The "All Clear"...Sort of...

So today was my two week check-up after my miscarriage. I was so busy at work all day that I didn't really get a chance to be excited, but as I drove to the office, I started to get all excited and jittery. For two weeks I've been living in this uncomfortable limbo. By the end, it wasn't even depression...it was just frustrated stagnation.

Well the news is that my uterus is looking good. I responded to this news by saying, "Thanks. I've been working on it." Uterine lining is healthy and thin; the twins (my new nickname for my ovaries) are a-okay. All good news!

My list...or the beginning of it.

I got a chance to ask my questions, and I had developed quite a list in my iPhone leading up to this appointment. My plan was to write down every answer and ask every question. But once she said I was fine? It was like most of those questions suddenly became unimportant. I didn't care if they could do more chromosomal testing or if the tests revealed normal pregnancy tissue. Some questions I just skipped over altogether. It didn't seem productive or even important to ask questions about the past, so I just skipped over those ones and got down to the nitty-gritty--the future.

So here's my dilemma, inquiring minds of internet, family, fellow future mommies, and friends. The doctor originally said to wait to start "trying" again until after I got my first period. This time, she repeated the same recommendation and followed up by saying there is still a chance I should get pregnant before that so it was probably a good idea to use protection. I asked her what the risk would be if I conceived before my first menstrual cycle. She paused and then said, "well...it would be more difficult to date the pregnancy since you wouldn't have a last menstrual period to date from". I followed up by asking if there were any dangers, and she said no. So...not sure what to do with that. Kind of not interested in going back to the days of...well...you know...protecting. I mean, seriously...protecting against what? So any thoughts or opinions are welcome.

But overall this couldn't have gone any better. We miss you, little precious baby, but we're glad that you went naturally and without ado. Can't wait to start making you a baby sister or brother!

Trust Your Intuition

When my first ultrasound moved my due date back a week (saying I was 6 weeks instead of 7 weeks), I knew that wasn't a good sign. The ultrasound technician told me it was pretty normal and not to worry; I was probably just off on my dates. But I track my cycle pretty consistently and I knew myself...I didn't count wrong.

At 8 weeks, 5 days (when I should have been 9 weeks, 5 days by my count), I was still measuring a week small....maybe even a little more than that. My doctor did some crazy and inaccurate math on the back of a referral sheet at that appointment and said it was nothing to worry about. I raised an eyebrow and shrugged my shoulders. Still felt like something wasn't right.

And then at 9 weeks, 5 days (10 weeks, 5 days by my count), I miscarried. Today, at my two week appointment, I asked if the smaller fetal size in both of the ultrasounds could have been a sign that something was awry and my doctor gave me a pretty confident "it definitely could have been". I wanted to start screaming and waving my hands in the office while screaming, "HELLLOOOOO!!!!".

So the lesson here? Trust your intuition.

Too Soon? Nahhhhh...lol.

I guess I always feel like you know a wound is healing, physical or mental, when you can make a joke about it.

Tonight I was sitting on the floor immersed in piles of grading and I asked my husband to bring a laptop up from the basement. It was like me seventy-fifth "honey, can you just..." of the night, and I am a frequent exploiter of his kindness. He responded with a jovial "[expletive deleted] you aren't pregnant anymore!" and we both laughed as I got off the floor and shuffled down the stairs, smiling.

Many people don't get our sense of humor, but the fact that he was able to joke about it shows that he's healing a lot more quickly than I feared he might. The fact that I laughed shows that I am, too. Despite the looming, tempestuous storm clouds of a busy week, this little moment made me feel good.

Positive Thoughts

“Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true.”
--Stranger Than Fiction

Just some positive food for thought! Fingers crossed that tomorrow goes well!

Cleaning Therapy

Since our loss, the house has kind of fallen into a state of entropy. Like us, the house seemed disordered, unready to be put back into place. My suitcase sat idly next to the stairs...unpacked from our last, fateful trip. Dishes were undone. Laundry piled up.

Today, I couldn't bring myself to grade. That weight of sadness felt slightly more languor-inducing this morning, but I was determined not to spend another Sunday glued to the tattered comfort of my couch. That suitcase was staring me down, and I was suddenly reminded of one thing over which I still had control--my space.

So I set to work. I attempted to unclog the bathtub; I rinsed the dust off of the bathroom ducks. I did a little laundry, and my husband washed the dishes. Bills were finally paid. I cleaned out my purse and organized my stuff for work.

My gothy, geeky office...on a good day.

But the biggest hill to get over was the disorganized state of my office and bedroom. When I was pregnant, I began to (obviously a bit prematurely) prepare the baby's room. Formerly my office, the second bedroom was going to need a complete overhaul. I was afraid it might take nine months to transform my geeky boudoir (aka: "office") into an infantile paradise. I couldn't wait for the "nesting" instinct to set in. I've watched some of my friends wait until their third trimester to begin decorating and I didn't want to replicate that stress.

When I miscarried, I had already taken storage bins full of books over to my parents' house and prepared a few more for transport. In their place, the bookshelf was beginning to be adorned by baby books and stuffed animals that my husband and I had acquired over years of preparing to conceive, seven months of trying, and two months of pregnancy. I was moving other books and all of my jewelry into my bedroom.

After the miscarriage, everything just kind of froze in place for nearly two weeks. We were stepping over boxes to get into bed. The office/baby's room sat lonely and disheveled. Both my husband and I decided that we didn't want to undo all that we had done. We're both firmly resolved to continue our journey; the office will be a place for baby tears and diaper rash soon enough. So today I decided to continue to clean and prepare as I would have had nothing gone wrong in the first place. Well, almost the same. At least this time I could do most of the lifting.

I put books on the bookshelf in the bedroom; I hung some shelves in the bedroom to move some pictures around. I organized the photo albums. I cleaned off my dresser top to make way for my jewelry as it migrated from the office. Things aren't done being cleaned. Even when they are, there will still be one final, missing piece to the puzzle, but I'm confident that she or he will be here soon. I want to be ready when he or she arrives.

I'm not a big cleaner, but today cleaning was therapy. Thank you, Clorox Wipes, Drano and my beloved hammer drill!

Recovering

The canal by my house during a sunset walk

I think I'm on my way now, for real. I'm still engaging in self destructive behaviors like smoking and drinking a bunch of caffeine, but my eating has improved for sure, and I went for a walk both today and yesterday. I'm still reminded of our loss in little moments: my boss asking how I'm doing, a sympathy card from my uncle, a friend planning to visit next summer. Overall though, I think I'm back on a more stable plane. A few days ago little moments would derail me for hours. Now they make me sigh and tear up up for a moment, but they don't take me entirely off track. My rebound time is more reasonable.

Last night I took a few moments to look at the last ultrasound picture I have of my baby. It's still really amorphous and bean-like, but I didn't cry when I looked at my child. Instead, I just thought about her life and her beauty however short-lived it might have been. She brought a lot of happiness to our friends and family, and despite how it ended, I'm happy she was here. I smiled as I looked at that blurry image and thought of her heart beating strongly and solidly at 150 bpm. She was real, and I'm happy she brightened the winter darkness, if only for a brief moment in time. Even knowing how it would end, I'd do it all over again to have those 9 weeks and 5 days with her.

Random Thought

My jeans are too big for me now...it's supposed to be the other way around. lol. sigh.

Emotional Limbo

To quote my sister (who was making fun of herself one time on fb)... "I just have so many emotions!"

My mind is racing like it has never raced before. I'm sure it has a lot to do with the typical nature of grief, which is something I haven't really experienced this dramatically before. I have been luck enough to live 28 years with fairly limited exposure to grief, so in some ways this emotional tornado is a little new and a little scary for me.

One of the problems I've been juggling has been the conflicting emotions of defeat and hope.

In one moment, this whole situation seems so bleak. I feel like my journey is at an end in some ways, and that it ended in failure. As a result, I've been totally prone to self destruction. If I'm not a mom (and at the moment feel like I'm not even on the path towards that) then why not drink? smoke? overeat? I was so good about pushing myself to be a better me when it felt like there was a goal. But until I have that follow up appointment next week, I don't feel like I'm behind the wheel and therefore why even prepare for a journey that might be months away?

But in the next moment, I feel so pleased to be given the gift of knowing I am capable of conceiving. I am so excited to try again and go back to the doctor for the all-clear. In those moments I don't want to do anything wrong because I know that my body still needs to be a temple. Who knows? Maybe the doctor will give me the all-clear in 6 days and part of me really wants to keep myself strong and healthy for the second journey.

But these feelings constantly battle each other. I guess I'm just really looking forward to next Tuesday. Right now the future seems so cloudy, and that makes it hard to make any plans or care about what comes next. I'm a person who really needs to be working towards a goal and until I talk to my doctor, that is just really difficult to do. So for now, I'm going to be a little bad and a little self destructive. It may not be "healthy", but this emotional limbo isn't easy to manage or navigate within. My hope is that next week clears the windshield and allows the emotion of hope to prevail. Fingers crossed.

If nothing else, at least this interim period has given me a chance to really focus on work. I've been super productive because it's the only area of my life in which I feel like I have control, purpose and clarity. As a result, those piles of grading on my desk are quickly shrinking and I'm getting units planned out months in advance. So there's your rose-tinted thought of the day.

More Non-Pregnant Behavior

Despite my constant interrogations of unsuspecting and underpaid waitresses over the past few months, most American restaurants do not serve unpasteurized cheese. But I, being a responsible and meticulous pregnant woman, was paranoid about this. I even called the restaurant after my birthday lunch to make sure I didn't need to force myself to vomit up my meal on the way home. For the record, I didn't. lol.

Still, the one thing I knew might actually pose a threat was queso fondue with chorizo from El Tipico. Apparently Mexican cheeses are some of the only cheeses you'll find in America that are not pasteurized. That being said, I have no idea whether or not El Tipico uses pasteurized cheese, but once I peed on that stick in November, I knew it was no more gooey cheese and spicy meat for me. Better safe than sorry. Sad face...well, happy face for baby...but sad face because no more cheesy, Mexican food babies.

Well today I had some grading to do, so I headed over to El Tipico and had my usual. Just another attempt to try to keep my rose-tinted glasses on. It was a very romantic dinner, my grading and me, and I delighted in the taste of greasy goodness on my tongue.  Wash that down with some caffeinated beverage and you have a pregnancy-free banquet. Sure, I'd rather be watching my every bite and scrutinizing the management of my local breakfast joint about the heat at which their eggs are cooked. I'd give it all up (wine, cigarettes, sandwich meat) to have my beautiful baby back, but since that's not an option, I'll try to embrace the situation as it is. 

I guess I'm just having a "get it in while you can" attitude with the hopes that this intermission will be short-lived. Who knows, maybe that attitude will lead me to the tattoo parlor soon? I've been hankering to get "They're coming to get you, Barbara" tattooed next to my apocalypse leg piece. My obgyn loves that one, so maybe more ink will at least give her a giggle. Here's to focusing on the positive...even if it isn't always easy.

Last Night...

Fate is a sassy bitch. A couple of days after my miscarriage I received my monthly coupon text message from Target. I'm always looking for deals, so I opened it. And what was one of the offers that had never been there any other month? $3 off of maternity clothes. eff.

At first I just laughed at the cruel irony of the situation, but then I started thinking why not use it? It's not like I'm going to be childless forever? With that positive attitude, I headed to Target last night and casually flipped through the sale rack. My mindset was in a "hey, if I find something good..." place, and I tried to feign apathy the entire time...even though no one was watching but me.

Eventually, I found something definitely worth putting away for a better (and belly-er) day: a green 3/4 sleeve sweater with puckered maternity seems. It was on sale for $7. Subtract the $3 coupon from that, and you can't really pass up a $4 maternity sweater. Well, I guess you can...but I didn't.

As I purchased it, I was really proud of my stable mindsight and progressive attitude. But as I loaded the bags into the car, and we drove away from Target? The day just started to drain me all in one moment. I thought about the uncertainty of the $4 purchase. Who knows when I'll get pregnant again? Maybe I'll be wearing maternity clothes in July, and a sweater will have been a laughable purchase. Maybe I'll never get pregnant, and that sweater will just sit in my drawer: a sore on my memory. It was $4, but all of a sudden it felt like so much more than that. I felt like a freaking liar for buying it. I'm not pregnant, after all. What right do I have to buy maternity clothes?

In my frustration, I decided that I didn't care at all about my calories...not just yet. Not smoking yesterday...and today...was hard enough, so I allowed myself a little bit of wiggle room in the calorie department. I'm not as stable as I keep pretending to be. Not time to remove all of my crutches just yet.

More Good Than Bad?

I almost feel guilty saying this, but today was a good day...alright, an okay day. But compared to the last week of awfulness, today was pretty nice.

First, I woke up early and got into work with plenty of time to get stuff done. Last week I was barely at work, and when I was, I could barely drag myself in by 8am. I kept myself super busy throughout the day today, so emotion didn't have a chance to dig its way into me. I hit up the grocery store after work, premade all of my lunches for the week, folded and put away laundry, and went to the gym. It's nice to feel a little productive for a change.

The gym was harder than I expected it to be, but I guess I've really been out of the game for like three months. I guess I was a little distracted with other things...sigh. I tried to jog on the treadmill with pretty painful results, but I think I'll be able to adjust pretty quickly if I keep going day after day. It might be advisable to ease into the jogging more slowly, however, especially until the doctor gives me the thumbs up.

19 minute mile? Pathetic. I was down to a 11-12 minute mile at the start of the summer. *grits teeth and growls*

My biggest joys of the day were my ability to stay away from cigarettes and the fact that I (almost) stopped bleeding! WOOT! I know it's probably TMI (so skip to the next paragraph if you want), but I didn't bleed at all until 8pm today. I was so confident that it had ended that I took off my pad and did a little happy dance for a return to normalcy. I was a little bummed when I started to spot at 8pm, but I'm not going to let it damper my mood. Fingers crossed for a blood-free day tomorrow. I know...I'm gross.

Also, I'm really happy that I was able to avoid smoking today. Even in a few short days, I could already feel nicotine reasserting its control over me. I just kept telling myself, "your baby wouldn't want that"...and today I regained my control.

Of course, today still had its "downs". The worst of the day was definitely when we had to share something "interesting" about ourselves in a meeting. Of course I was first to go. Even on a good day, I hate that whole something "interesting" routine. I find that there's no good answer. You say something you're proud of; you sound cocky. You say some random non sequitur, and everyone looks at you like you're out of mind. You say something too personal (like "i just had miscarriage last Tuesday"...jk...), and everyone gets all uncomfortable and can't look you in the eye. When they asked me, all I could think was "I just had a miscarriage...miscarriage...pregnancy...miscarriage". The rest of my mind was blank, and I grasped at the air for something to say to fill the silence (and also to keep from crying). I went with non sequitur and said "I like zombies". My boss probably thinks I'm an overgrown twelve year old. Head. Desk. Couldn't get that broken record "miscarriage" voice out of my head for the rest of the meeting.

But overall it's good to feel a little bit more normal, and keeping busy helps. I did well on my goals, too, so there's something to smile about.

Daily Goals Recap...
-Didn't smoke! woot!
-Walked/jogged 1.0 miles
-1,687 calories consumed
-Taking my vitamin right now

A Second Journey means a Second Chance

I'm not going to beat myself up about the way I traveled the first journey. Sure, my road snacks weren't exactly the healthiest, and I could have stopped more frequently for some physical exercise. I could have cut the caffeine altogether rather than just cutting down. But when you look at it, I did a damn good job. I didn't smoke. I didn't drink. I took my vitamins (almost) every day. I did walk when I could, and I only had one caffeinated soda a day (which is pretty great when compared to my natural coca cola IV).

But when faced with the prospect of planning a second journey, I just want to do better. Now that I'm not so worried about the will I be able to conceive, I can focus a little more on the minutia that will help to improve my overall pregnancy health. I'd like to get back to my weight in May of 2011 and lower my chances of gestational diabetes. I just want to be a better me.

Back when I did my health blog in 2010-2011, Sunday used to be my day for reassessing the past week and setting goals for the coming seven days. Now that I've had almost a week to mourn and wallow in my (totally understandable) self-indulgence, I think I'm ready to start planning the itinerary. My follow up doctor's appointment isn't until a week from Tuesday, but I guess there's part of me that hopes that it will go really well and my doctor will push up my departure date for journey number two. Either way, I want to start packing my bags and preparing to head out into the world again.

So here are my goals for the coming week. This time I want to be more fastidious about my health, and eventually this will include more organic and whole food eating, but for now I need to start that process.

Goals for the coming week...
-Don't smoke. For pete's sake, why have I allowed this nasty habit to sneak back in during this vulnerable time?
-Walk at least 7 miles for the week (that gym membership is just draining my bank account for no reason)
-Count my calories and stay under 2,000 per day.
-Take my prenatal vitamins every day. Last time I got a little lazy about taking them during the "trying" period. My doctor says that taking them before you conceive decreases your chance for birth defects. Here's to being more fastidious about this the second time around.

Still emotionally numb, but hopefully forcing myself to look forward will soothe the pain of looking back.

Today's Comfort...

Is brought to you by the letter "c" for cookies.

Every Christmas I bake cookies for my neighbors. Call me old school, but I think it's important to be kind and friendly with those who share your same physical space. Also, I've had enough loud parties that I always feel a need for an annual sucrose apology.

Anyway, in December I baked my cookies like usual, but I didn't get to partake in my favorite part of the process--licking the spoon and bowl afterwards. For all of those not well versed in the "joys" of pregnancy, you have to be super careful about eating raw eggs so that rules out cookie dough. I was so good while baking. I washed my hands like every few minutes and never put a bite of cookie dough in my mouth. I guess it didn't really matter in retrospect, but I'm still really glad that I took care of myself during the pregnancy...even if it was doomed from the beginning.

Since my miscarriage, I've been indulging in some of the things I was not allowed to have during my pregnancy, and today I baked chocolate chip cookies. When I was finished, I licked that bowl clean and when I was up tonight with crushing insomnia I had a bunch of cookies dipped into a tall glass of milk. Does it make things any better? No. Cookie dough can't replace my baby or fill the hole in me. But it can at least distract me for a while.

So today's comfort is cookies.

Unpacking

I fold up my dreams and put them back into the drawers with my deepest hopes and desires. I put my luggage back in the closet, knowing that I can't even begin to pack again for another 6-8 weeks, or so my doctor says.

I have no emotions left, and every time I think about the first journey, I want to curl up in a ball and never leave the comfort of my house. I ended up in the wrong destination and I can't wash that away. I don't want to. People want to make me feel better but they can't. Frankly, I don't think I want to feel much better right now. I'm still unpacking.

I had all of these plans for my journey, sites I wanted to see. I wanted to take my baby to weddings and family gatherings in the fall. I made a Christmas quilt for him/her that I was planning on bringing out in November of 2012. Now when I do it will have no tiny shoulders to wrap around. 2012 was supposed to be the year of my perfect little peanut. Now it is stained and haunted by her memory, and I can't even get back in my car and start out on a second journey, a second attempt. I just have to sit here and stare at my empty luggage and wait.

I know I'm supposed to think that my loss was a good thing. "It wasn't met to be". But there's no comfort in those hackneyed words, at least not yet. Right now I'm just feeling like an empty vessel. A pitcher is meant to contain water and I am empty and wanting. I've been smoking ever since Tuesday, a habit I kicked in preparation for journey #1. I don't feel like I deserve to be healthy or well. I want my body to match my emotions.

I know it will heal, but right now I'm stuck in a depressed limbo between one journey and the next. The months seem so long and the miles to destination #2 seem so daunting and frightening. This time I expect flat tires and road blocks. I expect to be rerouted and sent back to the beginning. Maybe that's better, since it's obviously a very real part of the maternal journey. But it does take some of the joy out of planning the itinerary for the second time around.

Destination #1

Destination #1 should have been the maternity ward at the local hospital on August 17th, 2012. Instead, Destination #1 was a Las Vegas ER at 4am on January 16th, 2012. The insensitive staff made jokes about never having seen a positive pregnancy test before. They asked which hotel we were staying at and if we were having a good time. I shot my husband a "not worth it" look as he was about to throttle the staff. Our nurse in the ER congratulated me on my pregnancy. Are you kidding me? At this point I had cramps and heavier bleeding. I knew this was the end and I just wanted to be home, not 28 hours away in the desert of sin city.

They wouldn't allow my husband in the ultrasound room, which has to be illegal. And while the woman was conducting the ultrasound she wouldn't speak to me or make eye contact. I know it's not her job to tell me, but laying there and watching her face in the hopes of catching some sort of sign was even worse than just knowing. She pulled out the transvaginal wand and it was saturated with blood. I wanted to die.

The ER doctor gave us the news. Thankfully, he was an actual human being unlike his colleagues. The prognosis? The baby was still there but there was no heartbeat and my pregnancy hormone was about 10% of what it should have been at almost 10 weeks. That meant miscarriage...and it was only a matter of time before I passed the "tissue".

Thankfully, my body held out until we were back in the windy city. A trip to the obgyn the next day was only supposed to be to confirm the ER's findings. Instead, it ended up being my baby's final resting place. The destination, if you will. When the doctor told me to undress for the examination I began to and instantly miscarried right into my hand. Blood splattered on the white tile of the examination room at the end of the hallway. I held the sac with my dead baby in my right hand and, shaking, I set it on the counter. This was the end. This was truly the end.

The First Journey Began...

In May of 2011. After almost a year of hard work to lose weight, quit smoking, quit drinking and get my life back into orbit, my husband and I began our journey in, well, the usual way. I had been counting my cycle for almost a year at that point, and I even stopped in to my obgyn for a little preconception check up. He gave me the all-clear, some advice and his blessing and away we went.

I've lived a pretty blessed life, so it makes sense that I naively thought this would be an easy trip. No flat tires, no detours, no traffic jams. I thoroughly expected to be already refusing champagne at my friend's wedding in June 2011.

But the first cycle came and went and no baby. I sighed. I cried. I was impatient and frustrated with my body for being less than perfect. But I kept at it. July? No dice. August? Sigh. No. September? Still empty. October? Drank and smoked at the Halloween party. No reason not to, right. Sigh.

In my brain, I knew that five months was the average and that there was no cause for concern. Many of my friends and family have had to wait a lot longer than that for their blessed miracle. After the fifth month I started to relax a little. This wasn't going to be a short trip, so I might as well enjoy the scenery. I still counted my cycle and timed our trying, but I was a little less frustrated by negative pregnancy tests. The thoughts of my emptiness did not consume my every waking moment by October and November.

And then...in November...that blessed positive pregnancy test! I was sitting in the bathtub, casually glancing at the plastic stick on the sink. I figured it'd be a negative like usual, so I was truly a little disengaged. But then I turned the stick to meet my gaze and...that word. That beautiful word. And no, this time there was no annoying "not" stamped in front of it. I told my husband and we both squealed with glee. We were going to be parents!

At Christmas we told family and friends. Sure, we were only 6-7 weeks pregnant then, but so what? We saw our baby's heartbeat on ultrasound at 6 weeks, and the chances of miscarrying were 5% at that point, or so the internet told us. The husband and I are both poker players and we kept saying "I'd play 95% odds"...and so we did.

But at 8 weeks and 4 days I began to spot. Just a little at first, so I freaked out and called my obgyn. They had me in and did an ultrasound, which ended on a high note. Baby was there, fine and showing a heartbeat of around 150 bpm. Big sigh of relief. Even though the spotting continued, it wasn't too bad. And when it got a little pinker at 9 weeks, I called the doctor's office and was once again told not to worry. I'm a paranoid person, so I told that little voice in the back of my brain to shove it. I went on vacation and tried to enjoy myself.