As of now I'm leaning towards a D&C with my OB, who performed one for pregnancy #3. I have a call into his office, but am still waiting for a call back, and the limbo of moving forward is unraveling my already fragile psyche right now. I'm supposed to be going into work later, but without "a plan" I'm having a hard time getting off the couch. And I have to wait for my laundry because I was literally completely out of clean underwear. That's the kind of month it's been.
The sadness and disappointment and anger and fear are sinking in in little ways. Not taking my prenatal last night. Stopping the prometrium supps. Eating chicken wings and fries for dinner because my diet no longer matters. Letting myself get riled up and upset and freak out because there's no longer anything at stake, no reason for zen. Watching old 30 Rock episodes in bed last night, coming across a christmas episode, and letting my mind wander to the image of a newborn in red fuzzy christmas pajamas, the one we won't be meeting. Fast forwarding in my mind to when we might start trying again, and realizing that yet another wedding anniversary will pass, no further along this path.
I just don't know where we go from here. My heart is breaking but I know we will get through this, that we'll somehow find the strength to move forward and keep trying. A huge thank you to everyone for your kind words and support, it has meant so much to me.
**Update: Just heard from my OB. He wants to do another ultrasound himself so will be heading into his office shortly, should know more from there.
Had our ultrasound late yesterday. Betas continued to rise (6231 to ~15,000), gestational sac grew (from 8mm to 12mm), but the faint spot of a yolk sac had disappeared and there was just nothing else there. Per Dr. B and the tech, the edges of the sac didn't show the signs that it was really digging into the endometrium and thriving like it should.
Dr. B said with medicine it's never 100% certainty, but she was 99.9% sure that this pregnancy was not viable.
We discussed our options. Wait for it to happen naturally and try to collect a sample on our own (she gave us a sample container at our last appointment). Schedule an in-office procedure with her, no anesthesia. Schedule a surgical D&C with either my OB or a colleague of hers.
No option is particularly appealing. The last thing I want to do is wait, but I'm scared about the risks of infection (for good reason) and scarring (after just having a hysteroscopy) with more invasive procedures. Getting this done with Dr. B would be the fastest least complicated option, but enduring the physical pain of that just seems like more than I should have to deal with right now. The procedures give us a better chance for collecting the sample for testing, but I have a deep down terror that it WON'T be chromosomal, which opens a huge can of emotional worms over what I or my body did wrong.
As of now I'm leaning towards a D&C with my OB, who performed one for pregnancy #3. I have a call into his office, but am still waiting for a call back, and the limbo of moving forward is unraveling my already fragile psyche right now. I'm supposed to be going into work later, but without "a plan" I'm having a hard time getting off the couch. And I have to wait for my laundry because I was literally completely out of clean underwear. That's the kind of month it's been.
The sadness and disappointment and anger and fear are sinking in in little ways. Not taking my prenatal last night. Stopping the prometrium supps. Eating chicken wings and fries for dinner because my diet no longer matters. Letting myself get riled up and upset and freak out because there's no longer anything at stake, no reason for zen. Watching old 30 Rock episodes in bed last night, coming across a christmas episode, and letting my mind wander to the image of a newborn in red fuzzy christmas pajamas, the one we won't be meeting. Fast forwarding in my mind to when we might start trying again, and realizing that yet another wedding anniversary will pass, no further along this path.
I just don't know where we go from here. My heart is breaking but I know we will get through this, that we'll somehow find the strength to move forward and keep trying. A huge thank you to everyone for your kind words and support, it has meant so much to me.
**Update: Just heard from my OB. He wants to do another ultrasound himself so will be heading into his office shortly, should know more from there.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
More "not good but we still don't know for sure" news
Had my ultrasound this morning. Gestational sac, measuring small. Barely there yolk sac, only visible after MUCH digging around and searching.
Dr. B. was present at the ultrasound and even "took the wheel" for a while. And then I met with her in her office afterwards, and she spent time going through what we saw and what it means. I can't recall the numbers, but both her and the ultrasound tech took measurements of the sac, and there are guidelines about the mean diameter and what should be seen when. Basically was on the fringe of viability, but not looking good.
So we scheduled another ultrasound for Monday afternoon (for which Dr. B earned some points by pulling strings to get me in).
I also had blood drawn, and she called me herself with the results early this afternoon:
Beta #4 = 6231.
Which was actually higher than I expected, but Dr. B. was discouraged and wanted it to be higher. She still thought my situation was inconclusive, but began discussing options for having a procedure, which she never explicitly said D&C but I can only assume is what she meant. She offered that if I came for an ultrasound Wednesday instead, that we could do an office procedure the same day.
The thought of going through a D&C in the same fashion as the hysteroscopy - ie barely medicated - sounds like cruel and unusual punishment to me right now, and I basically said as much. And she said that she could schedule something with a colleague (and anesthesia) instead for later in the week.
Ugh ugh ugh. Has been a really rough day, I basically cried all morning, but I'm actually doing okay now.
My husband had to go out of town and couldn't go with me, which had me in tears all day Monday at the thought of not having him. But my awesome friend K, who is a fellow IF/RPL soldier, agreed to take me. Not only did she endure the 3-hr ordeal with me this morning including driving, but we've been talking by phone all day and has been really helpful in processing it all and moving to a better place already.
There's so much more to share about today and the past week, but my brain is just exhausted right now. I'm terribly sad and disappointed, but I'm dealing. And I'm actually seeing a bright side in this horrible situation: we were able to get pregnant on our own again, and the pregnancy progressed far enough that I've got the option for a D&C and testing and possible explanation.
I'm going to be okay, and live to fight another day.
Dr. B. was present at the ultrasound and even "took the wheel" for a while. And then I met with her in her office afterwards, and she spent time going through what we saw and what it means. I can't recall the numbers, but both her and the ultrasound tech took measurements of the sac, and there are guidelines about the mean diameter and what should be seen when. Basically was on the fringe of viability, but not looking good.
So we scheduled another ultrasound for Monday afternoon (for which Dr. B earned some points by pulling strings to get me in).
I also had blood drawn, and she called me herself with the results early this afternoon:
Beta #4 = 6231.
Which was actually higher than I expected, but Dr. B. was discouraged and wanted it to be higher. She still thought my situation was inconclusive, but began discussing options for having a procedure, which she never explicitly said D&C but I can only assume is what she meant. She offered that if I came for an ultrasound Wednesday instead, that we could do an office procedure the same day.
The thought of going through a D&C in the same fashion as the hysteroscopy - ie barely medicated - sounds like cruel and unusual punishment to me right now, and I basically said as much. And she said that she could schedule something with a colleague (and anesthesia) instead for later in the week.
Ugh ugh ugh. Has been a really rough day, I basically cried all morning, but I'm actually doing okay now.
My husband had to go out of town and couldn't go with me, which had me in tears all day Monday at the thought of not having him. But my awesome friend K, who is a fellow IF/RPL soldier, agreed to take me. Not only did she endure the 3-hr ordeal with me this morning including driving, but we've been talking by phone all day and has been really helpful in processing it all and moving to a better place already.
There's so much more to share about today and the past week, but my brain is just exhausted right now. I'm terribly sad and disappointed, but I'm dealing. And I'm actually seeing a bright side in this horrible situation: we were able to get pregnant on our own again, and the pregnancy progressed far enough that I've got the option for a D&C and testing and possible explanation.
I'm going to be okay, and live to fight another day.
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