Holiday News

Baby or no baby?

As I mentioned in my last post, there have been some strange timing parallels between this and our first round of IVF. And, if you don't follow me on Facebook (www.facebook.com/imgonnabeawhat) you might be wondering if there have been any new parallels - like some good news. Unfortunately, the timing of the test(s) was the extent of the similarities. We found out on Tuesday that our blastocyst didn't "stick" and I was told to stop taking my medication. It was tough news for sure, but there was a ray of hope. I was on a strict diet that would have left me eating just turkey and green beans for Thanksgiving, but thanks to this news I was able to be fully glutinous with everyone else!

In all seriousness, it was a blow. We had kind of taken for granted that this process can be difficult since we had such success with the first attempt. We both assumed my test would be positive and that we would be on schedule for a baby in August. It's not like we had gone out and bought a crib or anything, but we were starting to let ourselves be hopeful and a little excited about the process. For anyone who has experienced a pregnancy loss, you know that's not easy to do, but we were trying. Then, to have that door closed on us again was that much more difficult. And having the holidays upon us again has been tough. There are just so many reminders of what we went through before and where we thought we would be this year. But we just have to trust that it will happen when it is meant to, and clearly that wasn't November 2012 for us.

Our specialists don't do a cycle in December (which is why we went with November in the first place) so we have to wait until mid-January to do another transfer. But now that we know things may not work out - my "magic" uterus apparently used up too much fairy dust on our first attempt - we have to seriously think about whether to try one blastocyst again or go back to two. There is always that fear of ending up with two or three babies. But the odds are so slim it's almost worth not having to pay for the whole cycle more times than needed. (It costs us about $1,200-$1,500 each time now for the frozen embryo process.) It costs the same whether we transfer one or two, so I want to ask if there is any benefit to transferring our last four separately other than the risk of multiples. At least we have some time before we have to make that decision.

Hopefully, my entire body will benefit from waiting until January. My back is still unstable and I have two more physical therapy appointments. Maybe waiting will allow me to continue to get in better shape and get my back that much stronger so I am happier and healthier for a pregnancy. This last year really took a toll on my entire body. Not only is my back still recovering from the surgery, but I have my normal degenerative disc stuff, new knee pain and inflexibility, and my hip has gotten worse. (I had osteomyelitis as a child, which left me arthritic in one hip.) Basically, I'm an old woman in a young woman's body and that makes me worry about how well my body will take any pregnancy, especially one where I need to carry twins. So perhaps extra time is for the best.

Although January feels so far away, it really isn't. I have another appointment on December 6 to talk about the next cycle and to get new medication instructions. That's only two weeks away. And the office is in the hospital for one week right in the middle of January. That's only about seven weeks from now. Not long at all, really. So in the meantime, I'm going to eat every high potassium food I can find and enjoy some good wine and maybe even a Long Island iced tea (I've always wanted to try one) through the holidays. By January, I'll be sick of gluttony, my back will be a rock, and my knees will be flexible again. And hopefully my uterus will have its magic back... but not too much magic. Just enough for one little baby who we can meet this time next year.

Twas the Night Before Transfer

'Twas the night before transfer and all through my mind swam thoughts of good doctors and nurses so kind... Forget that! I have a much better story to tell... and in a form far less challenging to fill.

When I began this blog, the intended audience was really just me, so I don't think I really wrote down my original transfer story. I thought that now, on the eve of my second one, might be the perfect opportunity. I'll warn you, the story will be humorous, but also filled with details of things that might make you squeemish. Read at your own risk.

As I've mentioned before, most baby-making processes are done in an enjoyable way and mainly as a matter between a man and a woman. Not ours. In order for us to make a baby, we needed a team of experts in white coats with clipboards and stethoscopes. On this particular day, what was to be the day of conception, we arrived early at the hospital. I didn't know what to expect, so I was essentially in my PJs, sans contacts and makeup. Lovely, right? Upon arrival, the woman handed me a bottle of water and informed me to drink it. Now, I have a weak bladder in general. If I have a lot to drink at dinner and then go to a movie, you could bet money that I'll be up at least once during the flick to use the bathroom. Now, right before I get the most technical PAP smear of my life, this woman is making me down water? Great. But I am good at following directions, so down it goes.

They eventually call me back. I don my lovely blue gown and grey booties and crawl into their poor excuse for a bed and under their even poorer excuses for blankets. (Seriously, I might have well have brought a role of paper towels with me!) Then, the nurse came to ask all of the typical questions, but there were two significant differences with this process. One, the hospital had just gone to a new paperless system and the nurses were NOT happy about it. Two, I had just gone through the first stage of my first IVF cycles, so I was literally on a gazillion different medications, none of which did I have the correct dosages for. So you can imagine how well that went. The nurse was friendly enough, but she stumbled through every screen while trying to make the most of the names and directions I could relay.

Once that was done, it was finally time. Two nurses grabbed my gurney and began to wheel me off to places unknown. Brian leaned in and gave me a kiss and off we went! The hallways got colder and colder until I knew we had to be close. (Those damn operating rooms have to be so cold! Normally, you're sedated; but not this time.) We entered a cold, sterile room and the two nurses, joined by another, helped shift me off my gurney and onto another table. It was FREEZING and I was essentially naked, so they kept piling warm "blankets" on me while simultaneously spreading my legs and guiding my feet into stir-ups. (Not the best way to keep warm, mind you.) At this point, I am in full OBGYN position here: butt scootched down to the edge of this table, feet in hard metal stir-ups. But this time, there was a swarm of medical professionals around me. At the doctor, I normally end up with the doc and one assistant; not here! There were my two regular nurses, one or two others who flit in and out, and then others who streamed through just to get supplies. Seriously? You might have well have put the water cooler in this OR!

I was then notified that I needed to scoot my butt down even farther on the table. I wasn't sure why until the whole table began to shift. It was like I was lying on a Transformer! The lower half slowly dropped straight to the floor and they put a little doctor's stool right there in the sweet spot. Awkward! But I tried to chat with the swarm of nurses until my doctor finally arrived.

When the doctor finally came in, he greeted me warmly and did a quick check of the situation. Still surrounded by my nursing swarm, I looked past the doctor over to my left (note: this is crotch-side real estate) and a window opens in the wall! It's the lab! I've now got four plus nurses, a doctor, and a window into the lab directly facing my girly bits! (My mom always said you lose all modesty when you have a baby... and she didn't have to go through this!) The doc asked for my blastocycts, the lab confirmed, and a few guys (really, do you need more than one?) passed my little petri dish through the window. Now it was time.

For any woman who has every had an annual, you pretty much know what came next. The hand moving down your leg so the doctor doesn't "surprise" you with his tools. (No, I'm not being dirty. Shame on you.) Insert speculum. The shoving of mysterious elements up into your vagina. But this time, he had to swab my cervix several times (which, by the way, isn't the most pleasant of sensations) and then he shoved a catheter-like tube up inside that contained some fluid and my two little fertilized eggs. Not that this wasn't pleasant enough, but at this point I also had to pee like you wouldn't believe. That bottle of water had definitely caught up to me and I was ready to burst. And the worst part? I didn't even need to drink it! It was just a precaution in case the doctor needed to do an ultrasound to guide him during the procedure. I expressed my need to the nurses and was informed I wouldn't be able to get up for another hour, so they decided to insert a catheter. Now, I've had a catheter before, but I was unconscious both when it was inserted and removed, and I've got to say that is the way to go. That was far worse than the whole freaking procedure had been! But, relief I wanted and relief I received. The doctor was in and out and gone. But I wasn't going anywhere.

When they do this procedure, they take a lot of precautions. Most people get to have sex and then cuddle or simply go about their day, but considering how much money IVF patients pay, they want to give us the best chances possible. This means I literally had to stay flat on my back for the next 24 hours. But first, I spent 20 minutes on my Transformer table where the drop-down part had come back up, but the entire thing had tilted so that I was in a reverse angle with the blood rushing to my head "to keep things in." So, that meant 20 more minutes of awkwardness as nurses flowed in and out around my shivering gauze-thin blanket covered nakedness while I tried to relax on an upside-down table. Sex has never looked so good.

After my time had passed, I was transferred back to the gurney and into an outpatient waiting facility while they slowly raised my bed's angle until I could sit up, get dressed, get wheeled down to the car, and sped home so I could get back on my, well, back again. And that's how I stayed for the next 24 hours. Ah, memories.

I am now ten hours away from repeating this entire process again. Yippee? I know that in our case it's a necessary evil, and luckily I don't have white coat syndrome or anything near the like, but it certainly isn't my idea of a good time. And, like my first visit back to the fertility clinic, I'm not sure how I'll feel once I arrive at the hospital. I supposed time will tell. So, wish me luck and perhaps I'll have a different transfer story to tell you in a few days... and hopefully a much better story to tell in nine months.

Weeping Angels

Lurking Weeping Angel
from Dr. Who

You know that feeling when you step into a place and you feel like you've been there before? Or you have a conversation you swear happened months or years prior? That's deja vu. It's usually pretty subtle - a hunch or fleeting feeling of familiarity - but mine has been much more concrete. Sometimes I feel like this entire year has really been an episode of The Twilight Zone, complete with flashbacks and an ending that feels more like the beginning of an entirely different creepy story. And more present than my lurking monsters is the feeling that we've done this before.

Now I know what you're thinking: of course you've done this before! You really have lost your mind! But that's not what I mean. It's more the emotion of the thing. Last year, we stepped into this process quickly and hesitantly. As you know, I went for an informational meeting (by myself) and committed us to an IVF cycle the following month. This year, I've had nothing else on my mind but trying again; however, when the time came, it felt equally rushed and I was even more hesitant. The last time, I had a really hard time feeling excited about the pregnancy. (Perhaps this had something to do with the needles, bizarre and terribly restricting diet, and the surgeries.) I bought books and we poured through baby things, from names to supplies. This time, it's hard to let myself look through those baby things and it's hard to get excited. As I told my friend today, it's hard to find the balance between skepticism and excitement. And it doesn't help that looking at baby stuff sends echoes of the past washing over me. How to you get excited to restart the thing you failed so epically at the first time?

But aside from the emotional deja vu, there are some very concrete reminders. Of course, there are the physical things like the sharps container, pill routines, and wonderfully pleasant vaginal ultrasounds. But as if repeating the process might allow me to forget, fate seems to be playing a cruel trick. Last year, we started this process in August, transferred in October, and mainly had appointments on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This year, we started in October, will transfer in November, and have had most of our appointments on Mondays. But despite those differences, and against all rational prediction, major dates are echoing each other. Our second ultrasound this cycle was on Halloween. Last year, we found out we were having twins at an ultrasound on Halloween. And I just found out that I will do lab work to determine if I am pregnant after the transfer (which, by the way, is now Sunday Nov. 11) two days before Thanksgiving. Last year, two days before Thanksgiving, I learned I was having triplets. Seriously?! What are the odds? And why do I seem to have all of the bad luck?

Sometimes I'm okay. I can see the connections and look at the past, but then look forward and into the future. Other times, the parallels stick with me and I just can't shake them. Today was one of those days. It wasn't that I was focused in on this new Thanksgiving-related coincidence. I wasn't even picturing my experience that time last year. It was just an emotion - an overwhelming sadness. I can't say I was specifically mourning the loss of my children, but I was definitely mourning something. Sometimes it's sparked by a deja vu moment - a shared date, one of my children's names in a TV show, or a smell that sends me back to my week in the hospital. Other times it seems to creep in unannounced. It's as if they are the Weeping Angels of Dr. Who. They wait for me to turn away, be distracted, try to move on... and then they strike. But I can't look back forever - even when life is throwing reminders in my face - so I guess I have to turn away and take my chances with the angels.

Halloween

Time may fly, but
Maya doesn't.

You know the saying, "Time flies when you're having fun"? Well, it flies when you're not having fun, too. I absolutely cannot believe that it's been over a year since we began the IVF process and it boggles my mind to think of all that occurred in the span of that one little year. And here were are, on the cusp of Halloween, staring this monster in the face yet again.

And a monster it truly can be - full of surprises, scares, and sometimes, laughs. Just this last Friday, I went into the office for my first ultrasound. (Not the fun "let's see the baby" kind, but the kind where they shove a wand up your vagina and poke around to make sure there are no cysts or other obtrusions.) When I went to check in, the receptionist asked in a hushed voice, "So have you started your cycle yet?" I didn't think twice before correcting her. "No. I'm still taking the birth control pills like I was told." But it was really that monster lurking and preparing to spring out from the dark. I was supposed to stop taking those pills four days prior. My heart sank and the receptionist said, "Well, he'll go ahead and do the ultrasound anyway." But what did that mean? Was I going to have to wait until January to do the transfer? I had a million questions that kept tumbling around in my mind and I had plenty of time in the waiting room to feel them turn and crash in on each other. And each rotation brought my spirits lower and lower.

Luckily, my mistake did not turn out to be as catastrophic as the receptionist implied. Since this is a frozen embryo transfer, it seems there is a lot more wiggle room with the process. They were able to push back my blood test to see if my hormone levels were dropping as they should, and I even got confirmation that, if those tests are okay, I can do the transfer towards the end of their week in the hospital so I won't have to take time off of work. And more good news: I found out the pills I had to "take" vaginally during the last cycle I get to take orally for this one. Unless you have had these types of treatments, you have no idea how happy that can make a girl. Aside from the news that I wouldn't have to endure (and pay for) meds for another two months, that was the best news I had gotten all day!

But all of this reminded me of the hesitancy I have felt since we started trying 2 1/2 years ago. Although we made this decision together, after 33 years of being childless, it's hard to imagine the changes a baby will bring. But it was even more than that. From the start of our first cycle, I knew we would end up with twins. It was our joke. I had what the lab tech called a perfect uterus. (Too bad no one else will ever see it.) Every blood test came out perfect. I had absolutely no problems at all. None. Yet something in me felt like this wasn't going to work out. Like it wasn't meant to be. And yet we planned, shopped, dreamed. But at every appointment, I waited to hear some sort of bad news. I wasn't dwelling on the negative; I just had this nagging somewhere deep inside. I don't even know if I ever articulated it to anyone, but it was always there peeking out of the crack in my closet door like the monster it was. So although I didn't expect the setback to be my fault, there was a part of me that thought, "Well, there it is," when the receptionist exposed my mistake. I held my breath when Dr. Sueldo came in to do the ultrasound because I was sure he would say I had to wait until January. But he came in, opened that closet door, and "poof!" that monster was gone.

Don't let this monster chase you;
he's super speedy!

And yet, here I am on the eve of my blood test - the one that will determine if my body is responding appropriately and is, therefore, ready to move forward in this cycle - and in the back of my mind I see myself getting negative results. I'm sure there will be some sort of hang-up and we won't be able to go ahead with the procedure. But if the test is okay, which it probably will be, I have another ultrasound (this time to check the thickness of my uterine walls to see if I'll be ready for the transfer) on Halloween. You might think, "Well, that's fun!" And that's exactly what we thought last year when the first ultrasound we had of what we then confirmed were twins fell on Halloween. Really, what are the odds? There's that pesky little monster again, popping up when you least expect him, eliciting some emotion you thought you had conquered long ago. But I supposed, just as in any monster movie, you have to forge ahead. You can, of course, do that running, screaming, and flailing; but you either run ahead or you die, and I'm not ready to die. So, tomorrow, a blood test. In a week, another ultrasound. Until then, I will do my best to peek under the bed, throw open the closet door, and march bravely down darkened halls without fear. And if, by chance, there is a monster in there... well... there may be a little screaming, but I'll do my best to make it out alive.

And So It Begins

A familiar package of meds, but
far fewer than last time.

As you know, we decided to do another IVF cycle this November and my first "protocol" appointment was yesterday. And, despite his busy schedule, Brian was even able to meet me waaaayyy out there and then rush back to work.

Just like the first time, it is mind boggling how much happens on that first appointment. But my first mistake was likening this to my informational appointment last September. As I was getting ready a the crack of dawn that morning, I thought, "I guess I should shave my legs, huh?" But then I thought about my first appointment last year - a nice, sit down and chat sort of thing, and decided I'd be fine with a little stubble and a little less speeding on my way to work. That wasn't the right call. We walked into the office to find the full spread on the counter. (Women, you know what I mean. All the little swabs and cups and tools.) I was thrilled, but what could I do?

What you may not realize is that each appointment takes forever. I know some doctors take a long time, but usually once you get back in the room, things move along. Not with my experience with IVF. Yesterday, I filled out the mountain of paperwork, waited a bit, went back into the room, got changed, waited some more, had my uterus measured (they check for a clear path as "practice" for the transfer), talked to the doctor, changed, and waited some more. Then, we saw a PA who explained one thing, went and did something, came back with more info, left again, and so on. In other words, I should always bring a book. And this is pretty standard practice.

My appointment yielded some interesting news. My doctor was very sympathetic - like genuine sympathy and concern - about how our last IVF attempt, which was nice to see. Then, he reviewed our options and our odds for each. As I heard the first time, there is a 40% success rate for one baby with two blastocysts, a 25% chance of twins, and a 3% chance of multiples. He then said that in the 25 years he had been doing this, he had only seen six cases like ours. Six! I think that's way less than 3%! (And once again, I felt an urge to play the lottery.) He then explained that there is only a 17% chance of pregnancy with one frozen embryo, which was our plan. However, their last cycle had a 74% success rate with that same scenario, so clearly these odds are not always accurate.

Since the last time we did this we did a fresh transfer, he explained the frozen process, which was enlightening. Normally, they pump the woman full of hormones, but prevent her from ovulating, which causes the production of an excessive amount of eggs. They fertilize those, watch them for 3-5 days, choose the best looking two, and freeze the rest. We already did that, so we get to use the frozen ones. Because they normally transfer two blastocysts at a time, they freeze them in pairs. So in our case, they will defrost (I'm sure there's a technical term for this that doesn't make me think of thawing a turkey for Thanksgiving) a pair of blastocysts and choose the one that looks the best. They will then refreeze the second blastocyst and prepare the best candidate for the transfer. We have five fertilized eggs, so we'll have some backups if we end up in the 83% who's transfer doesn't take.

What I think has surprised me even more is how easy this process has been thus far. By this time in my first cycle, I was putting down $2,000 for meds and scheduling blood draws every week. I also had a special diet that basically left me eating apple sauce, grapes, and toast with butter. Today, I filled all of my prescriptions, which totaled less than $350 and I was only told to limit my caffeine and sodium consumption. I did have to have a second uterine X-ray (which was no fun and also required me to show my stubbly legs on Wed) but I don't have to have any blood work done in the immediate future. Piece. of. cake.

Well then... what do I need to do? I'm already taking birth control, low-dose aspirin, and prenatal vitamins. Now I will add Luprin (hormone) shots every night. I am also taking an antibiotic to prevent infection after the uterine X-ray, which is done kind of like an angioplasty, but with clear dye and a catheter... and definitely not in your heart. (I know you're jealous.) I have other meds that I will start taking later, but that's all I have to do until my appointment a week from tomorrow when the doctor will perform a vaginal ultrasound (again, I know you're jealous) to see if I have any cysts that have developed since we did this a year ago. If all goes well, they'll put me on some more meds (yay) and I'll go back in a week and a half for another vaginal ultrasound (I can see you're turning green with... envy. Let's say envy.) to check the thickness of my uterine wall. And when that's thick enough... whammo! We do the transfer. That will happen sometime during the week of November 5.

So, that's where I am right now. The visit really wasn't very emotional for me. It's rather easy to detach when everything is tests and paper blanket covers and unending forms. And that was pretty much how I felt the last time. It all felt pretty clinical until everything began to go downhill. Hopefully, that won't happen again, but I guess we'll know before too long. I can't believe how quickly time has passed. In some ways, February feels like yesterday; but in others, it feels a lifetime away.

Thanks again for joining us on this journey. I hope that you find my posts entertaining, educational, and even therapeudic. And I still encourage you to share this with others. I hope it will become a valuable tool for people to learn about IVF and coping with preterm labor loss. I'll be posting here before too long and giving brief updates on my facebook page www.facebook.com/imgonnabeawhat. Feel free to "like" me there for more exciting, hormone-filled, clinical baby-making commentary.

There's No Such Thing as a Free Baby

I'm sure you've heard the saying, "there's no such thing as a free lunch." It's really an economics argument, but the principle is clear: nothing comes without some sort of cost. Now, most people fear the cost of having children from birth to college graduation, but having fertility issues means you pay a lot for the same privileges that random sixteen year old pregnant girl in the mall got for free. (Although she'll probably pay far more for her baby in non monetary ways.) Our first go-round cost us about $13,000. Yup, about the same as my first brand new car. I'll find out on Wednesday how much our second attempt will cost. But point being, it's not cheap.

Now, I have said over and over on this blog and on my facebook site (facebook.com/imgonnabeawhat) that I'm not in this for the money. And I'm not. Seriously. (And obviously, since I haven't made a penny.) However, with the debt of our first attempt still looming over our heads and the new costs of the procedure, medication, and frozen blastocyst storage on the horizon, I started to think monetizing the site wouldn't be such a bad idea. So I reinstated my Amazon Associate account and here I am asking you for a little help.

And helping is so very, very simple. I'm sure you've seen the ads on my page. (I figured, well, why not include them.) I know sometimes they're not so relevant and sometimes they may be a bit offensive. (I don't control the content. Promise.) But clicking on those gives me money. I know this concept is probably familiar to you, but I thought I'd throw it out there anyways. The more interesting source of revenue is actually through Amazon. Their Associates program allows me to embed links to products that they carry. Clicking on those hyperlinks (even without buying) gives me a few cents. Plus, anything you choose to purchase via that link - it doesn't even have to be the product the link promoted - gives me some kickback. So, if you know that you're going to buy something through Amazon, you can use a link on my site and I will actually get some residual pay without any expense on your end. Fabulous, no?

So this is my plea. While you're enjoying my blog, could you click on a few things once in awhile? My debt and I would really appreciate it. In fact, I'll give you a chance right now. Check this out!

Now that I'm on the verge of a new IVF cycle, I'll be returning to a couple of key pregnancy books that we invested in at the start of our last pregnancy. The Pregnant Body Book is an awesome book that allows you to see inside the female body from fertility to post-conception. It's like the Grey's Anatomy of pregnancy books. It helped me to feel more connected and knowledgeable about how my body was changing and I will be unearthing it again shortly. The other book I completely fell in love with was the Mayo Clinic Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy. It has a ton of great, relevant information to help make pregnancy less scary.

So... please click on something. Pretty please? Remember, you don't have to buy this stuff. Click on the Pregnant Body Book and roam Amazon for your new favorite workout gear or some new music. Using my link helps me financially. And/or click on some of those ads you just scrolled past (on the right). I would really appreciate it. Thanks!

Here We Go Again

First round of meds from
round one IVF in 2011

Back in August I decided that I had better switch from daily vitamins back to prenatals. It was a small decision, but you'd think those first pills were hormone injections from the feelings of hope, anticipation, and dread I felt as they slipped down my throat.

Two days ago I had to call the fertility specialist and announce that I had indeed started my period. Now, this is not something I generally announce to my doctor, let alone the world, but I was following the rules. (I guess this would be an excellent time for a disclaimer. Since I am going through this process again with a reading audience, I will be documenting in much detail what I am experiencing. I will do my best to give warning if something might offend the sensitive reader, but some things may get past my already-lost-my-modesty-through-IVF-and-childbirth-three-times sensor. So consider yourself warned.) Back to my period. I'm not sure about all fertility specialists, but in this office they run all the women on the same schedule. So, when you start your period, you call them so they can get you on birth control pills. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but it's not if you really think about it. First, it helps them to get all of the women on the same schedule so that they can have a designated week when they're in the hospital for procedures. Second, birth control pills trick your body into thinking that you are pregnant, which is why you don't get pregnant. They will transfer the blastocyst when my body already thinks it is two weeks pregnant, so starting off with birth control pills is actually a natural choice... once you've really thought about it. And tonight I take my first pill.

Once again, a very small pill signifies something great and I'll admit, I've been experiencing mixed emotions as of late. I look at friends who are pregnant or who have new little ones, and there is a blend of anger, jealousy, and happiness. I have mourned with a friend over recent pregnancy loss, which took a toll on us both (although clearly on her more than me). I feel the hope of making it through this process and having a little person - someone half me and half my husband - and that seems amazing and somewhat impossible. And terrifying. I doubt every time I do something and I feel the weakness in my back or the grinding in my hip and I wonder if my body can make it through this again. I fear that searing pain and helplessness. My head fills with memories of hospitals, injections, ultrasounds, medication, tears, plans, hopes, inquiries, and uncertainties any time I let my mind wander. And I know I have full control over this decision whether or not to move forward, and yet it doesn't feel like a choice. It feels like it's the only option I have - we have - to ever feel whole again. And so we move forward and try not to look back too often. And it's all I can do.

So what is forward? Tonight, it's taking my first birth control pill in a year... along with my horse pill of a prenatal vitamin. Wednesday, it's returning to the fertility specialist for my protocol appointment where I'll learn how exactly this process will be different from our first. Then it's on to hormone injections, weekly appointments and blood draws, and waiting.

I've had several people ask how I'm feeling about this whole process. Although the true answer changes frequently, overall, I am optimistic. I believe the major issue was what my perinatologist called a "triplet thing" and, to some extent, really couldn't be helped. The secondary issue of my cervix shortening can be discouraged through a minor outpatient surgery. These things give me hope that our second time through will not be for naught. But I haven't yet stepped foot into that fertility office again and I honestly don't know how that will feel. On the one hand, it's a step in a positive direction for us. On the other, it may feel like a dark deja vu. I suppose it would be naive of me to expect anything in this process to be simple or straightforward. So, as my mom used to say, we'll keep on keepin' on, taking it one step at a time, and see what happens. Heeerrre we go again!

Good Timing

Although we didn't plan it this way, our decision to begin IVF again in November came at the perfect time. Anything having to do with babies and pregnancy weigh heavily after you have lost one, and there were a ton of people I knew who were pregnant and having babies shortly after we lost our triplets. But the biggest hurdle for me was a friend who had struggled through IVF during many, many cycles became pregnant with triplets and who told me within a month after our loss. I understood her excitement, fear and desire to reach out to the only person who could come close to understanding her situation, but it was difficult nonetheless. Well, today she had her triplets. From what I understand, mom and babies are doing well. Now, of course, we are happy for her; but there is still that pang of resentment - of why did it work for her and not for me? I know it's irrational, but it's there.

But that wasn't all. Another dear friend of ours recently learned that their baby has a birth defect that may take her life before she is ever born. Today, her doctor confirmed that the chances are virtually nonexistent, but they are choosing to go forward with the pregnancy to see what happens. This hit close to home for me. Although our circumstances were very different, we were faced with a similar decision after we lost Ewan. The twin's sack was no longer in tact and had to be sewn up and we weren't sure about Amelia's position. Things were tenuous and we had the option to end it right there. But I had hope. If there was even a chance that I could keep them inside long enough for them to survive, I had to do it. That is the same decision my friend has made. Shortly thereafter, she asked friends for any advice for coping with that decision. Despite my shared experience, I had nothing to give. On the one hand, you want to encourage hope. On the other, you know the odds are staring you down. You have to stick with hope and endure the result. It takes a strong person to make that decision and it's a position I wish on no one.

These two scenarios are poignant reminders of our not so distant past: the struggles, the possibilities, the loss. They break my heart, but there is this glint of redemption in November. I don't mean to say that a baby will solve everything. (In fact, it will complicate many things.) But trying again represents our ability to overcome a fear. It's like metaphorically getting back on the horse, I suppose. It's something we can to not to overcome, but to move forward. And it becomes that little reminder that all is not lost.

If at First you Don't Succeed...

You know the old axiom, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again!" Well, we certainly didn't succeed at this whole I'm-gonna-be-a-what thing, so I guess we need to try, try again. And try we will!

In the spirit of openness (despite recommendations from friends) I am letting you know that we will begin the IVF process again this November. We were planning on December, but there isn't a cycle then and we decided not to put it off until January. So there it is!

As you have read, it has been difficult getting to the place where we can really consider trying this again; but even as we were losing our children, we were inquiring when we could repeat the attempt. It's weird. We never really felt a strong pull towards parenthood, but in losing our children, we realized how much being parents means to us. So we knew that we would do this again.

I don't know what it will feel like to go back to the fertility clinic and revisit the dietary restrictions, daily hormone injections, and vaginal goos and pills, but I think we're ready for it. We will never be over losing Ewan, Amelia and Sebastian, but I believe that moving forward with another pregnancy will help the healing process. And, all things considered, we are in a good place. My physical therapist says I'm progressing nicely, so if I keep up with my exercises I should be strong enough to carry a child. My reproductive side seems to be okay, so says my fabulous OBGYN, and the specialist seems to think it's okay to move forward. So here we go!

This next round will be easier. I won't have to undergo as many hormone injections because we have five frozen blastocysts (fertilized five day old eggs) that are available to transfer. We transfered two last time and ended up with three babies, so this time we are going for one. All they need to do is get my body to think it's two weeks pregnant by the time of the transfer, follow the directions, and hope for the best.

My protocol appointment is October 10, so I'll know a lot more then. I promise I will keep you updated. Although there is always a chance we will lose this pregnancy, too, I am committed to being open and honest about the process, my emotions during it, and the results. I hope that it helps people now and in the future. So stay tuned and please keep sharing my information. Thanks for all of your interest, love and support... we're going to need it!

Them Young Folk

"Good habits formed at youth make
 all the difference."
- Aristotle

"The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently."
- Friedrich Nietzsche


I began teaching at twenty-five. I hadn't developed my teacherly persona and didn't know much about dressing the part, so I was often mistaken for a student. And, in fact, I was pretty close in age to many of my students. Sometimes, even younger than they were. But now I've been teaching for eight years and my students and I are growing apart in age. (That's not to say there aren't still some older students, but on average, I'm becoming the twentysomething's version of old.) It's inevitable, but disheartening to learn your students were born around the same time you graduated from high school.

There are many stereotypes about this generation that is entering adulthood. Every generation gets their label and their matching characteristics, and these guys are the Millennials. Experts describe them as narcissistic, entitled kids with short attention spans. And some are, but nothing is ever that simple or easy to define, and I'm glad for that.

Today I got to sit down with a few of my female students after class. It started with a conversation about calorie counting (I know, so stereotypical, right?) but slowly moved into a conversation about their failed relationships and my failed pregnancy. Everyone was curious, respectful, and eager to share, and our conversation quickly moved from the light topic of dieting (no pun intended) to stories of pain, loss, struggle, and striving to overcome. I learned I was not the only one of us who had experienced the loss of a baby and my own thoughts were reflected in her self doubts. I heard of infertility in friends and family; how pregnancy can be both a curse and a blessing, but how parenting equals love no matter how difficult it may be. It was amazing and simple and honest and... beautiful.

As often as I see entitlement and narcissism, I more often see transparency and curiosity. I think those are the important qualities in our Millennials. My generation was one of big changes. Like our grandparents who experienced the invention of the automobile, the factory, several wars, the cell phone, and computer, we have seen significant advancements. We have seen the development of the Internet, growing awareness for causes that were taboo and "dirty" (like AIDS, breast and testicular cancer), the growth of women's rights, and the explosion of text and dimishing of the printed word. But the Millenials have grown up in a world that is more equal than it has ever been, with ease of communication and fewer taboos than any of us have known. I believe that is what makes it easier for them to be curious and feel okay sharing about difficult things. It's not that women are going around telling everyone about how they were raped or that they had to get an abortion or that they lost a baby; but in a safe environment, I think they are more willing to share this information that older women, even women of my generation. For this, I am thankful. This gives me hope that infertility, miscarriage, and pre-term labor loss can lose their shades of guilt and shame. That we can speak of these things with wisdom, medical knowledge, and empathy in order to help those who have experienced them and bring awareness to those who have been and will be lucky enough to never experience them.

So, to those students (you know who you are) and to other Millennials like them, I thank you and encourage you to break more barriers and bring more of these hushed subjects into the light. As Mahatma Ghandi said, "Be the change you want to see in the world." My hope is that we will all embody that and change the world.

Keep Spreading the Word

Tell me all about it!

I got some amazing exposure after my post "Spread the Word" and I thank all of you who visited and/or promoted my page. Unfortunately, numbers dropped back down again after that big push. I think a lot of that comes from people being reluctant to "follow" the blog. Without some consistent connection, the blog falls down the priority list and often out of mind for awhile. I've been trying to figure out how to change that and finally it hit me: Facebook! As bad as it may be, people (myself included) are addicted to Facebook. So, I just created a page for this blog: www.facebook.com/imgonnabeawhat Now, people can check in and share my information on a platform that is probably a part of their day to day lives. My hope is this (and probably starting a second Twitter account) will help to spread the word about IVF, miscarriage and preterm labor loss.

As I move back into the "real world," I am reminded over and over again about how important these issues are... and how little people talk about them. Then, I have to remember that breast cancer and testicular cancer and even sex were very taboo topics not that long ago, and that birth control is still relatively new and is still controversial in some circles. And, despite the amazing advances women have made in the last half-dozen decades, motherhood and parenting are still very gendered and very touchy subjects that we like to gloss over. So, I have to take pride in those who are willing to come out - as painful as it may be - to share their stories and be vulnerable with people, and I will feature those brave women and men whenever I run across them. And I would LOVE your help promoting these sites - not so I can make oodles of money, but so I can hopefully help get the conversational ball rolling about these amazingly important issues that remain hidden out of sight.

And please, please share this information with anyone and everyone you know! You would be amazed at the number of people who secretly share that they, too, have experienced this loss. And if you see anyone else talking about this, please let me know so that I can connect our sites and expand on this newly emerging community.

Thanks!

Six Months

Tomorrow marks six months since we lost our last two babies. Honestly, I hadn't even thought about it until a coworker (who lost her own baby 1 1/2 weeks before we did) emailed me about the connection. I had a trip planned for that weekend and everything. When I realized the dates, I almost backed out; but my husband and I decided it would be a good distraction. And I had been doing well emotionally. It had been a long time since my last big breakdown and I was feeling pretty stable. So off my friend and I drove today... to Monterey.

Some of you may remember that we scattered the ashes in the ocean. Well, we did that in - you guessed it - Monterey. And we're actually staying in a hotel that could be walking distance from that same beach. Still, I thought I'd be fine. But here I sit in my car, just back from sitting on the beach staring at the barely visible white froth of the crashing waves while weeping from my gut. It's one of those cries that I had never experienced until losing the babies. I have to imagine that was how the word guttural came to be. But, despite the sadness, I felt the need to write. So here I sit in my car, typing away.

It's a strange sense of loss. It's not like we lost a six year old child, or a parent, or a lifelong friend. We lost children we only knew for a few hours combined. I never even felt them move while I was pregnant. So it's a strange thing to miss them, but I do. But mostly I'm sorry that they will never be able to experience life, love, pain, joy, sorrow, anticipation, Christmas, their first day of school, a first kiss, being tossed into the air by their dad, leaning to drive... the list goes on and on. I'm not guilty - I did everything I could - but I'm sorry nonetheless.

So I mark this six months as an important day - one deserving of love and remembrance. I hope that their ashes have scattered around the globe and that their DNA is now a part of many different plants and animals. That, in a small way, they are alive and fueling the planet, maybe even making life possible for some other creature. And here I sit, trying to make sense of my feelings, staring at a vast black ocean, a starless sky, and a glowing screen - looking to the universe and my own words to make sense of it all. Somewhat unsuccessfully, I might add.

All I can do is wish a happy half-birthday to my little ones, Ewan, Sebastian and Amelia. We love and miss you all. Love, Mom.

Miles to Go Before I Sleep

"But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep."
  - Robert Frost

"I put a piece of paper under my pillow, and when I could not sleep I wrote in the dark."
  - Henry David Thoreau

"Sleep - the most beautiful experience in
life - except drink."
- W.C. Fields

If you've known me for any length of time, you know that I can sleep like a champ. I LOVE sleeping. And yes, I understand that it is wasting part of my life away... but it just feels so good to lie there in those soft, billowing sheets with your head cradled in a fluffy imitation down pillow. Ahh... even just describing it makes me want to go take a nap. But lately, sleep has not been my friend. I can get cuddled up in my lovely bed, find my perfect position, and... nothing. I toss and I turn for hours until, finally, sleep finds me. This (along with not having any sort of a schedule) has pushed my sleep schedule back far beyond where my upcoming 8am schedule will eventually allow. I've been working to change this habit, but it's harder than it appears.

Anyone who remembers the joys of summer vacation also remembers the trials of going back to school. No more late night hours watching movies, hanging out with friends, or reading under the covers. That schedule change alone is enough to slowly shift your sleeping patterns; but my situation is a bit more complicated. I would assume anyone who has gone through trauma experiences something like this, but those dark moments between going to bed and falling asleep - when your mind races or inhabits what my sister calls "crazy brain" - those moments change. I've come to realize that those are some of our truest moments in the day. We can distract ourselves with work, errands, TV, friends, family... you name it, but when all distractions are gone and we are left alone in the dark with nothing but our mental faculties, we learn what is truly on our minds throughout the day. For me, it used to be lists. (I have learned that I feel more in control when I can articulate what I need to do and when.) But now, it's almost always baby related. Even on days when I feel emotionally stable and think I've kept my mind on other things, when I close my eyes, that's what is there. Sometimes, it's future related - only X many months until we can try again. What might happen? Will my back hold up? Other times it's memories, some more traumatic that others. At times, I can feel certain sensations (most not pleasant) from my time in the hospital and during the birthing process. Those are the worst nights. It's amazing how accurately my body can recall those sensations. But no matter what I do, I generally cannot pry my brain away from this subject.

I suppose in a way it's a good thing. When I am thinking about the future, I am much more motivated to get myself healthy. But when it means not falling to sleep until 3:00-4:00 am, it becomes a hassle. And, although I don't remember any bad baby related dreams (amazingly enough), the fear is always there that falling asleep while meditating on baby trauma will lead to baby related nightmares. The truly frustrating part is that I don't believe I can do anything to change any of this. All I can do is keep on keeping on and hope that, like the kid who is thrust back into the routine of school, my teaching schedule will force both my sleep and my brain back into normalcy.

Spread the Word

Our triplets at 12 weeks

I have recently gone back to work and also had the opportunity to hang out with friends who I haven't seen often (or at all) since the beginning of my pregnancy. Although our conversations weren't entirely about our IVF process and the loss of our triplets, they often meandered back to the subjects and it really reminded me how important I feel it is to talk about this stuff. I am still unsure why fertility and pregnancy loss continue to be taboo topics, but I believe that should change. Much like the important and growing awareness of previously hush-hush topics like breast cancer, alcoholism and mental illnesses, fertility and miscarriage/preterm labor should be things that people are aware of - not so we can fear them, but so we can understand them (and those who experience them). That is why I have made some structural changes to my website. You'll notice it is no longer anonymous. I have also updated my profile and have begun linking to other blogs - some topically related and others that are not. My hope is not that I'll become a millionaire from blog traffic (although I wouldn't be upset if that happened); it's really to bring awareness to issues that are sadly prevalent in order to bring awareness and healing to people.

I ask that you would help me with this by officially following me and sharing this blog with others. I know it has been slow as of late, but I will keep it steadily growing. And we do plan to repeat our IVF and hopefully our pregnancy story in the not too distant future. And, despite my own desires for self-preservation and the cautionary words of friends and family, I plan to document it all here as it happens. I can't in good faith promote a conversation that I'm only willing to partially participate in. So, please help me to build that conversation through shares, comments, tweets, follows... whatever you can and will do. And thank you to everyone who has loved and supported us through this past year. It's been quite a journey and I hope you - and many others - will continue it with us.

And just so you know it's coming, I'll be posting about our six month marker in a couple of weeks. I truly can't believe it has been that long.

Healing

It's been almost a month since my last post. Luckily, things have been pretty slow around here. I guess it has been a time for healing... in many different senses of the word.

On June 15, 2012 I finally got my back surgery. I knew it wouldn't be a quick fix, but I was disappointed by the results. I came out of surgery in excruciating pain and, since I had been on Vicodin for so long, the pain meds barely scratched the surface. Although my surgeon had told me that some people don't even need medication after the procedure, it was painfully clear (pun intended) that I would not be one of those people. Progress has been slow and at my four week appointment, my surgeon was disappointed that I was still experiencing sciatica pain. (The sciatic is a large nerve that runs down your back and legs and, when pinched, causes pain and numbness.) However, I also saw a spine specialist that same week who was optimistic and quite pleased with my progress. (I guess this is why we get second opinions, huh?) I had learned of a new treatment called fibrin, which regrows discs in the spine, that is going through the final stages of clinical trials. I wanted to know if this specialist knew the fibrin guy and what other options he might have for long-term care of my spine now that the herniation is gone. He spoke highly of this new treatment, but said it would cost me between $15,000 - $30,000 since I need three levels... and I might need to have the procedure done more than once. (It's not FDA approved yet, so no insurance will cover it.) Since we had already gone down that financial road for IVF in the first place, his second (and actually much more emphatic) suggestion was to get in the best shape of my life and stay there. So that's what I'm doing.

My husband and I have both been on a health and weight loss track, so we joined a local gym. And yes, in case you're wondering, we have in fact used the membership. I have to take it slow because, technically, I don't have the okay to do anything more than walking and riding a recumbent bike. But I'm determined to get active and get my body back into shape. Of course, I want this so that I can get back into my "skinny" pants (not skinny jeans), but it's also about the health of my spine. And that will affect my entire life... and my ability to potentially carry a child again (hopefully just one, this time!) which we hope to do in another 4-6 months. I'm sure some people feel that is too soon emotionally, but I feel that it will help the healing process. We have never ignored or repressed our feelings about losing our three babies. We can't get them back, but we can try again and hopefully have a successful second journey.

So... we are healing. There are still tough days, but there are more good ones than bad. We have seen new lives come into the world since we lost ours and we have hope for more healing in the coming months. I will be returning to work in August, which I am both eager and terrified to do. I posted awhile back about how hard it is to tell some excited person that our triplets didn't make it. And all of my students knew. I dread entering the classroom and having to tell students this... and then having to continue my day as a professional. Luckily, I'm doing a soft return to work. Since it's the middle of our 8-week session, I get to work on the office side for a few weeks. My hope is that I run into enough students to spread the word before my true role at work begins again. But I suppose I'll jump that hurdle when I get to it.

For now, we are continuing to take one day at a time. We work through the bad days, celebrate the good ones, and we try to keep each other motivated to continue healing and strengthening our bodies and our spirits. And, all things considered, I think we're doing pretty well.

I Don't Want a Baby

I know, I know. Shocking... and not, right? But it's not what you think. After a lot of thinking and a lot of talking, I've determined that I have never wanted a baby; I have wanted children. Let me explain.

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that I have never been - and probably never will be - a kid person. There are some people who, when they see a baby, feel drawn to it as if by a mysterious force. They just have to pinch her little cheeks or pick him up for a cuddle. Not me. This is no new revelation for me, but it has become more obvious lately because my best friend just had a baby.

Now, I had a very intimate role in my friend's birthing process. More intimate than most, I'd imagine. Due to complications, the dad was not going to be able to attend the birth, so I volunteered to be her "birthing buddy." I wasn't sure exactly how that would go and I was a little nervous about it for several reasons, not the least of which was losing triplets less than four months prior. But I was determined to do it... and do it I did.

When the time came, I took her to the hospital and stayed with her through the night during contractions, epidurals, walking the floors, dilation, and small failed attempts at rest. I even had the "daddy bracelet" which meant that, other than Mom, I was the only one who could sleep in the room or visit the nursery, if he was taken there for any reason. Up until this point, people had asked me how I felt about my best friend being pregnant. (We were only about three weeks apart, gestationally.) And honestly, it hadn't really bothered me. I knew the birth would be a different ballgame, but I also knew it would be much different than my own experiences, so I hoped that would be enough to get me through.

And indeed it was. I was front row for the baby's birth - yeah, literally holding her legs while she pushed. There was no hiding from what was really going on and at times, it was hard. But I'd find something benign to focus on, like the clock, get myself evened out and jump back in. There were only two moments when I really lost it and, all things considered, I think that was pretty good. But that's not the story I meant to tell. For me, the revelation came a bit later.

It really wasn't until after my friend had been moved up into Postpartum and I held her son for the first time that I realized that I really had no emotional attachment to this child. Other than being his mom, I couldn't have been in a more intimate position in his life at that moment, but I understood what an increasingly growing number of parents are saying about not experiencing that love at first sight moment with their infants. I loved this little guy, but I wasn't in love with him. And, if I am really honest with myself, that's kind of how I felt about our own children. With Ewan, I didn't know how to feel. It was so foreign and strange to have this little thing on my chest. I had no idea what to do with him. When Sebastian and Amelia were set in the same place two days later, I felt a slightly stronger connection, but I didn't know how to be in love with them yet. And, tragically, I won't have the chance to develop that love with them.

So what does this make me? I'm the one who paid $13,000 to have babies and I'm now admitting that I didn't love them. What's wrong with me?! Nothing. (At least I hope not.) I think it's perfectly normal to not know how to love your first baby. This doesn't mean that I don't miss ours terribly. But I think the difference is that I mourn our children, not our babies. What I mean is that I don't want a baby. I don't yearn for little wiggling arms and squished up faces. If that was the case, then I think I would have been a wreck during my friend's delivery and I would be fawning over every little one I could get my hands on. But I'm not. What I want is our children. I want to experience their baby years, of course; but it's more about them as people than as infants, toddlers or teens. When I mourn for them, it's for the people they could have been, not the preemies we held for a precious few hours. And oddly enough, this brings me comfort and it is allowing me patience. I think if it was a baby I wanted, I would be yearning after them left and right (especially since everyone around me seems to be pregnant and popping out babies). But I don't want a baby; I want our child. And for that, I think I can wait.

Something to Talk About

I was a shy child. Anyone who knew me back then could tell you that. I often hid behind my mom at events and rarely spoke up. As you can probably guess, that's changed over time. I may have more stage fright than you might expect from reading my posts (and since I teach for a living) but when there's something that needs to be said, I will do my best to say it. Or, in this case, write it.

There are just so many things that people don't talk about. You'd think in our day and age we would be over these social taboos, but we're not. That is one of the reasons why I have chosen to write this blog and keep it up despite the loss of our pregnancy. People don't talk about the IVF process. People don't talk about what really happens during pregnancy. And people certainly don't talk about miscarriage and pre-term births. Throughout our process, I have asked myself "why?" and I've tried to break the cycle and talk about it... and people are reading what I write, so I hope that it is helping. And tonight I happened upon a TED Talks by Rufus Griscom and Alisa Volkman, the husband and wife team that co-founded babble.com. They spoke about four parenting taboos, one of which was miscarriage. There, I found Alisa Volkman answering one of my "why" questions - why don't women talk about miscarriage? It apparently happens quite often, so why the big secret? In their experience and research, shame was the answer for many women. Many women felt like they were at fault, at least partially, for the loss of their pregnancy. That is heartbreaking.

I had asked this same question to my sister several weeks back. She is not a mother and has not experienced miscarriage, but she proposed a similar theory. She didn't necessarily speak of women feeling they are to blame for their loss, but that perhaps there was a stigma attached or they felt shame in some other way. After watching this TED Talk, I also wonder if it's a fear of tarnishing the illusion of parenthood. Griscom and Volkman make the point that many couples are sold a false image when they jump on the parenting bandwagon. They see pictures of beautiful, smiling families having summer picnics or frolicking in the surf, yet no one tells them about the loneliness and depression, the crying kids, or the financial struggles to come. And if we talk about our families not being perfect - or worse - that not all pregnancies are easy and go as planned, then the shine starts to tarnish and people begin to question our abilities to... what? be parents? be "normal?" be true men or women? I'm not sure.

Now I understand that speaking about miscarriage is painful. Trust me, I completely understand that. And that also makes it difficult to talk about with others. But I think there is such value in the talking. We never question training, counselors or mentors for things like going to college, choosing a job/career, getting married, etc. These people and services help us to prepare mentally for things to come so we don't walk into our first job expecting to get paid $50 per hour with amazing benefits and where we can make our own hours. Why should we give one another more guarded information about something as monumental as becoming a parent?

So I wanted to share this TED Talk with you because I, too, believe that we need to talk about the taboo in order for people to build appropriate expectations for parenting. This way, we can all enjoy the process and find comfort with those who have experienced its highs and lows instead of groping our way in the dark, feeling isolated despite the others just out of reach beside us in the blackness.


http://www.ted.com/talks/rufus_griscom_alisa_volkman_let_s_talk_parenting_taboos.html

Mother's Day

I've never really thought much about Mother's Day. Sure, we get together and celebrate our moms by buying them trinkets, taking them out for brunch and writing them sentimental cards. But what about women like me? What about those who are mothers in one sense, but for whom the day is not a happy one, but a painful reminder of losses, not gains?

This was my first Mother's Day as a mother and yet it was not what I had imagined it to be. A few people wished me a happy Mother's Day, but others either forgot or didn't know how to breach the subject. Both are acceptable because it wasn't really something I wanted to be reminded of. In fact, I didn't want to be out on Sunday at all. I didn't want any well-intending waitress to ask if I had children. I mean, what do I say to that? Do I tell a feelings-sparing white lie and say no? Do I say, "none living"? I'm not sure. Part of me wants to go with the second response, not to make others feel bad or embarrass them (because, really, it's not their fault). I guess it's more because 1) I don't want to ignore the fact that I did have children - either for my sake or for theirs - and 2) it would bring more attention to this taboo issue of miscarriage and preterm births. But it's hard to get the words out sometimes and it's even harder to see that person stammer and apologize for something they had no fault in.

So on this Mother's Day weekend, we decided to say our final farewells to our triplets. We had waited longer than intended, but my body and our schedules had simply not permitted us a trip out of town... and it wasn't something either of us were looking forward to doing. We decided early on that we didn't want the remains to stay in our home. It's not that we didn't want to hold on to our children or to preserve their memories; we just didn't want to do it in that way. In some ways, it was too painful for me to have the shadow of their bodies in our home. But now that it's gone, there is a part of me that mourns it. I can understand the desire for people to hold on to their loved ones, even in death. Even when we know that there is nothing of that person left within that body. There is a part of me that craves their closeness and holding on to that hideous blue box with the cheesy white dove on it fulfilled that to some extent. But I do not regret our decision. I prefer knowing that our children's spirits are free and their bodies are back within the cycle of life and nature. That their DNA is disbursing amongst the plants and animals of this world and, in that little way, they live on. For me, that is better than having their remains with us or buried within the earth.

On Sunday, while my husband spent some time with his family, I took one of our dogs, Bones, and headed up to the hills. We didn't do much walking due to my back problems, but we drove around and did make a few stops to wander about. Bones thoroughly enjoyed himself and it was refreshing to be away from home and people who knew our situation. No one asked me how I was doing. No one wished me a happy Mother's Day. It was just Bones, me, and the winding road. I know Brian was sad not to be with me, but sometimes it's better to be alone... just for a time. And I knew he was waiting for me when I was ready to go back home.

And so I made it through my first Mother's Day, less than three months out from our children's first and last breaths. At the beginning of the year, there was a good possibility the babies would be born and we would be spending our Mother's Day in the NICU. Little did we know. In some ways, it all seems a lifetime ago or like a dream that only felt real. But we made it through the toughest part. Now, we are slowly putting February behind us, one moment at a time... Mother's Day included.

Two Months

It's been two months since our life path took a downward turn. On Feb. 23, 2012 we lost our first born son, Ewan - the first of triplets to come into this world for far too short a time. In some ways, this feels like an eternity ago. In others, the pain is so close that I can't believe two months have passed. And in other ways, it seems too surreal to have actually happened. I have days where they rarely cross my mind, but others where the urge to touch them is so incredibly strong that I can do nothing but mourn the distance. I'm afraid today may be one of those days.

The thing that continues to surprise me the most is how much I miss these children that I didn't ever get a chance to know. So many people who have lost loved ones will say that they expect to see them walk through a door or show up for work or to a family function. I guess I've never had that experience. The loved ones I've lost have not lived near me or have slowly faded from my life (generally due to illness) before they have actually passed. In that way, I had learned to live without them long before they were truly gone. But in this case, we never really had our loved ones. It's weird because they were obviously with me all of the time, but I never really felt them or experienced them. Because of where the placentas were, I never felt the babies kick or move until they were out of my body. This is also something I mourn. If I had felt their movement during the pregnancy, I would have been able to feel their presence for longer than the few hours we had them after their births. But that's all the time we were given. On so many occasions, I feel like we will get them back. I know it's impossible, but it's such a horrendous thing that sometimes my brain won't let me acknowledge that it actually happened and those 5 1/2 months of pregnancy were for nothing. But then I remember the pictures and sneak a peek at the ashes we still have not been able to scatter, and I realize that it did happen. That I can't change it and I will never know my three beautiful children and it breaks my heart. It's amazing how quickly life can change.

So, two months out. Where does that leave us? Despite the waves of sadness, I still believe we're handling this experience in a healthy way. We continue to talk about it when needed, distract ourselves when necessary, and try to look towards the future without ignoring the past. My body is finally starting to recover from a horribly prolonged healing process. It took a second D&C to rid my body of extra crap in my uterus so that I could stop bleeding, cramping, passing blood clots, and running 100+ degree fevers. Now that one aspect of my health has recovered, I'm focusing all of my efforts on getting my insurance to preauthorize the spine surgery that I need for a full recovery. I'm scheduled for a second (more powerful) epidural injection in about two weeks to help with the pain and have been calling Cigna almost every day to follow up on the appeal process. I also have a referral in to another spine specialist for back-up and possibly other options. I am determined to fix this last remaining physical reminder of this horrible period in our lives so that I can get back to normal day-to-day life. Right now, I will begin short-term disability and not return to work until the beginning of July. Hopefully, that will be enough time to process the appeal, get the surgery and recover. Until then, my life is pretty sedentary and uneventful. (Except for all of the angry phone calls and lots of time on hold.) Although I still can't quite fathom the idea of returning to work and being held responsible for a batch of students, the idea of going back to "normal" life is definitely appealing. Not to mention wanting to rid myself of this physical pain. I am very grateful, though, for my gracious employers, full-time work that offers short-term disability benefits, and a fabulous husband who supports whatever I need in order to heal physically, mentally, and emotionally.

So, onward and upward. My battle to slay the dragon that is Cigna and win my prize (can back surgery really be considered a prize?) continues. Hopefully my three month post will be filled with good news and healing of all sorts.

So Over It

In life, things seem to ebb and flow. No one expects to be "up" forever and we certainly hope we don't have to be "down" for too long, either. It's a matter of balance. It doesn't matter what your faith or religion, we all believe things generally even out in the grand scheme of things. So perhaps this year is just me paying for the good things that have happened for us lately, but honestly, I feel I've paid my share and am ready for things to turn back around. They don't need to be great or even good. I'll take neutral. Neutral would be fantastic.

This has been a bad week - maybe couple of weeks - for me. I have worked really hard to analyze myself and keep myself looking at the positive to stay off of antidepressants, even though it may not look that way from the outside. But it's getting harder and harder to stay afloat. It's like being stranded in the middle of the ocean. At the beginning, you're just fighting to keep your head above water. Then, you get in the groove. It's hard, but you realize that you can do it with slow, steady, controlled movements. But eventually, you get worn out and the waves start slapping you in the face and all you want is a little break so you can catch your breath, but it doesn't come. When I feel like this, I recap what my life has been like. It seems like that would bring me down even more - and sometimes it does - but it also brings justification for my emotions and my apparent lack of sanity.

In the past eight weeks, I went from having a healthy "normal" pregnancy with triplets, to having a shortened cervix that prompted home bed rest, to throwing my back out, to a vanished cervix that caused hospital bed rest (and horrible drugs), to losing our firstborn son, to losing our son and daughter, to having a D&C, to returning home, to making decisions about our deceased children's remains, to learning I have a large herniated disc that may cause permanent damage, to learning back surgery is the way to remedy this, to getting my first epidural shot (without the promised "happy drugs"), to learning that my insurance has denied my surgery, to a series of phone calls to fight the denial, to a second epidural shot (tomorrow). That's a lot of shit to go through in eight weeks. And this doesn't count the heartbreak, bleeding, passing of clots, and complete breakdowns that come with birthing and losing three children.

Now, as I continue to fight Cigna and gather information in case this second review is denied, I find that I'm quickly losing strength. I am drained. I am lost. I am at the end of whatever metaphorical rope I have managed to hold onto in these last two months. A friend sent me a text today asking how I was doing. My first response was "fine," but I followed it up with another text saying that I lied. The only good news I've received in eight weeks of hell is that I don't have to have a second D&C, the prospect of which was horrible news when I received it. How can anyone be fine after all of that? I'm too rational to be suicidal, but I am so over this. I'm ready to go home. I need this to start going a better direction... or... I don't know what. I just know I can't handle much more. Some people have said that God won't give me more than I can handle, but I want to punch those people. (Sorry if you're one of them. I know your heart is in the right place.) I'm telling everyone right now. I can't handle any more. I NEED things to go right and they need to start going right immediately.

I am sick of being in pain. I am sick of being sedentary. I am sick of being in too much pain to exercise. I am sick of wearing maternity clothes that only remind me of what we have lost. I am sick of having nothing to talk about but my fights with Cigna and how my medical appointments went. I am sick of making people feel awkward just by my presence. I am sick of taking pain meds. I am sick of crying at the drop of a hat. I am sick of having to explain my medical history to every freaking doctor and their however many assistants. I am sick of people responding to the loss of my pregnancy by asking, "All of them?" I am sick of making my husband sad and/or frustrated because I'm sad and frustrated. I'm sick that we haven't been able to scatter our children's ashes because of my back pain. And I'm sick at the prospect of not getting surgery and having to live in this hell forever. I am at a total loss and I am so over it.

Movie Magic

We all know that movies employ their own special type of magic - from costumes to makeup and special effects to overly wrought scripts. But I always thought that actor's reactions were the most overdone of all. No one is really that in love. No one would react in that extreme a manner to a dramatic situation. But I've come to realize that some of those reactions are not so fictional; I simply hadn't experienced the stimuli needed to evoke them.

My first real experience was this was a few years ago. I was commuting from Fresno to Visalia, 100 miles round trip through mostly farmland, and on my drive home one day noticed a strange smell. I then started to scan the road for the source of said aroma and I noticed one of those big, blue trashmobiles - the kind that usually clamber through your neighborhood at some God awful hour to toss your bins into their larger one. But this one was different - there was a cow leg sticking out of it. I soon realized that the truck was carrying what appeared to be a large heap of bovine carcasses! And as soon as that realization hit me, my hand immediately shot to my mouth as a small gasp escaped from my lips... just like one might see in a movie.

As traumatic as that was, it doesn't hold a candle to what I have experienced lately. When people say their heart is breaking, you feel it's cliched and (at least I) generally feel they are being over-dramatic. When you see characters in movies doubled over and in tears, I write that off to emotional manipulation - and sometimes just bad acting. But it is actually possible to feel that kind of sadness. I understand that now. It is possible to feel like something inside you has been ripped apart and you don't know how to be whole any more. Now, the movie situations may not accurately correlate to those emotions, but they are possible.

Today, I learned of another emotion that I previously felt was over-dramatic and unrealistic - and I wish I could say it was a happy one. This evening I received a call from the surgery scheduler about my back surgery. I had been groomed to expect good news and have been preparing for surgery early next week, but the news was not good. My insurance (Cigna) had denied my claim. I went numb as the scheduler explained the situation and gave me some tips on how to appeal it (which, luckily, I had the good sense to write down) but I knew the aftermath would not be pretty. When we finally hung up, I was in tears because my surgery had already been put off two weeks and I have been in an increasing amount of pain in the last few days. Plus, I mean, seriously!? Could I just catch a break here? Please? But then I went from sad to gut-wrenchingly sad to almost catatonic. I would just stand in the kitchen and stare at nothing or find myself rocking slightly in some random spot - just like in the movies. And then I was mad! So mad that I was punching the air because I didn't have anything else to hit. I couldn't believe it. I had never felt like that before and, with any luck, I won't have to feel that way again. But it is possible. I just think Hollywood trivializes those emotions by pairing them with more benign events, which makes people like me doubt their existence and even possibly wonder if something is wrong with me because I haven't had those reactions to those experiences. And now that I have experienced them, well, I kind of wish I hadn't.

Although they may lend to an interesting blog or musing session, most of my movie magic emotions have stemmed from shock or despair and I feel I've had enough of those things. I am ready for the happy ending that Hollywood also promises. This is the point in my story where the audience thinks, "Wow. She can't take much more of this" and then things start to look up: the fairy godmother appears, the hero gets a chance to prove himself, the hero/ine realizes an important clue that will help solve the mystery. That's what I want. I can't get my children back and I can't reverse the damage done to my body, but some magical insurance fairy can certainly work her magic to get me this surgery covered so that my healing can begin and I can set a path for "normal" life once again. So come on Hollywood. It's time for some real life magic here.

Thanks and Appreciation

As you all know, this has been a really difficult year for us, but there have been many people who have worked to make things easier and who have gone above and beyond to show their love and support for us. I want to use this post to thank some of those people.

Brian
First, I have to thank my loving husband, Brian. He has always been attentive and supportive, but he has been amazing through this entire process. He says that (almost) any husband would act this way, but I don't believe it. From my first night in the hospital (when we thought I would be there for weeks, if not months, on bed rest) I had to virtually force him to go home and not stay with me overnight. And when things did start to go downhill, every night he slept in a chair in my freezing cold room (the Mag made me incredibly hot) and hopped up any time a machine beeped (which happened ALL of the time) or whenever I needed anything. And during each delivery he was at my side, supporting me, holding our children, and telling us all that he loved us. Since we've been home, he has done so much to compensate for my ailing body, from adding to his normal load of chores to doing me endless favors. And that says nothing to the emotional support. Although we are both hurting in our own way, he is there for me whenever I need him and we are working through it all together. And now he's going to continue with this loving behavior as he supports me once again during my back surgery. (Yes, this is still gratitude, not covert manipulation. I promise.) I wish every person could say their spouse was that amazing, but I'd venture to say that mine is far better than average and I am grateful for him.

Family
Our families have definitely stepped up and shown their love and support during our pregnancy, loss, hospitalization, and recovery. My mom was with me from the very moment I was admitted into the hospital and has been there whenever I have needed her since. My dad was scheduled to fly in from Texas the following week, but moved his trip up when he learned of my hospitalization. Although we didn't know it at the time, that move allowed him to be in town as things turned south and as I returned back home. Unfortunately, my sister was on a business trip in Dubai during the week of my hospitalization, but she showed her support via email and, despite jet lag (it's a 12 hour time difference), exhaustion and illness, drove up from LA the day after she returned. And my brother-in-law Sean came to see us and show his love once we were out of Labor and Delivery. So much love and support... and those are just the people who were in town. My uncle has sent several beautiful notes, as have my cousins. My niece Paige even drew me a lovely picture with scripture that inspired her and brought us comfort. And my step-mom sent me a beautiful letter and myriad texts to check in with me along the way. I have even received messages from cousins and more distant relatives online. These things all mean so much to us and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Friends
I wish I could thank all of you individually, but I know I would leave someone out, so I'm not even going to try. Just know that we appreciate everything you have done - from the friends who gathered in my recovery room at the end of our hospital stay; to those who coordinated and brought meals; to those who have come by just to spend time or invited one or both of us out to a meal; to those who sent cards, messages or flowers; to those who have simply sent prayer or well-wishes... we love and thank you all. And we are grateful for your continued support. Even this last weekend, we were surrounded by good friends on both Saturday and Sunday night. Little moments like that make a big difference.

But I do want to share one specific moment with you. On Saturday Feb. 25, the day we lost Sebastian and Amelia and I was moved up to the fifth floor, our friends surprised us and literally flooded my room. (Thank you fifth floor nurses for being so amazing and hospitable.) Among those friends were Scott and Ashley Larios who had their first born, Lucy, at 23 weeks. They were lucky enough to have her survive and grow to be a healthy little girl, but they understand more than most what we were going through. So they told Lucy that they were coming to visit us in the hospital that night. I don't know what details they provided, if any, but apparently she said, "I know exactly what they need" and promptly created the drawing you see here. It was incredibly sweet (and an amazing likeness, if I do say so myself) and it is now framed and hanging in our home. So thank you, Lucy!

Colleagues/Friends/Alumni

I had the honor of going through a Master's program with some amazing people and this last week, those people surprised us with a beautiful gift. I'm not sure who initiated or coordinated it, but we received a packet of letters and this beautiful silver branch with hearts that say Ewan, Amelia and Sebastian from this group of people whom I barely see. Many of them now live out of state and most I never hung out with outside of classrooms or literary/composition events, but they have rallied around me online (there definitely are some advantages to social networking sites) and our friendships have grown from there. I have hung up this sweet gift next to Lucy's drawing in my office (what was to become the nursery). So a huge thank you to my friends, colleagues, professor, and fellow alumni: Andrea, Elizabeth M, Sharla, Nicole, Georgia, Ginny, David, Travis, Jenn, Liz S, and Maryam.

Coworkers
Last but not least, I want to thank our coworkers at both DeVry and FCC. Not only have our bosses worked with us during this difficult time, allowing us time to grieve and take care of necessary things, but they have supported us with generous acts of sympathy. FCC sent us a beautiful azalea bush and sweet card from the department and DeVry rallied together to provide us with meals and sent a lovely bouquet from the campus. Thank you to everyone who volunteered to provide food and/or who has checked up on us over the last few weeks.


There have been so many reasons to be appreciative as we've worked our way through this process and if I have forgotten to include your contribution, I am truly sorry. We are thankful to have all of you - even those who just "lurk" (as my friend called it) on the digital sidelines - who love, support, pray, send positive thoughts, and do generous things (like drop off mystery cake on our porch). We love and appreciate you all.