Archive for the 'pregnancy' Category

Back me up here Muppets…its not just me right?

I recently got a comment that I absolutely must to respond to.  Not because it was bad.  Quite the opposite.  The commenter needs support, advice and to know that miscarriage isn’t like high school.  There aren’t a whole lot of mean girls behind her talkin trash and calling her fat.  While I’m kinda like the last person anyone should ever really listen to – which oddly seems to be exactly how everyone else feels as well – I’m going to dole out my best reply:

Dearest Emma,

Wow.  You have just gone through something gut wrenching.  It sucks ass.  The pain that you have experienced with years and years of trying to do something that so many people can do accidentally is only trumped by the pain of actually accomplishing it for a brief moment and failing to see it through.  I know.  I’m sorry.  While I know you have most likely been given all kinds of words of wisdom and advice about how you should feel, and how it will get better, and you’re not alone, and puppies and kittens and bla bla bla, I don’t really feel this is what you were asking me for.  Am I right?  We all know that nonsense and frankly, hearing it when we’re just a few weeks out from the death of our babies, we’d rather snap your head off your neck and pee in it just to get you to shut the fuck up.

When I lost Ashley, I was angry.  Nobody could make me not angry. All I wanted to do was hate everybody and make everybody around me go away.  This (kind of) included Mark.  While I didn’t blame him for our loss, I didn’t feel like he was doing a very good job of fixing it.  And after all, as my night in shining armor, damn it he should have fixed it.  It absolutely put a strain on our marriage and our communication went sour.

Part of me felt that I never ever ever wanted to intentionally put myself through that kind of pain again and didn’t think I’d ever see a future with a baby in it.  And yet, part of me was anxious to start the next cycle so that we could get this whole baby doin thing over with.  I only shared the former with Mark, but secretly wanted him to jump in and be Mr. Optimist pushing me to get right back on that horse.  He wasn’t.  We took a break.

It wasn’t long at all before I really really wanted to get started again and didn’t really see why we were waiting.  Seemed retarded actually.  And since Mark was going on his marry way waiting for me to say I was ready, I grew resentful of him.  Which, in turn, was retarded.

I’m not at all sure why, but for some reason I felt weird telling Mark I wanted to try again.  Like I was scared to even mention it.  I didn’t want him to be mad at me, not be ready and reject me, or judge me. (All while also resenting him for not figuring it out because…well frankly I’m complicated)  I kept it to myself for a long time.  I hinted, but would never flat out say:  WTF are we waiting for?

Here’s what I’ve since realized:

While you went through it together,

You: carried dead bodies inside yours.

He: watched his wife crumble in pain he never thought he’d witness and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Its tragic for both of you.  You will never be able to understand each other.  The healing of each of these experiences isn’t going to be the same or happen at exactly the same time.  He doesn’t understand you and also doesn’t want to hurt you.  He basically doesn’t know what to do.  It takes time to get back to normal.  To not want to kill everyone.  To have optimism again and see that the world has an excellent plan for you.  While you are still physically healing, you’re mentally healing too.  And so is your husband.  Its ok.  And when you’re ready.  Tell him.

Why couldn’t I tell Mark I was ready?  Because I wasn’t (even though I totally thought I was).  But with time, I did tell him.  We started communicating again.  It didn’t seem weird to discuss an actual future with kids and spaghetti-o’s and everything.

I’m so sorry that you have to join our club.  Just reading your comment took me right back to where I was a few weeks after my MC.  I think (you know, from my awesome therapy couch here in virtual therapist land where I totally know everything about you and have every right to tell you what to you) you two just might not really be ready to talk about it.  Its ok.  You will be.

Now I’m just really hoping your not getting ready to pee in my head…cause I kinda need it.  Well.  I like to think I do…

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Moving on.

Where the hell have I been you ask?  Well?  I guess I don’t really have a good answer for that at all.  I’ve been here.  Last week would have been Ashley’s 2nd birthday.  That kinda took up my thoughts for a lot of the week, but I was trying really hard not to get all obsessed with it.  I know some might say I have a right to, but I just don’t want to.  You can’t move on if you’re stuck in the past and I want to have a good life AD.

That wasn’t meant to piss anyone off.  Some people definitely feel differently and that’s ok with me.  I just have a very hard time dwelling forever.  I do dwell for sure, but do I want to be celebrating Ashley’s 30th birthday all sad and wishing she was here?  No I don’t.  I hope that at that point I will be celebrating an alive birthday with an alive child/adult.  One who has filled my life with a ridiculous amount of joy and pain – teenagers – and made me feel full.  I want nothing more than to look forward to that rather than dwell on what is not.

That doesn’t mean I am not sad or don’t feel robbed.  Of course I do.  And I miss her.  And I wish I met her.  And I want to have that 2 year old little girl here right now.  But I think that part of healing is moving on.  And I’d like to think that is what I am doing. Right or wrong, this is my plan.

So that was my week last week.  While I was thinking quite a bit about my baby, I also got to think about the baby shower that was planned for Thursday at work.  Awesome right?  Well lucky lucky me, it got moved to tomorrow.  And as my luck is clearly overflowing these days, the pregnant mom to be actually went into labor today and the shower is canceled altogether.  I completely dodged that bullet!!

I should probably run out and buy some lottery tickets and have sex with my husband like normal people in hopes of making a life…

Some things that have happened recently

  1. My fuckwit cousin that has no sense in her head and is most likely a drug addict pretended to be pregnant to get money from my family only to “lose” the baby when it didn’t work.  And no this isn’t a joke, speculation, or guess.  It. Really. Happened.
  2. I started therapy with Mark to try to rebuild our relationship so that we can be happy again.  You’d be surprised how 4 years of infertility, addiction, and bi polar disorder can put a strain on a relationship.  I know.  Shocked the hell out of me too.
  3. I had my very first cavity filled and acted like the biggest baby about it.  That’s right folks.  I’m no longer perfect.  My tooth has a flaw.  But just my tooth.  Let’s not make too much of it.  Take it down a notch.
  4. I made myself a birthday cake just because I really really really wanted a piece of cake and well?  To have a piece you need a whole one.  It was lovely.  Almond cake with raspberry filling and an almond butter cream frosting.  It totally looked like a wedding cake, so frankly, I’d like to think of this as me making myself a fancy dessert usually shared with 100+ guests.  NOT my own birthday cake.  And no, I didn’t cut the first piece while yielding a shared knife with Mark.  And to the best of my knowledge there were no photographers present.  Although I can’t quite be certain of that.
  5. O.  One last thing.  I told my mom about my infertility, miscarriages, my blog all of it.

No babies for me

Cycle canceled indefinitely.

No children for me.

Husband’s medication made his swimmers all die unexpectedly.

Planning massive funeral for 100 million deaths.

Need  copeus amounts of alcohol.

Going into a cave….I’ll come out eventually….

Am I too emotional? Umm fuck you?

Let me just talk here.  My turn.

My cousin is pregnant.  Accidentally pregnant.  Wait let me start over.  My fuckwit of a cousin with not a sense in her head, no job, no responsibility, no accountability, and no sense of reality is pregnant with some dude twice her age’s kid.  Fair?  No.

I dont even know where to begin with this one.  My family has somehow convinced themselves that she is faking it to get money and attention.  Is she?  Perhaps.  I guess we wont ever really know will we?   I mean obviously if she’s faking there will be no birth.  I mean this isn’t Days of our Lives here.  She can’t call in a look alike that just so happens to look identical to her and just so happens to be pregnant the exact same amount of time and needs like a place to live and $10.

She’d obviously have to fake a miscarriage as well.  And well?  That is pretty much the worst thing I think anyone can do to me – indirectly of course as I am not so self centered as to believe that her financial misfortune and stupid decisions have anything to do with me.  Accept that they fucking do when you fake baby killing for a buck.  Fuck you Sarah.  Fuck. You.

But is it possible that she’s not faking it?  Well.  I guess so.  Although I saw her on Thanksgiving while she bathed in 2 bottles of wine and smoked her ciggies.  At what is now known as her being 6 weeks preggers.  I obviously know enough about the miracle of pregnancy to know that its possible she didn’t know then.  But its also not exactly a clear cut case. If she’s not faking, OMG how terrible that everyone thinks she’s faking?  Wow.

I am pretty sure I will never know either way.  Frankly, I don’t really want to.  I’m mad enough as it is.  Mad that she fucked a grandpa with sperm older than my dad and got one to stick.  Mad that someone I’m related to would even consider such a ridiculous scheme to get money.  Mad that everyone would rather assume she’s faking it then actually try to deal with how this is going to go down.  Mad that its not mine.  Mad I didn’t fuck the grandpa with supersperm.  Wait.  Do you think I still have a chance with him?

So there’s that…

I’m also freaking the fuck out.  Mark and I are fully invested into our IVF cycle and now that I’m nicely suited up with hormones for my special journey, I’m panicking.  Not because of the cycle.  Not because of the likelihood it will work.  No I’m panicking because of my job.  The economy is fucked y’all.  Anyone notice?  Doesn’t this seem like the worst time to plop all your savings down on a chance?  Even if this chance is literally what I want more than anything, if I lose my job, we’re completely screwed.  And what if Mark loses his job?  If it happened to either one of us, we’d be in some serious trouble.  And then where would that leave us?  Under a bridge that’s where.

Nobody is safe right now.  I don’t feel safe.  As much as I want to feel good about things, I can’t stop myself from planning for my inevitable layoff.    If we continue with this IVF, we’ll be ba-roke.  OMG if something happened to my job I’d be terrified.  And it doesn’t help to be plump full of crazy juice does it?  That’s not going to help a damn thing.  And stress isn’t going to keep me pregnant.  I certainly didn’t last time.

So there you have it.  BabyBound is a big ass stressball of crap.  Got a pregnant fuckwit cousin, a scary job, no babies, and stress to fill everyone’s stockings and then some.

Have I mentioned that I’m emotional?

O Merry Christmas.

Its time to go.

Is everyone ready?  Do you need to go potty before the IVF appointment?  Well let’s just try ok?  I’ll try too.

I know its just the first consultation appointment and that I have close to zero questions about what is about to happen to my body over the next 60 days, but its still a big step for us.  We’ve been so gun shy about this since the dead baby vacuum suckin.

I was checkin out the doc online again today and it reminded me of all that awesome stuff I’ve been missing out on.  I have to admit, I kinda got excited to have my boobs get 2 sizes bigger and all those pesky little cysts get 2 sizes smaller (well, in comparison to the ridiculously giant eggs I plan on producing).  It makes my stomach all giggly inside to picture what my ass will look like after precisely 62.5 shots of foriegn, man made hormones diluted in oils that should be in my frying pan, not my ass.  Can’t you just picture that huge black bruise already???  O and let’s not forget my arm.  Yayayay my arm with little itchy bumps from lupron!  Its too bad its winter so I can’t show them off around the office and cause some fun little rumors about my newly acquired, upper-arm drug habit (I have been acting a little off lately…).  Damn.

So here we go!  On your mark…get set…

Wait.  Did you go potty?

Let’s get ready to rock and roll

November 25th.  11am.

Mark this date on your calendars ladies because the party is about to begin!

So yeah.  This blog claims to be about the wonders of infertility.  And yeah, it aspires to cover every last detail of the journey.

So what if in the last 360 posts over approximately 431.5 days there hasn’t been one mention of an actual IVF cycle.  So what if 90% of what has been written here is simply rubbish.

That’s all about to change folks.

We’re doing it.  We’re goin in.  Nov 25th is the start of round 8,456 trillion.

Everyone raise your needles for a little toast…I’m finally one of you again.  Er.  Cheers?


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