Today's a day of action...

I just made an appointment with an RE in the hospital's fertility center!! It's the morning of September 16.

Since I will already have test results in hand as of tomorrow, there should be nothing left to do but go, and hopefully get the hysteroscopy scheduled right away. Of course, given that it will probably be cycle day 9 by the time I get there, I'm not sure whether I'll be able to have the procedure done before I ovulate or whether I'll have to wait for another period to come. I really hope not. Time to go consult Dr. Google, I guess.

Sweet as punch...

That's what the receptionist at my doctor's office was when I called to see if I could come pick up copies of my test results. Not the normally rude person she's been in the past. Although she does recognize me by name now; I suspect that flag has changed from a yellow Post-it to something that beeps, or glows in the dark.

I can get them tomorrow, after I sign a release, of course.

I can breathe...

For the first time in a long while, I managed to get through a whole day of work without feeling inadequate.

While I had some reminders of what could have been today (the catalog that arrived in the mail that advertises a "Baby's 1st Christmas" ornament, or the slight tinge of pink mixed in with my CM) I did not cry, or dwell, or or even really think about my situation. I just made it through my day and came home.

This is life. This is moving on. This feeling of complete normalcy, which I've managed to forget. I know that I won't do this well every day, but it proves that I can surprise myself.

My head may be congested, and my nose may be stuffy, but boy, did I ever breathe today.

Is it totally pathetic...

...that a 35-year old woman, who is sick and all alone for the weekend, accepts her mother's offer to bring orange juice, chicken soup and cold medicine over to the house? (Especially when said mother lives an hour away??)

I hope not.

Love you Mom.

Learning the lingo...

Some investigative dictionary searching (it's fun to look up new words when you're feeling feverish!) found the word, Lorem; it's actually "lysed", as in "lysis":

Main Entry: ly·sis
Pronunciation: 'lI-s&s
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural ly·ses /-"sEz/
Etymology: New Latin, from Greek, act of loosening, dissolution, remission of fever, from lyein to loosen -- more at LOSE
1 : the gradual decline of a disease process (as fever)
2 : a process of disintegration or dissolution (as of cells)

Or in my case, specifically, as in "hysteroscopic lysis". (Of "uterine synechiae", the other term she used that I couldn't understand. Figured it out later -- Google is wonderful.)

Main Entry: as·say
Pronunciation: 'a-"sA, a-'sA
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old French essai, assai test, effort -- more at ESSAY
1 archaic : TRIAL, ATTEMPT
2 : examination and determination as to characteristics (as weight, measure, or quality)
3 : analysis (as of an ore or drug) to determine the presence, absence, or quantity of one or more components
4 : a substance to be assayed; also : the tabulated result of assaying

Used in context: "The range for a normal FSH level varies from lab to lab depending on the type of assay used in that lab to measure FSH. This is of critical importance, since in one lab an FSH level of 12 may be considered normal, and in another lab it would fall into the abnormal range."

Talked to G just now (he's in Louisville visiting his brother) and he actually suggested making an appointment with Dr. K to hear what she proposes for treatment, to use to compare with my new doctor's opinion.

But I have the weekend to think about that option, I suppose.

Kiss my assay...

Well, I got the results, delivered by the brand new doctor in the practice who had such a thick accent I could barely understand her. We'll call her Dr. Incomprehensible.

To sum up: No evidence of septum. Possible scar tissue in lower segment of uterus. Suggest hysteroscopy for diagnostic purposes, with the option to treat -- i.e., remove scarring, although this is the point where I had to ask her to repeat herself about three times because it sounded like she said it could be "liced"... um, what??? -- during the procedure.

Also - my FSH from cd3 was 11.9. "Not menopausal" per Dr. Incomprehensible. However, on all the sites I've looked up so far, whether a level above 10 is good or bad depends on the type of assay that was used by the lab, and if the good doctor told me that, I didn't understand it.

So... all that said, since I'm leaving this doctor anyway, how do I start?? Any advice from those who have gotten fed up with inept doctors in the past?

I am sick and tired...

Period. End of sentence, no more to say. I woke up this morning with a sore throat, and noticed earlier this morning (right before a meeting where I was lucky enough to be presenting) that I felt woozy, the way you feel when you *might* be getting a fever or a cold or both and your head is kinda foggy.

It is NOT good to be getting sick on a day when you need to be able to call and yell at your OB's office because *no one has called you back with your results yet*...

As soon as I get these results from them, I'm leaving their practice. I am sticking around long enough to MAKE THEM at least tell me the results of this test because I'm paying them to do so, but after that, I'm outta there.

And if they don't call today, I'm writing a letter.

insert clever title here

I decided to try to use a little white lie in my favor this morning, but it backfired.

I called my doctor's office as soon as they opened this morning, and told the receptionist that Dr. K "called when I'd stepped away from my desk" (not really a lie, per se, just stretching the truth? yeah.) and that I was hoping to get my results from her. Receptionist said "you don't want to talk to anyone else?" I said "well, SHE'S my gynecologist -- since I am not yet an OB patient I have not met the other doctors in the practice yet. So yes, I'd prefer to speak with her."

Unfortunately, she is out of the office for the next week.

I gave them my office and cell numbers so that whichever %$@*^&# doctor ends up calling me back, they will hopefully be able to actually REACH me.
----------------------------------------------------

On a semi-related note: my chart this month looks somewhat like a graph of the stock market crash of 1929. If my temps go any lower I will start asking G to check me for a pulse during the night. According to my normal stats, I should have ovulated by now, but something has delayed it (STRESS maybe???). Not that we're doing anything about it this month anyway; I have no intention of going anywhere near G until there's no chance in hell that I'd get pregnant. I feel like I'm in high school again.
----------------------------------------------------

Oh, one last note: I'm a little bitter this morning. Can you tell??

On the day I decide

On the day I decide Dr K isn't going to call and I leave early, she calls and gets my voice mail. The office is closed now, of course. *sigh*

No news is good news?

Or not. I'm waiting for the doctor to call my back about my HSG results. "She's on call, so she's handling deliveries." Yeah, I know; you're in the business of DELIVERING BABIES. No need to remind me that's what normal people do.

Anyway. Hopefully she'll call soon, and not while I'm at lunch.

On an up note, however: we're going to Kennywood (a local amusement park) tonight after work! It seems that G's 95-year-old grandma wants to go, and by gosh, we (along with my in-laws) are happy to oblige her...

Sorry, my brain is full.

I am suffering from a severe case of "attend meetings at work until you want to poke your eyes out" -itis, and sitting in front of an empty blog window for ten minutes trying to come up with a coherent thought was enough to make me yawn and say I'm calling it a night.

However, one closing thought: I seem to keep an internal monologue even when I'm not blogging these days, often times as I'm getting ready to fall asleep, in fact. Actually, I did it before I started blogging, too; last year it was my "Carrie" train of thought (I caught Sex and the City late in its life-cycle, once it moved from HBO to tamed-down reruns); prior to that it was just a part of me, practicing important conversations in my head.

Does everyone do that? Or do I just think way too much about what I want to say?

Oh well. I think I'll sleep on it.

Same as it ever was, same as it ever was...

In the words of David Byrne... "well, how did I get here??"

I've been doing some thinking for the last couple of days, wondering what became of my formerly confident and generally self-assured self. Granted, I know that my recent pain has contributed to the person that I am today, but honestly, I haven't been myself - or at least, the shell of myself - for several years now.

In thinking back to the days when we're at our most vulnerable -- middle school, puberty, high school, dating, etc. -- I believe that I'm in worse shape, self-esteem-wise, than I ever was in my youth. And I wanna know -- what did this???

I don't know what it is that has caused me to second-guess every decision I've made as an adult, to wonder if there really is something I did that caused my losses, to think that one day I will be discovered at work for the incompetent fraud that I am... you get the picture. I am an anxiety-ridden, semi-depressive mess, and that's on top of the fact that 2005 has been the worst year of my life and it's barely half over.

Antidepressants may solve what's ailing me now, but I have to wonder what got me here in the first place?

This is not my beautiful house...

Thanks...

...to everyone who left a comment, your thoughts really helped me through the day.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I had an appointment with the psychiatrist in the morning to talk about meds, and I cried when I got there since it's in a regular "medical office" and I had to get weighed, BP, etc. Made me think of where I'd rather be. But then I talked with this guy, he told me about some programs he knew about over at the women's hospital in town, and gave me a script for Zoloft.

I kept myself occupied the rest of the workday with "busy work"; since we just moved to a new office, that wasn't hard. The presentation I was supposed to be doing in the afternoon got rescheduled. All somehow made it tolerable.

After work, I decided to stop at a local store that sells helium balloons, and buy one to release in the park. When I asked how much to get a lilac one, the guy handed me one and said "free, at least right now. You came at the right time."

I went to the park and stopped at a small playground that was not being used at the time. I wrote a small note on the balloon and then sat on the playground equipment and thought good thoughts, as best I could. When I released the balloon, I took a picture with my camera phone. I think I might do a small memory book and that will be nice to have. I watched the balloon until it was no longer visible, and then drove home.

I may not have wished for this day to be this way, but overall, it was not a bad way to remember what happened.

It's here.

Catherine suggested that the buildup to the actual day is probably worse than the day itself. I hope you're right.

Last night, I dreamed I was at a party with family and friends, and they were all just learning about my two losses. Everyone was very supportive, much more so than they were in real life. I don't remember much else about the dream except that, for the first time ever, I have the distinct feeling I would have been having a boy.

With less than an hour to go... miscellaneous thoughts

I almost downloaded some sort of virus tonight, just trying to satisfy my stupid need to see photos of Britney Spears, pregnant. (Morbid curiosity, I guess, or I like to torture myself - maybe a little of both.) Before McAfee alerted me to my error in judgement upon clicking on the suspect site, I did manage to read that she is likely having a boy, possibly to be named "Preston" or "Charlie," depending which site I believe. Oh, and she "scored a ton of gender-neutral presents" at her recent baby shower. Can I be sick, now??
----------------------
Earlier tonight I saw the Chase Visa commercial that features the Five for Fighting song "100 Years," which shows the various stages of a couple's lives along with their various accompanying credit cards. Commercialism aside, I always used to get teary eyed when I saw it while I was pregnant the second time, thinking of what was changing for me:

I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way
A family on my mind

Tonight, I cried for other reasons.
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Last but certainly not least...lighting a candle seemed like a nice idea this evening, even though it's a day early. (Happy birthday, baby.)

Dear Expedia ("dot COOOOOOM")

This is *not* the week that I wished to receive not one, but THREE copies of your e-newsletter titled "Tips for flying with kids." And your damn unsubscribe feature isn't working.

one more day, one more day...

Don't call us, we'll call you

actual conversation at the end of my mom's *third* call today:

Mom: so, I guess I'll talk to you again soon.

me: ok, sure.

Mom: I'll call you Friday.

me: DON'T CALL FRIDAY!!! (pause) I'm sorry, that was rude.

Mom: Saturday, maybe.

---------------------------------
conversation that followed in my head:

No offense, Mom, I just know I can't put on the positive voice I know you want to hear ESPECIALLY on Friday. Not happening. If I have to go to work (and yeah, I have to, I have a presentation that day, aww, SHIT) then I'm going to do my darnest NOT to do anything taxing that night. (pause) Not that talking to you is taxing. (pause again) You know what I mean.
---------------------------------

I get along great with my mom, really I do. It's just that she seems to NEED me to be less depressed when it's really not possible for me to do that, just yet.

The sum total of my work life...

...fits in five packing boxes. And that's if you count the box containing my four boxes of tea, my light-up jack-o-lantern, my mini Christmas tree (I'm a sucker for holiday decorating!) and the small container of pictures I display to make cubicle life a little more bearable.

At my last cubicle, I had decided to make it as "positive" a place as possible. While I'm not exactly the type to jump on trends like "office feng shui", I thought that organizing my workspace so that I'd feel more good, positive energy wasn't a bad idea.

This next move, all I'm striving for is less drain from the fluorescent lights. (Would that I could find a still shot from "Joe Vs. the Volcano to insert, here.)

The man who knew too much...

Ok, I've read lots of other bloggers post about Dr. Google and trying to make sure we know more than the doctors (which we DO! right??), etc., but I think I read the funniest description of the evil doctor who lives inside our own brains on this blog, where the author describes her own experiences with "the Infoholic Witch." Read it and weep, either hysterically or because you relate a little too closely, like I did...

G told me tonight that I probably "have too much information" at this point to do anything but cause me more worry. He's right; I know he is. One thing I didn't mention about the HSG is that the doctor said he thought he saw "an adhesion" (I think that's what he said anyway) and so I have spent the entire day educating myself on all possible variants of said diagnosis. That, along with the surgical procedures used to remove a septum, and I've managed to SCARE THE PANTS off myself. So why do I keep doing it?? I don't know. Human nature I guess. (Please tell me I'm not alone!)

So for now, the plan is to try to stay calm, wait for the report, and not get ahead of myself. Oh, and to disable my Google bookmarks, at least for a few days. I'll let you know if it works. Ha, ha.

The HSG wasn't that bad. The girl who showed me back into the room said right off the bat "we're using a brand new room today, so don't be surprised if we are looking for things or commenting on the new space." She was young and friendly and that made me feel like laughing when they did it the first time.

The doctor came in and looked at my paperwork. He said "so, apparently your tubes aren't blocked!" I laughed a little and said "yeah, people have told me I'll be more likely to get pregnant after this HSG - well, I can get pregnant, I just can't stay that way." I told him the issue might be a possible septum.

When the dye went in, I winced. It was stronger than a period cramp, more of a pinch, but not excruciating or anything. I could see the screen above my head but had no idea what I was looking for, so I just followed instructions. ("Turn on your left hip. Lie flat. Turn on your right hip...")

The doctor was kind of vague on the results so now I have to wait to see what the final report says. But I'm glad it's over. I totally zonked out after everything was done (probably from the Advil and being nervous) so at least I got some rest.

Come Monday, it'll be alright...

I spent nearly all day today waiting for someone to call me about my HSG. I had been told the day I scheduled it that "someone would call the night before" to pre-register me and to give me instructions. G said to me at least once "are you sure they'll call you on a Sunday night?" "That's what they said..."

At 6:30 p.m. I finally gave up and called the hospital.

The very kind woman at the information desk helped me to track down the radiology tech on-call so that I could learn that there is no special prep, I can eat in the morning (it's preferable since sometimes people get lightheaded) and I can take Advil. I plan to take one of G's 800 mgs. Hooray for unused prescriptions!

This isn't the scary part, I know. I keep repeating that to myself.
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I'm really disappointed about the post that's gone missing, the one with the picture of me and Susan Tedeschi. I can repost the pic, but the thoughts that I posted are gone, victims of a rather large quantity of alcohol the following day. (Yeah, I ended up getting a wee bit trashed yesterday at the pool. Drowned my sorrows, I guess. Yay.)
-------------------------------------------------------
My mom called today, because my dad needed to talk to G. I said hello and went to give the phone to him, and that was all I said to her. She called back a few hours later and asked me pointedly if I was avoiding talking to her.

It's not that... I just didn't want to talk. At all. To anyone, except G. I feel flat, just drained, not emotional in the sense that I am on the verge of tears or anything... it's more like the absense of emotions. My mom said that it sounds like I'm depressed and that she's worried about me. Well, yeah Mom, I'm worried about me, too. It's just going to be something I have to get through.

Five more days now...

Blog experts??

I don't know why, but the previous post won't allow comments. Has anyone ever done mobile blogging (i.e., from their cell phone) before?? I sent that directly and I think that's why it isn't working right.

Oh well. I'm over at my neighbor's pool today (it's our last day of poolsitting and we're taking advantage of it) so I'll post more later.

Seven days, seven days, each week has seven days*

Checking my calendar for next week - the highlights:

• Monday (8/15): 9 am - HSG. As long as I am not wiped out afterwards, I'm coming back to work in the afternoon, not that I want to, but I need to budget my PTO a bit. We'll see how I feel. (I'm somewhat of a wimp about pain.)
  
• Wednesday (8/17): Pack my cubicle to prepare to move, for the seventh time in my 3+ years of working here.
  
• Thursday (8/18): Abovementioned move to new building. Thankfully, a shorter commute, but not-so-great is the $30 increase in monthly parking. (Who needs the annual cost-of-living raise, anyway??)
  
• Friday (8/19): My EDD of loss #1. Also, my appointment with Dr. M, to get meds for depression and anxiety. Hopefully something that will work for both (Zoloft perhaps?) and be safe if we get pregnant again this year - which depends heavily, of course, on the results of Monday's test. I convinced G that going to visit his brother in Kentucky for the weekend on the 19th would NOT be the best time to go. (He's going the following weekend).
  

*Hmmm. It's nice to really live in Fred Rogers' neighborhood, or thereabouts, and my post title was supposed to refer to a song I can *swear* I remember him singing on the show when I was a child. But a Google search reveals nothing related. Maybe I imagined it?? Oh well.

Random email subject headers

"HEY SALAD LOVER!" - This one jumped right out at me. I mean, how did they know what I was doing with that cucumber?? (haha, just KIDDING)

"How do you handle resentment?" - this one, from my church's weekly e-mail. (I say "my church" very loosely, as I don't think I've been there since Easter. Last Easter. I meant to go at Christmas, but went to my parents' church instead, and after the shitty way 2005 started, I never made it back.)

"Re: Update on me" - I sent an update to all of my RL friends, including the one who's said two sentences to me since the second miscarriage; I assume that's because she was offended that I explained to her that the card she sent after the first, despite its intent, was hard for me to read because it was titled "Blessings in Disguise", and I didn't consider what happened to be a blessing. Yep, no word back from her on the update, yet, although I've heard from everyone else.

"Re: Seeking Information" - this in reply to the e-mail I sent to the RE center at our "national center of excellence in women's health" (i.e., the local women's hospital), wondering whether I'd be covered for treatment there and what information I needed for a referral. I'm still not sure about the coverage question, but at least I have the name of a doctor there who specializes in recurrent pregnancy loss, whom I plan to consult after we get through the HSG.

What big teeth you have...

This evening after work, I went to the dentist.

I can remember my last dental appointment very well; it was December 4, 2004. Three days later, I would get my first positive home pregnancy test -- yes, December 7, a day that really did live in infamy.

I didn't want to get x-rays, just in case. The hygenist told me "well, if you are pregnant, then you definitely wouldn't be able to get them at your next appointment. It should be fine." Who's to say now if it was?

My dentist's office has very few evening and weekend appointments, so rather than being six months away, my next appointment was scheduled for August 10. I had already calculated my likely due date as soon as I ovulated, and thought "this would really be cutting it close."

I left that appointment card hanging on the fridge until I came home tonight. I still can't get rid of it.

Nine days to go.

Bumper-sticker psychology

On my drive home today, I noticed that I was following a car with a yellow sticker on its right bumper; it read: "Say One Hail Mary."

After my thoughts the other day about Methodists dabbling in Catholicism, I thought maybe that wasn't the best advice I could follow today.

Shortly afterwards, the car turned right. I continued straight. I looked at the car now in front of me, and in the same spot as the first car, there was a sticker that said "visitIreland." ("dot com," of course, but I was really only concerned with the "advice" portion of the sticker.)

I was pondering whether the secret to all my hopes and dreams actually involved international airfare and a passport, but then just as quickly as the first car, car #2 turned, as well.

And left me following a car whose license plate said "FSH-**91".

Given that today was cd3 and I still have a small bruise from where they DREW my FSH level that very morning, that one left me to think some more. If my FSH would happen to be 91, that's VERY, VERY elevated. Meaning I would have poor ovarian reserve. (Or "old eggs", as I've been fond of calling it lately. If only I could just put them in water to see whether they sink or float!)

I wish I could say I got more clear-cut messages the rest of my way home, but alas, I did not.

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Oh, I got my hair cut this afternoon, shorter than I probably would have liked but at this point I'm not really good at being specific, and it'll grow back. I will try to post a picture later.

Squeaky wheel, or is my chart flagged with "hysterical?"

And not in the "she's so hysterical, she cracks us up!" sense, either.

I must have said or done SOMETHING right, because tonight, at 7:35 p.m., yet another doctor I have never met from Dr. K's office (thank God there's only the three, total) called me to tell me that my bloodwork was back. (ALREADY??)

And.... all were completely normal. ANA was "borderline", he said, but not worrysome. And he knew I'd scheduled the HSG, because he was apparently the one who told Miss A. to put "habitual aborter" - just like Jill! - and "uterine abnormalities" on my prescription, which was all Miss A. really needed to schedule the freakin' thing, while making me wait all day. (I'm not bitter though!)

He asked me if I had any questions, and my mind went completely blank.

And I know, negative results should make me feel good, right?

(Breathe, Lisa, just breathe and try not to short-circuit yourself.)

Not high noon, but...

HSG is scheduled. Monday, 8/15, 9am. It seemed like it was going to take an act of Congress to get this accomplished, but thankfully I must've finally explained myself well enough to poor little "A" in my doctor's office, because she just called and scheduled it rather than transferring me anywhere else. Sheesh.

So, any advice aside from "pop a couple Advil beforehand"?

Rainy days and Mondays just plain SUCK.

First off... apologies to anyone to whom I may have implied that I understand what they're feeling, when I know I really don't. I am having some guilty feelings right now because I fear I may have been empathetic to feelings I really can't empathize with, since I haven't experienced the degree of loss that others have. If I have ever said anything that has offended you in that way, I apologize.

Secondly... I hate work, hate it, hate it, hate it!! I was apparently supposed to be the designee for a project that kicked off the week of my miscarriage, so since I was off, they sent someone else. And never told me that I was originally supposed to be involved. Well, now that someone else needs to be somewhere else this afternoon, and the project needs attention, so it's being dumped back in my lap with the notation that "well, you were originally *supposed* to be assigned to this, but it was when you were off the whole week." YEAH, I WAS LOSING MY BABY THEN, SORRY TO INCONVENIENCE YOU!!! I know, I'm supposed to just be right back to normal, that's why they call it work, right? Well, since I hated it here before this and now NOTHING matters but getting things fixed and having a baby, it's completely unbearable.

Oh, and still no HSG scheduled yet; I'm waiting for a call back. I called the number Dr. K gave me first thing this morning thinking it would be simple to schedule. The girl I spoke with transferred me to radiology, and I don't think she was supposed to, as radiology didn't think I needed to be scheduled there since this wasn't for infertility (checking tubes). So I called the girl in the office back, and explained this, and she said she'd check the chart - well of course, Dr. K's notes aren't in there yet. So she needs to check with the doctor, who is "in the delivery suite" right now. (Where, of course, she could potentially have been with me, had I not lost the first baby; there are just too many things that remind me of what's happened right now.) So once again I wait.

Please let this Monday be over soon.

The rest of my day...

This morning was kind of interesting. We had breakfast out on our deck, and while we were out there, there were these bumblebees that were madly gathering pollen in the hollyhock bush in our neighbors' yard. I happened to notice that one of them was sitting on our deck railing, and when I went over to look, it was literally COVERED in pollen. So much so that it looked kind of dazed. Every now and again it would try to brush some of the pollen off its legs, or body, and there would be this little clump of pollen left in a pile afterwards. There were about four bees that ended up doing this throughout the morning. We cracked up, as it was kind of a funny sight. I tried to take a picture but they would fly away if I got too close.
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Catherine posted recently about seeing butterflies. I thought I'd mention that ironically, there were two butterflies hanging around our backyard all day today, one yellow, and one black. They kept showing up all day. Just like you said, Catherine, I felt like it was a sign of sorts. It made me feel a little better.
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We're pool-sitting for our next-door neighbors while they're on vacation. (Well, actually G is doing the pool maintenance; I am doing nothing whatsoever.) One benefit of pool-sitting is using the pool when it's hot and sunny out, like it was today. I couldn't help but think though, as I was floating on my back, that the last time I was in that pool, was a few days before my first prenatal appointment. The neighbors had invited us to take a swim in the evening while they were going out. We planned on telling them about the pregnancy after we had a successful appointment. I started spotting a few days later.
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My in-laws came over for dinner tonight. It was my idea to invite them. I haven't seen them since we were pregnant, and after the miscarriage, I didn't want to talk to them or see them right away. (Not my parents, either.) I knew that the first get-together was going to be awkward, so I purposefully arranged to have a distraction (grilling out) along with alcohol (my in-laws are both good Italians who like the occasional social cocktail). It was not a bad evening, all in all. (The cosmos helped me, immensely.)

That's it for me tonight.

BTW... Thanks for the kick in the pants about my doctor, girls. You're all right, I know you are. I just need to figure out what I'm doing about it now. I wish I weren't so freakin' passive-aggressive.

About my doctors and timely action...

(Julie, I started to answer your question in the comments and it's longer than a comment would be, so I thought I'd do a post. It's relevant to what I write, anyway. Bear with me, as it's pretty long.)

So how am I getting action from my doctors in a timely manner? Well, let's see. Perhaps I'm really not. After my first loss, I went to the follow-up appointment alone, and took copies of my charts with me since I wanted Dr. K (who has been my gynecologist for the past seven years) to give me a progesterone test.

Ok. I need to back up a bit. Let's go back to 2004; it was time for my annual exam (June-ish?), G and I had a big trip planned in October (to Nantucket, it was lovely) and we were not going to start TTC until after we returned. So I mentioned to Dr. K that we were going to start trying in October, and that I was charting. She said "ok, but when October comes, I want you to put away the thermometer." I also said that I noticed that my LP was on the shorter side of normal (at the time, between 10-12 days) and I was concerned about a possible luteal phase defect. She said "don't worry about that now; just have sex a lot and if that doesn't work, we'll talk."

So, my second cycle started mid-November, and we got pregnant. At 7w4d I had started spotting, they brought me in the next day for an ultrasound, and we had no embryo. Could have been a blighted ovum, or could have reabsorbed, since I didn't have an earlier u/s I'll never know for sure.

Back to the follow-up. Dr. K took a look at my charts and said "well, you're ovulating, so I don't see a problem." I said something about my LP. She said "well normally we like to see them 14 days, but you're close." When I inquired about progesterone testing, she said that "there was no normal level" and she wouldn't do the test. She also said again that I should stop charting, and just have sex on days 10, 12 and 14. When I inquired about the fact that I was almost 35, she said "we don't really worry anymore until someone is 38." I started crying in the exam room.

About four months later I turned 35 and got my period the same week. (Not a "happy birthday", exactly.) But the cycle after my birthday, we got pregnant again; found out Memorial Day weekend. (By the next national holiday I had miscarried again.)

We had spotting this time, too. It was late afternoon on the Friday of the long weekend, Dr. K was on call that day, and had me rush into the sonography department before they closed. We went into the same room where we'd learned about the last loss, which I somehow knew was a bad omen. And as the tech was struggling to find anything, and then saw a smaller-than-it-should-have-been embryo, she asked me "have you ever been told you had a septate uterus?" I told her no, and that I didn't really know what that meant. She didn't explain.

The perinatologist who came in to confirm her measurements also mentioned a septum, but only to the tech. He said little to me until it was time to tell me that I was measuring three weeks behind the 9 weeks I should have been.

I had my follow-up hcg levels after the miscarriage. When someone other than Dr. K called to tell me the results, he was professional in a strangely chipper kind of way. And I was feeling so fragile, talking to this man I'd never met, that I kind of broke down and though I was choking back tears, asked about testing to find out why I was losing my babies. He started talking vague statistics: "most losses" and "very few causes" blah blah blah. I snapped. I said that I still wanted to be tested, whether through their office, a referral to a specialist, or I would find another doctor.

After that, his tone changed; I got an appointment for the following week.

I had G with me this time, and I was prepared to be defiant. Dr. K seemed kind of defensive at times (when she talked about there being no way to fix an elevated FSH level, for instance) but I insisted. The only thing I lost on was the progesterone draw. I think the only reason I'm getting the HSG so quickly is that there may actually be a problem there.

So that's the long story. I still may end up firing Dr. K, depending what she does after we get some of the bloodwork back, but I thought I'd give her one more chance to make me feel she's on my side. I'm sorry that all women going through this (or even worse, later term losses) have to go through agony to get seen, get tested, get results from people they're PAYING to treat them. It's a shame.

Can I get an "oh yeah"?

I've never been so happy in all my life to see that I'm spotting.

Answers, here we come. I hope.

Forgive these morbid thoughts...

"I really don't know why it is that all of us are so committed to the sea, except I think it is because in addition to the fact that the sea changes and the light changes, and ships change, it is because we all came from the sea. And it is an interesting biological fact that all of us have, in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch it we are going back from whence we came."

John F. Kennedy, Remarks in Newport, RI, September 14, 1962

"All drains lead to the ocean."
Gill, Finding Nemo

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This is going to be really bizarre, and/or really morbid, but I thought it, and I'm hoping that someone who reads it will understand why I posted it.

While getting ready for work in our main bathroom this morning, I thought of the second quote posted here, from one of my favorite movies, "Finding Nemo." I miscarried both of my babies in that bathroom, and being that I'd been given no instructions on what, if anything, to do in that situation either time, and being that it seemed impossible for me to do what I've read others have done regarding "saving products of conception", I did the unthinkable.

I can't even type it here. It seems so wrong to say it.

G and I are both ocean lovers, and feel a certain pull to the sea that causes us to make at least two trips to some beach per year, and one trip is usually in the fall. I remember talking about a possible fall trip back in June, shortly after we'd learned we were pregnant again, and I remember this specifically because G had said "we need to go, so we can introduce the fetal [baby P] to the ocean."

Forgive me, little ones, for going about it completely the wrong way.

Better day, sort of..

Today was much better than yesterday, thankfully.

Of course, that was partially because I was in meetings from 9am to 2pm today. (I hate meetings, particularly on the project I work on. We sometimes call them "poke-your-eye-out" meetings.) But as a means of distracting me from thinking about my baby woes all day, well, it worked pretty darn well.

I've been thinking today about something I read on another blog (belonging to Kathy, another woman I've seen on FF, don't really know, but have begun to read her blog on occasion) -- which, paraphrased, basically said that if I give in to my depression, I'll only feel more depressed.

But what I'm wondering about myself is this: is it possible that I prefer being depressed?

Given the choice of trying to do something productive last night and sitting on the couch and falling asleep, I chose the latter. When it comes to choosing between a healthy meal, and eating something TOTALLY bad for me that I know is going to pack on more pounds to my already-full-figured frame, I pick the calorie-laden option. Essentially, I'm not a model at making the best choices right now. (I seem to identify with a statement I've seen somewhere before, possibly attributed to Bart Simpson, horror of all horrors: "I don't wanna, I don't hafta, you can't make me.") So I suppose it's possible that trying to "change for the better" might not be within my grasp right now.

I have no answers about this... I think it's going to require further pondering.

They're back.

I just had a mild anxiety attack. I felt like I was going to throw up and my heart felt like it was going to pound through my chest. Some of my co-workers are nurses and the one told me not to have any more caffeine (well, yeah) and that maybe relaxing would help it subside. I just don't want to be this person, the one who goes through this, anymore, you know??

Although I know...

... that everyone in my position does this, I still cannot understand why, just now, I went to both of my old due date groups and calculated exactly how far along I would have been in each case.

(37w5d and 13w4d, respectively.)

Talismans, luck and faith

I'm cleaning off my desk in preparation for the carpet installers to arrive tomorrow - we're getting new carpet in our home's three bedrooms, one of which serves as an office.

Underneath a desk organizer, I found a four-leaf clover that my mom found in our front yard when we first bought this house. I'd wrapped it in waxed paper and saved it, with the intention of framing it at some point and hanging it on the wall. As I look at it now, I see that one leaf is smaller than the rest, and branches off of one of the others.

So I've been thinking about good luck charms and whether I should put too much faith in them.

After we announced we were pregnant to my in-laws the first time, my MIL took me aside and gave me a small envelope, which contained an angel keychain and a St. Gerard medal on a small prayer card. (It is important to note here that G and his family are Catholic, but I am Methodist.) She explained to me who the saint was, and that she had purchased this for G's cousin when she had a miscarriage, and they made it through their second pregnancy (with twins, no less) uneventfully. She wanted to pass it along for me.

Well, not being a Catholic myself, and never having really understood what the saints were all about in that religion, I thanked her for it but put it away in my nightstand.

After the first loss, and once we were trying again, I took it out of my nightstand and set it next to my alarm clock. Just to have it there, I thought, might be a better sign than the first time. One month, I even prayed the small prayer on the back of the card from the day I ovulated through AF's arrival, hoping that it might bring me success. (It did not.)

However, the month that we did end up getting pregnant the second time, the medal still sat on my nightstand, and one night before I ovulated G even handed me a penny and said "for luck". I kept that penny sitting there as well, and when we were successful again, I was thrilled.

Now, I'm wondering if a) God doesn't like it when Methodists pray to saints; b) God doesn't like it when people mix luck charms and religious icons, or c) if I am just, in general, unlucky.

I had G return the medal to his mom -- but I'm saving the four-leaf clover, just in case.

On the edge

Note to self: always check your medicine cabinet to see if you have any leftover antidepressants rather than assuming you threw them all away. I discovered a COMPLETELY FULL bottle of Celexa in one of our medicine cabinets, and although it's a *teensy* bit old, I'm taking them to get me started on something until my meds appointment on August 19. (Yes, that's EDD #1, for those who are keeping track.)

Why, you ask, did I check now?? Well, last night I came very close to an uncomfortable breaking point.

I had talked to G during the day, and told him that I was going to the loss support group that evening (more on that later) and could he start dinner so we could eat by 6pm since he gets home at 5:15? No problems there.

So when I got home at 5:50, and his car wasn't in the garage... my mind started racing.

Now mind you, I'd had a pretty stressful day yesterday; I felt like I was bordering on an anxiety attack as it was, so my immediate first thoughts were that a) something had happened to his grandma, or b) he was in an accident.

G is "technology resistant", so he does not have a cell phone. (We had planned to purchase him one eventually so he'd have one for when I was close to being in labor, of course. Not thinking about that...anyway.) I began to get extremely worried.

So, when he finally got home at 6:15, I was close to tears, and asked him if he was alright. He said "yeah, my doctor's appointment ran late." (I had forgotten the appointment.) When I said something about needing to get him that cell phone, he kind of smiled, rolled his eyes, and said "I *knew* you were going to bring that up."

I lost it; started crying, saying all I was doing was being worried about him and what's so wrong with being able to call and say "I'm running late" as a courtesy?? He just sighed and said "Don't cry. We can get me one. Why don't you look into it." - the latter part since it's *my* cell phone plan, blah blah blah. I don't remember exactly what else we said, but by the time I left for the support group, I was fighting back tears. (A good time to be on my way to a support group, I suppose!)

Long story... well, not short, but to sum up: I think my prior depression and mild anxiety are returning, and I really hope that I can get it under control. Blech.

---

So... the support group. It was started in February by a woman who had four live children, two miscarriages, one stillborn son, and an ectopic pregnancy (in a pear tree? oh my, bad humor,sorry.) She explained that it hadn't gotten a large number of people thus far, but that I was welcome to stay and talk even if it was just her. Eventually another couple did come in; they had one living child, one early miscarriage and were just two weeks past an ectopic that ruptured. We talked back and forth, and I was surprised at how much ANGER I had, for the first time since either loss. I sounded really bitter at some points. But overall, it helped to be able to say these things out loud. While I've always been a much better written communicator than a speaker for personal topics, for some reason I felt good talking (not that that's not what I'm doing here, but it's different, in a way).

At the end of the session (which ran 2 hours instead of the scheduled 1.5) the leader offered me a hug, and I gladly accepted it.

I wish it weren't only Tuesday.

A new month

August is here. Finally. July has been hellish, but today (the first of the month) is still a reminder for me. Last month, the first of the month was the day I learned I would likely lose my baby, and it still stings.

G and I talked last night about this, a little. For him, the month has flown by; he lives for summer and almost mourns its end, so for him, the fact that it's August already is depressing in a different way.

But for me, July crawled. It seems as though every day goes by so slowly now. Each moment that I have to try not to think about what's happened, or think about all the unknowns of my fertility and ability to have a baby, these moments seem to be passing by in slow motion. All I can see is a long, endless day, and at the end of that 24 hours there is just another waiting for me.

Some possible good news: I have found a local loss support group that meets tonight; I'm going to see what they're all about.

I just want to stop feeling like this.