The first loss
Quick catch up - we'd been experiencing 6 months of infertility, and had started the work-up with the doctors, testing, tracking periods, taking ovulator indicators, etc. and I left last post off in the midst of the HSG test, where they stick things up your hoo-hah and squirt radioactive liquid into your Fallopian tubes... (get the full scoop here)
I barely stayed conscious. They laid me back down. I closed my eyes. I focused on breathing. After a few, I tried to get upright again. This time went better. My blood pressure came back up. A vasovagal response. Vasovagal sycope is fainting as the result of a trigger. Some people have this response to the sight of blood. I've never been one of those. I used to be tougher than this, damn it. I swear.
We talked about the results. All clear. There wasn't any blockage. Yay. I tried to be glad. I really did.
The thought of going home from that test and trying to get pregnant that night, or even the next, was nausea-inducing.
But we did it anyway.
Because I knew the test could help boost fertility in the month and the month after, because things were all nice and cleared out. If it worked, it would all be worth it right? Right?
I kept telling myself it would.
The next few days were tense. I was uncomfortable. I felt violated. I felt weak. I was stronger than this. I knew I was. But damn, I was tired. My partner worked to be supportive, to tell me it was okay if we took a break. It was okay if I didn't want to have sex. It was okay.
But I didn't feel okay. I felt raw. Exposed. Nothing about this was okay. There are hundreds of unfit parents out there, popping out kids left and right, with no regard for themselves or their children, and here we are fighting tooth and nail, putting ourselves through the wringer because we want a baby so badly, and the Universe sees fit to not give us one. We'll be amazing parents. Sure, we'll fuck up. We know we will. But we'll be amazing, nevertheless.
I tried not to let the bitterness soak in. I really, really did. But it started to permeate everything. Fifteen years of wanting. Fifteen years of waiting. I didn't want to be happy. I didn't want to go to work. I didn't want to pretend that nothing was wrong, that I didn't feel like I was dying inside, that my empty womb wasn't breaking me into a zillion pieces.
The end of the month, and my cycle came. Day 28 came and went. Day 29. Then Day 30. I tried to stave off too much excitement. Maybe we'd done it. Maybe it was worth it. Maybe...
On Day 30, I broke. I took a pregnancy test. I'd already taken several by this point, once every month or every other month, even though I knew I shouldn't. Even though I knew that one little pink line instead of two would devastate me every time I saw it. I did it anyway. Because hope springs eternal. Or because I'm a fucking masochist. You decide.
One pink line.
Day 31 came, and "Aunt Flo" didn't.
"Well?" my bestie tested.
"Dunno. Neg test. Still no period."
This was our pattern. Seven months in, and this had become common. Bestie was my constant companion, only a few swipes of the phone screen away, even though we're 300 miles apart. Checking in on how I was feeling, where I was in my cycle, what horrid thing the doctors had planned next.
Day 32 came. It was time for another test. Forty-eight painful, on pins-and-needles hours, constantly telling myself to wait, to hold out, to just be patient.
Wait... is that a second line?!???! It's five a.m. on a Saturday because I couldn't fucking sleep the moment my eyes opened and I remembered I'd given myself permission to test again today. I'd leapt from bed as silently as I could, made my way to the bathroom, closed myself in, and now... a SECOND line. It was faint. I mean so faint I thought I was seeing things. Snap. I sent a photo to Bestie. "Am I nuts... do you see it?"
It's only five fifteen, but I know she's up. She has an eighteen month old.
"I see it. OMG. I see it!"
At least she's going crazy with me.
I sneak back into the bedroom and try to sneak into bed. Honey wakes up.
"I think it's positive," I whisper.
He's still mostly asleep. He murmurs a yay. I want to jump up and down on the bed, and he wants to SLEEP?!
I try to talk myself back into sleeping. It doesn't work. I decide to get up. The big old house we had to buy before the baby came is silent as death. It's only been 12 days since we had to have the cat put down. Cancer. Fuck Cancer.
But today, the house, for the first time, feels like maybe it won't be empty for too long.
I putter around, I make coffee, I watch some TV and lounge on the couch. Honey gets up. We talk about how we feel. We talk about not getting our hopes up. The line has long since disappeared. If it weren't for the photographic proof, I'd think it never existed. But it was there. I know it was.
We try to spend a normal day at home, getting things together. It's almost Christmas. We're going to see some family today. It'll be so hard to hide that I'm excited. But I do. I put on a good face, and I try to pretend that I'm not highly-attuned to every molecule in my body, trying to divine if I'm really, finally, wonderfully pregnant.
I don't feel awesome. Is it possible I'm having morning sickness already? We make it through the day. I fight the urge to take a second pregnancy test for the day. I'm exhausted. I make myself go to sleep. Day 33 comes. I'm up early again. (yay)
I don't feel very well today either. I putter around. I get some food together. I start spotting. I ignore the fact that it's probably my period. Maybe it's implantation bleeding. Maybe it's nothing. My breakfast threatens to reappear. I'm nauseous. Is it morning sickness? I go from not feeling awesome to feeling wretched, dry-heaving, and absolutely elated. I couldn't tell you the last time I actually puked from anything other than food poisoning.
I feel a twinge. On my next bathroom trip, I'm definitely bleeding. I feel cramps. There's a glob of blood in the toilet. How can I have morning sickness and my period all within two hours?
Now I'm confused.
I take another test. One line. There is definitely only one line.
It's three days before Christmas, and instead of having to fight against telling everyone the good news, I now have to figure out a way to just make it through the festivities without falling into a heap of tears.
I barely stayed conscious. They laid me back down. I closed my eyes. I focused on breathing. After a few, I tried to get upright again. This time went better. My blood pressure came back up. A vasovagal response. Vasovagal sycope is fainting as the result of a trigger. Some people have this response to the sight of blood. I've never been one of those. I used to be tougher than this, damn it. I swear.
We talked about the results. All clear. There wasn't any blockage. Yay. I tried to be glad. I really did.
The thought of going home from that test and trying to get pregnant that night, or even the next, was nausea-inducing.
But we did it anyway.
Because I knew the test could help boost fertility in the month and the month after, because things were all nice and cleared out. If it worked, it would all be worth it right? Right?
I kept telling myself it would.
The next few days were tense. I was uncomfortable. I felt violated. I felt weak. I was stronger than this. I knew I was. But damn, I was tired. My partner worked to be supportive, to tell me it was okay if we took a break. It was okay if I didn't want to have sex. It was okay.
But I didn't feel okay. I felt raw. Exposed. Nothing about this was okay. There are hundreds of unfit parents out there, popping out kids left and right, with no regard for themselves or their children, and here we are fighting tooth and nail, putting ourselves through the wringer because we want a baby so badly, and the Universe sees fit to not give us one. We'll be amazing parents. Sure, we'll fuck up. We know we will. But we'll be amazing, nevertheless.
I tried not to let the bitterness soak in. I really, really did. But it started to permeate everything. Fifteen years of wanting. Fifteen years of waiting. I didn't want to be happy. I didn't want to go to work. I didn't want to pretend that nothing was wrong, that I didn't feel like I was dying inside, that my empty womb wasn't breaking me into a zillion pieces.
The end of the month, and my cycle came. Day 28 came and went. Day 29. Then Day 30. I tried to stave off too much excitement. Maybe we'd done it. Maybe it was worth it. Maybe...
On Day 30, I broke. I took a pregnancy test. I'd already taken several by this point, once every month or every other month, even though I knew I shouldn't. Even though I knew that one little pink line instead of two would devastate me every time I saw it. I did it anyway. Because hope springs eternal. Or because I'm a fucking masochist. You decide.
One pink line.
Day 31 came, and "Aunt Flo" didn't.
"Well?" my bestie tested.
"Dunno. Neg test. Still no period."
This was our pattern. Seven months in, and this had become common. Bestie was my constant companion, only a few swipes of the phone screen away, even though we're 300 miles apart. Checking in on how I was feeling, where I was in my cycle, what horrid thing the doctors had planned next.
Day 32 came. It was time for another test. Forty-eight painful, on pins-and-needles hours, constantly telling myself to wait, to hold out, to just be patient.
Wait... is that a second line?!???! It's five a.m. on a Saturday because I couldn't fucking sleep the moment my eyes opened and I remembered I'd given myself permission to test again today. I'd leapt from bed as silently as I could, made my way to the bathroom, closed myself in, and now... a SECOND line. It was faint. I mean so faint I thought I was seeing things. Snap. I sent a photo to Bestie. "Am I nuts... do you see it?"
It's only five fifteen, but I know she's up. She has an eighteen month old.
"I see it. OMG. I see it!"
At least she's going crazy with me.
I sneak back into the bedroom and try to sneak into bed. Honey wakes up.
"I think it's positive," I whisper.
He's still mostly asleep. He murmurs a yay. I want to jump up and down on the bed, and he wants to SLEEP?!
I try to talk myself back into sleeping. It doesn't work. I decide to get up. The big old house we had to buy before the baby came is silent as death. It's only been 12 days since we had to have the cat put down. Cancer. Fuck Cancer.
But today, the house, for the first time, feels like maybe it won't be empty for too long.
I putter around, I make coffee, I watch some TV and lounge on the couch. Honey gets up. We talk about how we feel. We talk about not getting our hopes up. The line has long since disappeared. If it weren't for the photographic proof, I'd think it never existed. But it was there. I know it was.
We try to spend a normal day at home, getting things together. It's almost Christmas. We're going to see some family today. It'll be so hard to hide that I'm excited. But I do. I put on a good face, and I try to pretend that I'm not highly-attuned to every molecule in my body, trying to divine if I'm really, finally, wonderfully pregnant.
I don't feel awesome. Is it possible I'm having morning sickness already? We make it through the day. I fight the urge to take a second pregnancy test for the day. I'm exhausted. I make myself go to sleep. Day 33 comes. I'm up early again. (yay)
I don't feel very well today either. I putter around. I get some food together. I start spotting. I ignore the fact that it's probably my period. Maybe it's implantation bleeding. Maybe it's nothing. My breakfast threatens to reappear. I'm nauseous. Is it morning sickness? I go from not feeling awesome to feeling wretched, dry-heaving, and absolutely elated. I couldn't tell you the last time I actually puked from anything other than food poisoning.
I feel a twinge. On my next bathroom trip, I'm definitely bleeding. I feel cramps. There's a glob of blood in the toilet. How can I have morning sickness and my period all within two hours?
Now I'm confused.
I take another test. One line. There is definitely only one line.
It's three days before Christmas, and instead of having to fight against telling everyone the good news, I now have to figure out a way to just make it through the festivities without falling into a heap of tears.
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