1500 girl

Can someone tell me why people thought it necessary to invent eyelash curlers? I received one in a pack of various manicure items. I keep looking at it and thinking "you want me to put what?? in there??" Each time I bring it close to my face, my hand starts shaking and my eye starts twitching. Egads. Do people honestly think that someone will look at their face and say "that's it!! You're out of the in club! Your eyelashes are straight!!"? Bizarro world, I tell you.


the evil eyelash curler. Note size in comparison to mouse.

Another view.

Just another showcase for my Montreal Canadians mouse pad.

We went off to Gettysburg yesterday. It's not that far from us, which is nice and it's beautiful country. We took side roads and made a nice drive of it. John kept calling me "1500 girl" despite his assertions that he's emotionally distancing himself from this alleged pregnancy. Uh-huh.

Anyway, I had gone earlier in the week to an area of town called "Shab Row", an area of little shops and boutiques, and happened to ask the owner of one funky store if she knew a place where I could get old/inexpensive furniture. She had some very nice pieces in her store and she mentioned a place up in Gettysburg, wrote down the address and encouraged me to bargain with the owners. Some people are just born nice. I'm not one of them, but it doesn't mean I can't appreciate those who are.

So, Saturday found us going up there and after much searching we found the place in question. "The Furniture Barn" is housed in ... wait for it ... an old barn. It doesn't say "antiques", which means the $$$ quotient is far less. You know, of course, that the minute someone tacks the word "antique" on their sign, prices rise exponentially.
They had some very lovely pieces and we ended up the owners of a very nice chest of drawers. It has some chips in the veneer but it is gorgeous! Extremely well made - I figure in the 50's or so, and probably not that cheap at the time. They also had the vanity, chair and nightstand, but we weren't interested. They also had some beautiful rockers ... *wistful sigh*.


the dresser

Now we just have to get it upstairs. It is a HEAVY mother, and John is not letting a certain 1500 girl do any heavy lifting.



Note the large cat stalking the hapless dresser

Off to prepare for Sunday brunch with the Resolve girls! Please be advised that I will NOT be using the eyelash curler. I promise. Honest.

The In-betweens

First may I say that coffee officially tastes crappy. *sigh*. So much for that small pleasure. To whom do I write my official letter of protest?

A while ago, one of my favourite writers from the infertility blogosphere wrote about feeling in between-ish". You know, where you don't really belong anywhere and nothing seems to fit anymore.

I'm going to quote her because damnit, I just can't write like that but if I could, I'd say exactly what she did:

I don't feel, so much, like I belong anywhere right now, and I don't know why. It is an area in which I am especially tender, that of belonging, of being included. I never feel I do belong even when I am included, and I compensate for it mostly by not caring. Fuck 'em in the ear, I say. Kind of like the way I hate contests because I never win -- so I find them tiresome and don't participate. It's easier, and gives a certain impression of self-sufficiency, I suppose, but the underlying belief is still there: I won't win. I shouldn't be here. In some ways I don't like belonging, because I don't trust it: if you fit in somewhere, it follows that eventually you will cease to do so.

In particular that final bit is coming to pass. The "getting started" bulletin board is not for me anymore. I joyously posted my first two betas to that board but have stopped at that. And I do not want to post to the "pregnant after infertility" board yet, oh no. I've made that mistake once before.
It's weird. I never really belonged to the first board because other than the lap, diagnostics etc, I never went through IVF or IUI, I didn't suffer through stims and had nothing to chime in there. I felt like an imposter, someone who's pain wasn't as real as the others on the board, women who had been through so much already. On the second board - my sojourn there was brief and painful, my frantic post for info about enlarged yolk sacs all but ignored except for "I'm sorry's".

There are numerous infertility blogs I read, some of them listed to the right, I haven't had time to add them all. Again, that feeling of belonging eludes me - most of them have dealt with immense tragedy and pain, treatments far beyond anything I was subjected to, loss beyond measure. I realize that this isn't a competition - when I found these bloggers I finally felt that I was home. And now that I realize I may be more "sub fertile" than infertile, do I really belong?

Dr Baby had told us we had a 5% chance of getting pregnant on our own in a given month, considering age and my various factors. Since the lap, I've gotten pregnant twice on our own, without medical intervention. Did the lap reverse my infertility? Is this just good luck? Was Dr Baby wrong?

I'm not certain why I feel so out of sorts while I'm in the in-betweens. I've lived here most of my life in one way or the other. I don't fit in easily, nor do I always wish to, although sometimes I so wish I was one of the in crowd. Where it would be easier. I'm just not willing to sacrifice the person I've become to do that, though. And I think that's what I'd have to do.

Still, that feeling of belonging - it means a great deal. It's something my wonderful husband gives me, everyday.

Ah, now I'm rambling. Time to stop. But please visit Emily too. I think she understands how I feel. It's good to be understood.

Between what is

It is not you and is not me
that tells us what will be
that gives us reason to go on
against the swollen river's strong
unhappy pressure bearing down
to death beneath the sea.
You're over there, I'm over here
across a gulf of circumstance
the twisted dance invites us here
but not to touch or see or hear
beyond the circumscribed unchance.
But if you get my meaning clear
it's not what happens there or here
that gives our tortured lonely lives
the meaning that like razor knives
allows a sense to sense its way
to something more that kills the fear.
You are you and I am me
of that there is no doubt or loss
but what scene's seen of bright chaos
and meaning's mean meanderings
is not what's there or here
but what's there in between.

Jim Erkiletian

Final beta

I went in for the third of the serial betas ... *drumroll* it was 1594! We were busy at work today, so I didn't really have a chance to wonder why the heck the RN hadn't called yet and whether it was bad news. I'm such a worrier, I don't know why I torment myself that way.
Anyway, I'm rather impressed with that number. It's quite a bit higher than the third beta first time round. While it gives me a greater sense of confidence in this pregnancy, I'm still not relaxing and enjoying it yet. Well, not too much. John seems to have greater confidence than me - but then he did last time, too.

I've been queasy and heartburn-ish and would someone please tell me what creature of Satan invented hazelnut flavoured (and scented) coffee? Absolutely disgusting. Yeah, I must be pregnant. At least for now.

John and I have a Jr-free weekend and we're looking forward to some us time. We haven't told the youngster yet - we told him early in the last one, but he then proceeded to tell the entire neighbourhood. We're trying to keep this one closer to the vest. One of the girls at work guessed and I'm a terrible liar, but I swore her to secrecy. Some of the other girls suspect, as I've been feeling crappy. I say "let em guess!".

I think we'll be going up to Gettysburg this weekend to try and find a new/old dresser, because my current one is falling apart and we're too broke to buy a whole new bedroom suite. Our bedroom is decorated in early "whatever we could find hanging around and no one else wanted", so if we get another mis-matched dresser, it might actually add some class to the place.

Then Sunday, I meet a bunch of women from the Resolve bulletin board for brunch! I am really looking forward to that - we've had a few BFPs amongst us, so no mimosas but we'll toast it all anyway!

I'm going to go crazy between now and March 10th. Oh yes I am, and you're going to have to suffer with me.

Going in for number three

I'm hoping for nice high numbers today, but I'm still wary. Not as scared as I was with beta number 2, but wary. I refuse to believe that all is going well, especially as the boobages aren't hurting. Sometimes they're faintly sore but I think that's because I poke them 16 times a day, checking to see if they're sore. Hmmph.

Ultrasound has been scheduled for March 10th, if I make it that far. And without evidence to the contrary, I have to assume that I'm still pregnant today. I have been utterly exhausted the last couple of days and not really feeling well. Yesterday I was all heartburn and belching. Came home and slept for 3 hours, ate something small, and went back to bed. I'm still tired. And how is it that I've already gained 3 lbs???? It must be water weight. Can I even use that excuse now?

I had this really great opening line/paragraph for this entry last night as I lay in bed and drifted off, the box of chocolates that John gave me for Valentine's Day snuggled in my arms. But it's gone now. (The line, not the chocolates. I only had two.)It was pithy and toothsome and full of fine ideas regarding infertility and my having one foot in each camp. It'll have to wait because it's officially gone and it's way too early for eloquence, anyway. What was I thinking?

Think good thoughts for me.

678!!!!!

Holy shit, Batman!
Dr Baby's nurse called me around 1pm. I was already on "shpilkes" (Yiddish for being on tenterhooks) because she called the first beta result to me by 11am. I was thinking the very worst, perhaps the nurses were drawing straws to see who got to give me the bad news. Especially as I had some spotting this morning.

So, when the phone rang, I nearly fell over myself trying to answer it. She said "the numbers are good" and was going to leave it at that! I had to ask(of course) and she told me ... 678! I am so utterly blown away.678!! That's more than double. It's higher than it was for the third serial beta for my first(miscarriage) pregnancy.

I called John immediately and the joy in his voice was palpable. Maybe I'll start knitting again. Maybe it's ok to hope again. Maybe this is it? Or am I setting myself up for pain yet again?

It's weird how that doesn't leave you. We bought a new car recently, a Hyundai Tucson, and while I had it at the shop the other day, I noticed it's manufacture date. Nov 5, 2004. That was the day I found out I was pregnant the first time. Maybe it's only weird to me ...

I want to rejoice so very much. I want to scream it to the rooftops and dance, and tell all my friends and family, the way we did the first time in that haze of delight. But I don't dare. It nearly slips out ten times a day and I catch myself and murmur "Oh no. Not yet." And that makes me sad in a way I've never felt sad before -sad, tempered and restrained.

But here, on these pages, I can dance, shout my joy and rejoice. Please dance with me?

Second beta today...

And I'm terrified. Not scared. Not worried. Actually terrified. I dreamt of battleships and wars and nursing. Never a good thing when work visits you in your dream. I woke at 2am and tossed and turned from that time on.

Part of it is that my boobs just don't hurt. Yeah, they're a little veiny, and believe me, I googled the snot out of "early pregnancy, no sore breasts" - it's not uncommon. But for pete's sake. *sigh*. Of course, I went to John with this last night at around 11pm and his cure for my anxiety was sex. Not that I'm complaining ... but still.

Oh, and the thyroid biopsy is on hold until, in the words of Dr Baby, "the pregnancy is stabilized". He seems to think I'm pregnant too.

I'll be leaving shortly. Please wish me luck if anyone is reading this.

I'd be in a better mood, but

Jr's best friend (his new best friend. He's 16. They change best friends like I change socks) called here at 06:40 In The Morning. On my day off. Arrghhhhhhh.

So instead, I'm sitting here drinking coffee. Yes, coffee. Not decaf. Yes, it's bad for the baybeeeeeee - but since I don't really believe I'm pregnant, it's not an issue, is it? Besides, not having caffeine would be bad for Mommy. And all those surrounding her. Very very bad. I'm also eating a Montreal bagel. If you do not know the glories and beauty of a Montreal bagel, I feel sorry for you. There are few foods as perfect, nicely toasted and dripping with butter. Yummy and chewy and with a hint of sweetness ... ah damn it. I'm going to want another one if I don't shut up about it.

It's like some invisible switch has been flicked on in my head. I am STARVING. From the girl who has been struggling with her weight and finally lost 8 lbs by careful counting of calories, etc to "MOVE AWAY FROM THE REFRIGERATOR FOLKS, I'M COMING IN!!!!". Yeesh. I ate 3 garlic breadsticks on my return home from work last night, and that was before dinner. Oh boy.

I was lying awake in bed - this is, mind you, the first time I was woken this morning. You see, the morning started with the annoying blare of John's alarm clock. I have no one to blame for the annoying blare but myself - it was a holiday gift for him from yours truly. I hate that clock. Not only does it have the most teeth-gritting alarm, but you can combine it so it squawks at drill-sergeant decibel levels, together with the radio playing. Yes, together.
So, every morning I leap 3 feet in the air when it goes off. John, however, somehow turns it off and goes back to sleep, claiming later that it never went off. I end up lying there, fuming, until *my* alarm clock goes off 45 minutes later.

This morning, after I had laid there fuming and finally drifted back to a semblance of sleep, he nudges me. Then calls me "sweetie", which alerts me to the fact that he's pissed off about something. Yeah, it's a clear warning sign, that one word. I ignore him, desperately trying to recapture those ephemeral wisps of sleep, now in full retreat. He tries again "sweetie. You need to get up. It's late". I screammutter something about my day off, which I had mentioned to him the previous day. He wisely backs off.

Now maybe it's just me (and it most likely is) but my mind boggles with strange and unimportant things. Things such as "How is it that when he has the day off, I manage to shower, dress and go without turning on unnecessary lights, waking him or making a peep yet when it's my turn to sleep in ..."

I was finally drifting off again when the phone rang, as mentioned above. I don't think that child will be calling here that early again.

After I got up, threw on my robe, examined the tp carefully once again for the slightest hint of red/pink/brown, and headed downstairs, I caught a certain teenager with his coat on, trying to sneak out without breakfast to meet his buddy. Nice try, kiddo.

So now here I sit, peacefully, with only this blog and my cats to harangue. What a terrible waste of a bad mood. And it seems that I may still be pregnant today. I'm not 100% convinced, though. My boobs don't hurt at all. I probably won't believe this for a long time. I may even have to pee on a stick again.
Oy.

Hey, the spellcheck didn't recognize the word "blog". That just made my day.

Under the letter B for "beta"

On the way to work this morning, I called Dr Baby's office and left a message requesting a beta test. They didn't get back to me and I figured since I work right beside them, I'd pop in. That was fine, said the girl behind the counter. There was NO ONE in the waiting room! I have never been to the RE's when the waiting room was absolutely empty. It was eerie. And the magazine selection still sucked.

Fortunately, it didn't take long and I was called back to the inner sanctum, where my favourite vampire waited. She really is excellent, I'm damn lucky. I didn't feel a thing. And the wait began.

I warned the doctor I was working with (I'm a Registered Nurse) that I was expecting a phone call and had my cell on. It wasn't even 11 am before it rang and my RN said "you're crazy, you know? I'm starting to think that since your surgery, maybe you don't need us!!. Your beta is 264!!! Great number!". I nearly fell over. 264??? During my last pregnancy, my first beta was 83! Now I realize that it's not the number itself that's important, rather the doubling thereof, so I'm on tenterhooks until Wednesday. Actually, I'll be on tenterhooks probably for the next 9 months - if I'm lucky.

So now, second beta on Wednesday and ultrasound next week, most likely. RE is out of town till the end of the week. Which brings me to the next issue on the table ...

You see, I mentioned previously that I have a thyroid nodule. I had a scan done back in June and never quite got farther with that - I finally went to a specialist last week. I do have a history of Hashimoto's thyroiditis and have been on medication for it, so this wasn't completely unexpected. But the specialist didn't like what she felt and is sending me for biopsy. I just want to wait and find out from RE if it's wise to wait till second trimester, assuming I ever get there. During a thyroid biopsy, hormone can be released, and I don't want to jeopardize anything.I've already googled the snot out of "thyroid biopsy in early pregnancy" and not found a lot that says "no". Damn. I'm really hoping to get out of that biopsy. Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friends.

Anyway, John and I continue to rejoice tentatively now that the beta is in and that we're still pregnant today. One day at a time. Now if only I was slightly less tired. Not that I'm complaining, nooooOOoooo! Not me. But oh my GOD, am I tired. Yes, I'm smiling as I type this.

An addict's confession

I had to check again. Maybe there was some mistake, I mean false positives DO happen.
This is yesterday's POAS with FMU. You can see the second (blurry, my dig cam sucks) line. Kind of.


faint line, 13dpo 

This is my "I'm in Walmart and they have FREDs, so I have to check again" POAS. With afternoon urine ... line came up in seconds flat.


Definitely positive. Afternoon sample. 14dpo. Yikes! 

Holy shit, Batman. I might actually be pregnant. For real. Maybe Dr Baby was right ...?

I'm still pregnant and a little bit about me

I awoke this morning at an annoyingly early hour again to pee, but fortunately fell back asleep afterwards. I examined the tp with great care ... not a sign of red, not a sign of spotting or bleeding. Nothing. Yes, my chest looks a bit veiny, but nothing too outstanding, and my boobs don't even hurt. Well, the one does but that's the one with the self-diagnosed intraductal papiloma that I'm not supposed to be squeezing.
Of course, I'm only 14dpo. I don't even believe that the pregnancy calculator even has me at 4 weeks. That page is a godsend, but it also fills me with fear, just reading it, just seeing the different measurements and heartbeats. After all, this past December, we lost our baby at 8 weeks.

Last summer, after using no birth control for 4 years, trying naturally ("seriously") for several months, an uncooperative ob/gyn, a first visit to an RE - Dr Bowtie, whom I didn't like (against ob/gyn's advice, as he wanted us to keep trying on our own for at least a year - I was 38) bloodwork, and a thyroid scan which revealed a nodule, we finally went to see Dr Baby.

After several visits to Dr Baby, much more bloodwork, an HSG and John's sperm analysis which was stellar - in fact, Dr Baby looked at us both and pronounced "well, we pretty much knew the problem wasn't him, didn't we?" (at which point I kicked him hard in the shins), we decided upon a laparoscopy as next course of action. HSG had shown one blocked tube from a previous ectopic many years ago. I was young and stupid then, went off the pill while searching for love in all the wrong places, and ended up pregnant by a really nice*cough*bullshit*cough* guy I was dating. Hmmph. Anyway, it was ectopic and I was told that my tube had been removed. Hey, I was early 20's, what did I understand, know or care?

Dr Baby took a look at the HSG films and looked grave. "You have fluid in your tube. I'm not sure why they told you they removed the tube, they didn't. It's still there, only now it's filled with toxic fluid. We call that "hydrosalpinx" and you have a fairly significant one. This fluid often leaks out and bathes the uterus, causing an inhospitable environment which prevents implantation. I suggest a laparoscopy to close off the tube - it may be all you need". After brief discussion, we agreed and early in October, we did the lap. The tube was too damaged to be fixed, so he just blocked it off. In early November, I found out I was pregnant.

We told everyone - family, friends, work, stepson (who told all the neighbours) and rejoiced. My betas were excellent and doubled well. I drank milk happily, dealt with burgeoning breasts and terrible heartburn. The smell of hazelnut coffee at work was enough to send me running to the bathroom. Dr Baby called this pregnancy a "miracle" and his RN was so happy for us. I cried for joy at the first ultrasound (despite the wand monkey trying to kill me with latex), John beside me and beaming, when Dr Baby pronounced all looked well. We went back two weeks later and immediately I could tell something was wrong.

It started with the wand monkey attempting to put latex inside my body. Again. Now, it may seem like a small thing, but it's written in LARGE RED LETTERS all over my chart that I am allergic to latex. This started a huge kerfuffle between wand monkey and hapless assistant while I'm waiting, half naked on the bed. Eventually Dr Baby enters, and the now latex-free cooter cam now starts its exploration of my depths. We're at 6 1/2-7 weeks and we expect to see the heartbeat and we do. Only it's slow, 90s. I point that out to WM and Dr Baby -but he is focused on something else and turns to us "there is an enlarged yolk sac" he says gravely. "it may resolve on its own, but it doesn't look wonderful. Don't give up hope, though! It may be fine".

I knew better. I let myself hope but I knew better. After all, I still felt pregnant, my boobs were killing, smells were making me crazy ... we went up to Canada to visit family and showed them our little u/s pictures. My father took me aside to remind me that this would be a Jewish baby - he was so excited. My family was delighted for us and we rejoiced, albeit with reservations. John remained more positive than I - something inside me wasn't buying the "it may be fine" shtick.

He was so convinced all would be well, that he let me go to the 8 week ultrasound on my own. On the way, I was chatting with my friend Stacy and I told her ... "I have a bad feeling about this". Stace, who had been there herself tried to reassure me. I promised I'd call her immediately with results. After another latex encounter with the annoying wand monkey, Dr Baby came in and we started. There was no heartbeat. I dressed, numbly and waited for Dr Baby. I called work and told them I wouldn't be in that week and hung up. My friend Stacy called while I was waiting and I vaguely remember telling her. "Shit" she said. "Ah, shit". Dr Baby came in and gently explained options. I told him that I wanted a d&c and I wanted it asap.

I got into the car and called John. He was stunned. Truly stunned, poor man, he really hadn't been thinking of the possibility.

He left work early and we met at home and held each other for a long time. I sleep-walked through that entire week and remember little but for the tidal waves of grief that kept hitting me. And still do at times, if truth be told.

And here we are. Nearly 4 weeks now and the fear is so palpable, I can taste it. Like blood in my mouth, coppery and shiny and metalic with nowhere to hold on to, and no assurances.

Where I become partially unravelled

At 5:30 am my bladder tells me "screw the fact that it's Saturday, it's time to pee". I rise groggily and stumble my way to the bathroom, tripping over a snoozling cat in the meantime. John pretends he's still sleeping.

Somehow - and I'm not certain how - I remember to reach for the FRED. I'm not certain why I reached for it either. I've been the epitome of all of Snow White's dwarves; Bitchy, Grumpy and Crampy. I nearly bit John's head off the previous night. I've been eating everything in sight and craving salt. The bitch is a-coming. There's no question about it. Why, therefore, did my addled brain contrive to make me reach for a pee stick?

I stick the thermometer in my mouth ... and try reading it through one open eye, while peeing on the stick. (Note to self: never do that again, not into golden showers). I tested previously on 11 dpo (yes, an addict! A POAS addict!) and got a big FUCKING negative. Yes, the good old BFN and please do NOT tell me that the F stands for Fat. Nu-uh. I may accept BFFN, as in Big Fat Fucking Negative, but ...anyway, I digress.

So, I'm done peeing but the thermometer is still ticking and I peer one-eyed at the stick, I can see that only one line is showing. The thermometer beeps and temp has dropped. Yeah, hope has left the building. I mean, even though I know my dratted period was on its way, I still clung to that faint straw-coloured ray ...

I finish my business and turn to wash my hands, throwing one last glance at the stick. And stop. Cold. Because, no ifs and or buts about it, there is a second line. A friggin second line. No question. I study the stick carefully. This is definitely not an evaporation line.

And the unravelling begins. I wish - oh how I wish - that this beginning would bring with it only joy. You know, the way fertile women rejoice when they get their first positive pregnancy test, the way women who have never known what it is to struggle with something as basic as conception feel at that second pink line. But I know better. I'm wary, cautious. I eye the test with suspicion. I would test again ... but horror strikes! I am out of sticks!!!

Instead I pad back to bed, avoiding the grumbling cat and snuggle with my husband. He's awake, although he's still trying to hide that fact. I press my always-cold feet against him and hear his whininggrumbling. I press against him and whisper "I peed on a stick. And there's a second line". He grumbles something unintelligble and semi-turns to hold me "and you told me this without making coffee first?".

Is there a wonder I keep him around?

Later that morning, we are doing laundry and he says something that makes me laugh ... laugh so hard I am gasping for air and he grins at my mirth and holds me close, only to realize that my laughter has turned to sobs. "What's wrong??" he asks, alarmed. "I'm so scared, I am SO very scared that we'll lose this one too" I sob, beyond hysterics. He just holds me tight and lets me cry, lets me let it all out, lets me put it there - a tangible. It's named now, my - our fear, it's sitting in the room. Waiting.