It's Sunday which means that tomorrow is Monday and I have to trudge through another week. I just want to sleep until this is all over because when I am awake, all I can think about is what is wrong with my life, including (of course), but not limited to, children. Relationship, house, job, money. It could all be worse, I should be thankful for what I have. Blah blah blah blah. I can't handle positive thinking.
Every waking moment is a thought that leads to fear. I could be thinking of kittens which would lead me to thought of my dogs who are outside in their pen right now and weren't exercised properly this weekend. So if I can't take care of a dog properly, how am I going to take care of a child? Perhaps I'm just not cut out for parenthood.
OR
I'll be reading a really good book which i'd like to recommend to book club, but that makes me think of all of the invitations I have not returned because I don't want to invite the stress of giving a charming party and being a charming host to people who have achieved more in their careers or who have more beautiful houses.
OR
I'll think about writing a post for this blog then balking because I spend all day in front of the computer and it'll take me an hour to get my thoughts together (this fabulous post has taken me a 1/2 hour so far). Who cares what I'm going through, what...
christ.
I can't piece together a correctly-spelled word let alone a post. Excuse my pity-party - but I am going to put it up because it is the stark reality of me in this moment and I didn't start this blog to hide things.
I don't know the way out of this fear and sadness. That's all. I don't know the way out. I don't know what to do. I just want it to be over.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Relief of Rain
For the past week, there has been an insufferable heat wave in the South that has made everyone grumpy and cantankerous - including me and my husband. He's the incomprehensible sort that needs the heat to be on 90 degrees in the winter, but 75 degrees in the summer. I'll never understand the discrepancy, but suffice it to say that the man is GRUUUUUUMPY when he doesn't get enough sleep; and the temperature in our house has been inconsistent with sleep.
July was a rough month for us all around. This was the month baby number 2 was due, a fact I remember only because 2 babies -whose mothers got pregnant around the same time I did - were born this month. Also, my husband and I have been to 2 therapy sessions together, trying to sort through the "TTC again" question. I'm an old hand at therapy - he is not. In fact, he had never been to therapy before. But we had reached such a place of breakdown that we couldn't wade through our emotions without a mediator.
You see, since the last miscarriage (#3), I bounced back into hope pretty quickly, while, despite agreeing to proceed with specialists and diagnostic procedures, he stayed in a pretty firm "over-my-dead-body" position (or so it felt). He was not willing to take a firm stance either way, and I figured he just needed more time to sort through his feelings and regroup from the last loss. Now - I am a fairly emotional woman (could that be redundant?) and he is a pretty stereotypical man - so when it comes to talking about his thoughts and emotions, I get the barest of bare bones delivered piecemeal and only at my prompting . . . and it usually leaves me wanting more information.
But knowing that Grief doesn't bend to anyone's timeline, I tried really really hard to give him room to breath. I tried to focus on my own healing instead - visit doctors, get test results, pay the bills, update my resume and online portfolio, proceed with our plans for an addition, go to my own therapy sessions, etc.
But when the last test result came in (thromobophilia panel: normal; karyotpye: normal; hysterosalpingogram: normal) I was ready to have a "come to Jesus" talk. By then, it had been 2 months since the miscarriage - a.k.a. 2 full cycles/2 spent eggs. I needed something more than, "Let's just wait till we get more information," and, "I have some thinking to do." But all he was able to offer was more of the same.
At this point, it gets way messy and super-emotional. Basically, I felt tricked and betrayed because I had always been up-front about wanting a family from the very beginning of our relationship and I felt he was unilaterally making decisions about my life without allowing me any say in the matter. He thought I wasn't giving him enough credit for the three times we DID try and that I was giving him an ultimatum - either I get what I want or I am leaving. We were basically in "me" land and needed a map back to "we" land. So off to therapy we went.
Our therapist visits have been fruitful and have begun to accomplish what I hoped - the ability for us to HEAR one another and try to compromise by sacrificing some of what each of us wants. I think we will try again (my needs), but this will be our last time (his needs). Ugh - life is hard.
The rain finally came today and the relief everywhere is palpable. Humans, plants and animals alike are breathing sigs of relief. I'm hoping the rain foreshadows some relief on our lives as well.
July was a rough month for us all around. This was the month baby number 2 was due, a fact I remember only because 2 babies -whose mothers got pregnant around the same time I did - were born this month. Also, my husband and I have been to 2 therapy sessions together, trying to sort through the "TTC again" question. I'm an old hand at therapy - he is not. In fact, he had never been to therapy before. But we had reached such a place of breakdown that we couldn't wade through our emotions without a mediator.
You see, since the last miscarriage (#3), I bounced back into hope pretty quickly, while, despite agreeing to proceed with specialists and diagnostic procedures, he stayed in a pretty firm "over-my-dead-body" position (or so it felt). He was not willing to take a firm stance either way, and I figured he just needed more time to sort through his feelings and regroup from the last loss. Now - I am a fairly emotional woman (could that be redundant?) and he is a pretty stereotypical man - so when it comes to talking about his thoughts and emotions, I get the barest of bare bones delivered piecemeal and only at my prompting . . . and it usually leaves me wanting more information.
But knowing that Grief doesn't bend to anyone's timeline, I tried really really hard to give him room to breath. I tried to focus on my own healing instead - visit doctors, get test results, pay the bills, update my resume and online portfolio, proceed with our plans for an addition, go to my own therapy sessions, etc.
But when the last test result came in (thromobophilia panel: normal; karyotpye: normal; hysterosalpingogram: normal) I was ready to have a "come to Jesus" talk. By then, it had been 2 months since the miscarriage - a.k.a. 2 full cycles/2 spent eggs. I needed something more than, "Let's just wait till we get more information," and, "I have some thinking to do." But all he was able to offer was more of the same.
At this point, it gets way messy and super-emotional. Basically, I felt tricked and betrayed because I had always been up-front about wanting a family from the very beginning of our relationship and I felt he was unilaterally making decisions about my life without allowing me any say in the matter. He thought I wasn't giving him enough credit for the three times we DID try and that I was giving him an ultimatum - either I get what I want or I am leaving. We were basically in "me" land and needed a map back to "we" land. So off to therapy we went.
Our therapist visits have been fruitful and have begun to accomplish what I hoped - the ability for us to HEAR one another and try to compromise by sacrificing some of what each of us wants. I think we will try again (my needs), but this will be our last time (his needs). Ugh - life is hard.
The rain finally came today and the relief everywhere is palpable. Humans, plants and animals alike are breathing sigs of relief. I'm hoping the rain foreshadows some relief on our lives as well.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Hiatus
I am back for one quick post. Really quick because I've got a presentation to prepare for tonight on Social Networking!!! It will be for older women who want to know about facebook and twitter and blogs and skype. Whew! This is definitely my good deed for the year ;)
Anyway, I wanted to let the blogosphere know that I am still here and still grappling. I'm also having my period and trying not to think about the fact that my husband is not ready to try again.
I've been away from the blog for 2 reasons:
My hiatus will soon be over. And this infertility thing is not going away. People are still getting pregnant and having babies left and right, and I am still NOT.
My cousin just gave birth to a baby boy yesterday.
Anyway, I wanted to let the blogosphere know that I am still here and still grappling. I'm also having my period and trying not to think about the fact that my husband is not ready to try again.
I've been away from the blog for 2 reasons:
- I don't have internet where I live (in bfe) and have to take the few opportunities that I stay in town to complete freelance assignments and other pressing work
- I have been starting the job hunt process, and that has sucked up every free piece of my time. Good news is that my resume is now current and I have a brand-spanking new website up displaying my fabulous desing work.
My hiatus will soon be over. And this infertility thing is not going away. People are still getting pregnant and having babies left and right, and I am still NOT.
My cousin just gave birth to a baby boy yesterday.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Frida's Birthday
Google reminded me that it is Frida Kahlo's birthday today, a woman who chronicled the pain of her miscarriages in her art. I love her depictions because they do not shield the viewer from the pain and corporeal reality of the loss of a wanted child. Happy birthday, Frida.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Bills, bills, bills
The flood came last week – the deluge that lifted me off my feet and has left me completely off-kilter for 2 days now - a pile of bills and claim statements accounting the 101 medical services I have accrued since the emergency room visit on May 7th (billed at a staggering $4500, though thanks to good insurance, I had only to pay $400 of that). All the bills seem to have descended at the same time: HCG tests to make sure my betas go down, the usual infertility regimin of blood sucking tests (when the nurse pulled out 7 SEPARATE vials with which to collect my blood, I asked her if I would be walking out of the room – and I was only half joking) including Factor V Leiden, Proteins S and C, Prothrombin Mut, Lupus Ant, and anticariolipin. And I haven’t’ yet mentioned the check ups with the Dr’s., consultations with two specialists, ultrasound of empty uterus, karyotying of POC (products of conception) and the imminent arrival of the bill for my own Karyotype test. Luckily, I pulled back from the all-or-nothing attitude just in time to cancel the Karyotpying of my husband’s genes, discovering after an (always) frustrating exchange with the insurance company that they will not cover any sort of service or diagnostic test having to do with infertility. Pieces of shit. I really should have cancelled mine as well since the Karyotype of the last fetus indicated with an acceptable degree of certainty that neither my husband nor I have any genetic anomaly that is causing the miscarriages.
The explanation of benefits from BCBS for the 6 blood tests with the impossible-to-pronounce names totaled over $1100; and following the usual cryptic listing of these tests was an innocent little asterisk (keep a sharp eye out for that damn asterisk, y’all; it never bodes well.) I skimmed to the bottom of the page, looking for its mate, and read that BCBS was trying to determine whether or not these expenses were eligible and they were waiting on requested medical records. The idea that these charges might be rejected and that I might have to pay for those procedures out-of-pocket literally makes my stomach turn. Because it's another injustice added to my basket of unfair.
I know that, compared to the expenses of many many other people riding this train, my medical expenses are pretty modest, not to mention the fact that I have relatively decent health insurance. But aside from the fear of financial melt-down is an anger and resentment over the fact that I am spending the hard-earned, diligently-saved money put aside to give birth to a LIVE baby on the loss of three babies instead.
I hate that I give (have to give?) financial concerns so much weight in my decision making process- what tests to take, how many specialists to consult with, and - inevitably - whether to try again. I think that if expense wasn't a concern, I'd be much more likely to try IVF. Having children seems like it should have been included in the Declaration of Independence as one of the Inalienable Rights. But financial means, or lack thereof, are a very real consideration.
In this day and age and in this country, when you are spoon-fed the tripe that you can do anything you want, be anything you want, follow your dreams and the money will follow you - it seems downright anti-American to NOT chase this fundamental dream of a family. What kind of person quits in the face of such earthly, existential, tasteless concerns as money? If I subscribed to such gobbledygook as that book "The Secret" or even prayer, I would forge ahead with the understanding that all I have to do is wish/imagine/visualize/request success with all my heart and soul and I will get what I want, or more damaging still, what I deserve. Sorry, but that is not the way my or the poverty-stricken beggar in Calcutta's slums (you think she doesn't pray with all her heart that she can find food for her baby?) worlds work. My experience is that life is unfair, confounding and unpredictable and can turn on a dime. You lose as often as you win. And sometimes you lose more than you win because this time, you walked in front of an unfortunate statistic. If you are reading this blog, you know what it feels like to be caught by that random bullet.
BUT, despite what I know about life's inequity, I still harbor hope - the most resilient of all human states-of-mind and the one that helps us through our darkest hours. And I am glad for that since a life without hope is a life that doesn't sparkle. And what I hope is that I can dodge the bullet before I have to decide that money was the reason I couldn't have children.
The explanation of benefits from BCBS for the 6 blood tests with the impossible-to-pronounce names totaled over $1100; and following the usual cryptic listing of these tests was an innocent little asterisk (keep a sharp eye out for that damn asterisk, y’all; it never bodes well.) I skimmed to the bottom of the page, looking for its mate, and read that BCBS was trying to determine whether or not these expenses were eligible and they were waiting on requested medical records. The idea that these charges might be rejected and that I might have to pay for those procedures out-of-pocket literally makes my stomach turn. Because it's another injustice added to my basket of unfair.
I know that, compared to the expenses of many many other people riding this train, my medical expenses are pretty modest, not to mention the fact that I have relatively decent health insurance. But aside from the fear of financial melt-down is an anger and resentment over the fact that I am spending the hard-earned, diligently-saved money put aside to give birth to a LIVE baby on the loss of three babies instead.
I hate that I give (have to give?) financial concerns so much weight in my decision making process- what tests to take, how many specialists to consult with, and - inevitably - whether to try again. I think that if expense wasn't a concern, I'd be much more likely to try IVF. Having children seems like it should have been included in the Declaration of Independence as one of the Inalienable Rights. But financial means, or lack thereof, are a very real consideration.
In this day and age and in this country, when you are spoon-fed the tripe that you can do anything you want, be anything you want, follow your dreams and the money will follow you - it seems downright anti-American to NOT chase this fundamental dream of a family. What kind of person quits in the face of such earthly, existential, tasteless concerns as money? If I subscribed to such gobbledygook as that book "The Secret" or even prayer, I would forge ahead with the understanding that all I have to do is wish/imagine/visualize/request success with all my heart and soul and I will get what I want, or more damaging still, what I deserve. Sorry, but that is not the way my or the poverty-stricken beggar in Calcutta's slums (you think she doesn't pray with all her heart that she can find food for her baby?) worlds work. My experience is that life is unfair, confounding and unpredictable and can turn on a dime. You lose as often as you win. And sometimes you lose more than you win because this time, you walked in front of an unfortunate statistic. If you are reading this blog, you know what it feels like to be caught by that random bullet.
BUT, despite what I know about life's inequity, I still harbor hope - the most resilient of all human states-of-mind and the one that helps us through our darkest hours. And I am glad for that since a life without hope is a life that doesn't sparkle. And what I hope is that I can dodge the bullet before I have to decide that money was the reason I couldn't have children.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
World Champion Snowballer
(written this past Monday)
My heart is in my throat today. I’ve got that double-time tightening in my chest that leaves me super-sensitive to the everyday annoyances that a well-functioning adult should be able to shake-off with a gentle but stern reminder that no babies died . .. oh, wait . . .
As my husband expressed to my therapist – who nodded in agreement - in our first counseling session, I am a control freak. It was entirely appropriate to bring up this trait in a clinical psychology context since it is definitely a trait that tends more towards the pathological than the organizational. When my mood is off-kilter then the world is off- kilter as well, and I feel likely to roll right off the razor edge of order into the abyss of accident, loss, grief, disorder, isolation and imperfection unless I whip everything into ship shape. And as soon as I start rolling … well you know… I just keep rolling and rolling, gathering up all my fears and gripes with the Universe into an ever-growing ball of misery. I am a professional Snowballer. And don’t try to console me with stories of your own epic snowball sessions; ‘cause I’m the World Champion Snowballer and I train almost everyday, all day.
Joking aside, the heart-in-the-throat feeling can be summed up with one word – anxiety. Straight up fear. My whole nervous system hums with adrenaline and I am ready for a fight, poised to strike as soon as I’m struck. In this super-sensitive state of mind, I react very aggressively to the smallest imperfections. Today, for instance, I could barely tolerate my husband’s badly-cooked chicken and an unvacuumned carpet. In fact, I really didn’t tolerate it at all, but complained instead that the chicken he cooked was dry, the avocados he chose at the grocery were hard, and had his moratorium on washing utensils now expanded to blenders as well? It was the kind of seemingly innocuous negativity and judging that poisons a relationship – slowly and surreptitiously. I am afraid that my anxiety and depression (and now I need to add envy after reading a couple of y'all's posts on the subject) in general, and infertility in particular, could poison my relationship and my life irrevocably.
Who knows why the anxiety is up today? Could be that it’s Monday. Maybe I drank too much this weekend. Both are likely reasons. But I also think it has something to do with the fact that I got my period today which means that I am supposed to call my RE and make an appointment to do an xray of my uterus. And that makes me scared. Not scared that they’ll find something wrong – that might be a relief. Just scared. Scared to move forward, scared of the impending decisions, scared of success, scared of failure, scared of life. Scared. And unfortunately, I have yet to discover a decompression strategy that doesn’t involve adult beverages or prescription medication.
On days like today (and there are more of them than not), when my inadequate coping mechanisms are so starkly revealed, I wonder if I could really handle the messy, unpredictable, uncontrollable world of children. Maybe I’m better off limiting the victims of my anxiety-driven rampages to my long suffering husband. Really, truly - maybe I should just let this go . . . except that that thought causes equal amounts of anxiety.
Let me ask you all, how do you cope with the fear and anxiety?
And where’s my mojito? Seriously, where did I put it?
---------------------------
P.S. Thanks everyone for your comments. I don't have internet at my home in BFE, and I work in the same 10 ft by 10 ft office as my boss. So getting time to read and respond to blogs and comments isn't easy for me. But I'm reading all of them and soaking it all up.
My heart is in my throat today. I’ve got that double-time tightening in my chest that leaves me super-sensitive to the everyday annoyances that a well-functioning adult should be able to shake-off with a gentle but stern reminder that no babies died . .. oh, wait . . .
As my husband expressed to my therapist – who nodded in agreement - in our first counseling session, I am a control freak. It was entirely appropriate to bring up this trait in a clinical psychology context since it is definitely a trait that tends more towards the pathological than the organizational. When my mood is off-kilter then the world is off- kilter as well, and I feel likely to roll right off the razor edge of order into the abyss of accident, loss, grief, disorder, isolation and imperfection unless I whip everything into ship shape. And as soon as I start rolling … well you know… I just keep rolling and rolling, gathering up all my fears and gripes with the Universe into an ever-growing ball of misery. I am a professional Snowballer. And don’t try to console me with stories of your own epic snowball sessions; ‘cause I’m the World Champion Snowballer and I train almost everyday, all day.
Joking aside, the heart-in-the-throat feeling can be summed up with one word – anxiety. Straight up fear. My whole nervous system hums with adrenaline and I am ready for a fight, poised to strike as soon as I’m struck. In this super-sensitive state of mind, I react very aggressively to the smallest imperfections. Today, for instance, I could barely tolerate my husband’s badly-cooked chicken and an unvacuumned carpet. In fact, I really didn’t tolerate it at all, but complained instead that the chicken he cooked was dry, the avocados he chose at the grocery were hard, and had his moratorium on washing utensils now expanded to blenders as well? It was the kind of seemingly innocuous negativity and judging that poisons a relationship – slowly and surreptitiously. I am afraid that my anxiety and depression (and now I need to add envy after reading a couple of y'all's posts on the subject) in general, and infertility in particular, could poison my relationship and my life irrevocably.
Who knows why the anxiety is up today? Could be that it’s Monday. Maybe I drank too much this weekend. Both are likely reasons. But I also think it has something to do with the fact that I got my period today which means that I am supposed to call my RE and make an appointment to do an xray of my uterus. And that makes me scared. Not scared that they’ll find something wrong – that might be a relief. Just scared. Scared to move forward, scared of the impending decisions, scared of success, scared of failure, scared of life. Scared. And unfortunately, I have yet to discover a decompression strategy that doesn’t involve adult beverages or prescription medication.
On days like today (and there are more of them than not), when my inadequate coping mechanisms are so starkly revealed, I wonder if I could really handle the messy, unpredictable, uncontrollable world of children. Maybe I’m better off limiting the victims of my anxiety-driven rampages to my long suffering husband. Really, truly - maybe I should just let this go . . . except that that thought causes equal amounts of anxiety.
Let me ask you all, how do you cope with the fear and anxiety?
And where’s my mojito? Seriously, where did I put it?
---------------------------
P.S. Thanks everyone for your comments. I don't have internet at my home in BFE, and I work in the same 10 ft by 10 ft office as my boss. So getting time to read and respond to blogs and comments isn't easy for me. But I'm reading all of them and soaking it all up.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Nice to Meet You: Epilogue
It has been an absolute trial, this third one, for so many reasons. In the first place, we heard a heartbeat – three times. We had pictures of a little white glob. We even saw his facial features (it was a boy). We told people; making happy plans about grandma visiting from Georgia. And we got married, planting a tree on our 5-acre property to signify the growth of our relationship and the growth of our family. There had been a lot of hope and love surrounding this last pregnancy and within the space of a few hours, it was snuffed out completely.
We were able to find resolution to the cause of the third miscarriage after a farcical series of missteps. As it turns out, my 13-week-old boy fetus was not sitting close to my cervix and removed by the emergency room doctor, but had most likely fallen into the toilet in that moment when I felt a larger mass of something come sliding out.
Fortunately, I am on the pro-choice side of the spectrum when it comes to conceptualizing human life. This was a fetus still - not a baby boy (though I seem to waver back and forth between calling all three of my "stars in the sky" "baby" and "fetus"). The fetus was a precursor of sorts - not yet mine, still belonging to the forces of biology and natural selection. Even still, the thought that the fetus (whose arms I saw moving and facial features I glimpsed briefly on the ultrasound) was flushed down the toilet like a dead fish is absolutely horrifying. I don't know how we didn't see it in the toilet when we looked; mercifully we didn't/unfortunately we didn't.
Luckily the doctor did retrieve other products of conception and despite placing these POC's in a preserving formalin solution which can render the tissue useless for any chromosomal tests, a karyotype was able to be performed and the diagnosis of triploidy was established.*
If you don't feel like clicking over to read about triploidy, here's my summation:
We were very lucky to have gotten this last piece of the puzzle. Knowing the cause certainly puts your mind at ease (not because I thought it was my fault; I actually don’t suffer that kind of guilt). This baby was going to die eventually - and definitely better that it occurred sooner than later. And it's an important diagnosis in terms of identifying potential areas of concern vs. things we can rule out.
With this diagnosis, I was able to tackle the intimidating field of advisable tests, doctors' opinions and the overall issue of whether to TTC again with more clarity and confidence. Below this post, I will provide a dry accounting of the tests I've taken and the results so far. With that, I will have revealed my back story to you all, and from here on out, you move forward with me in real-time as my husband and I try to decide what the hell to do next.
Remember when, after my first miscarriage, I basically double-dog-dared the Universe by claiming that the maximum number of losses I would tolerate would be three? Well, I think I also believed that, after a third miscarriage (impossible), I would bow out of the fight gracefully and reasonably.
I know, I know. Silly girl.
I just keep falling in hope . . . again and again and again … and again.
--------------------
* So everyone out there reading, if you find yourself in this unexpected position, be very, very clear with whoever is rummaging around in your uterus that you want to know what exactly they took out and what exactly you'd like done with those tissues - because they sure don't ask.
TESTS
anticardiolipin = normal range of 9.4
Factor V Leiden = negative
Prothrombin Mut = negative
Proteins C and S = normal
Lupus Ant = negative
Karyotype on me = normal
Hysterosalpingogram= normal
No tests on husband. We conceive every time we try.
We were able to find resolution to the cause of the third miscarriage after a farcical series of missteps. As it turns out, my 13-week-old boy fetus was not sitting close to my cervix and removed by the emergency room doctor, but had most likely fallen into the toilet in that moment when I felt a larger mass of something come sliding out.
Fortunately, I am on the pro-choice side of the spectrum when it comes to conceptualizing human life. This was a fetus still - not a baby boy (though I seem to waver back and forth between calling all three of my "stars in the sky" "baby" and "fetus"). The fetus was a precursor of sorts - not yet mine, still belonging to the forces of biology and natural selection. Even still, the thought that the fetus (whose arms I saw moving and facial features I glimpsed briefly on the ultrasound) was flushed down the toilet like a dead fish is absolutely horrifying. I don't know how we didn't see it in the toilet when we looked; mercifully we didn't/unfortunately we didn't.
Luckily the doctor did retrieve other products of conception and despite placing these POC's in a preserving formalin solution which can render the tissue useless for any chromosomal tests, a karyotype was able to be performed and the diagnosis of triploidy was established.*
If you don't feel like clicking over to read about triploidy, here's my summation:
- the fetus has a full set of extra chromosomes so that instead of 46 chromosomes, it has 69
- triploidy is inconsistent with life
- triploidy is a random genetic mishap that is NOT a factor of age (unlike Downs and other trisomies). 19-year-olds can get it as often as 39 -year-olds
- there is no greater-than-average statistical likelihood that this will happen a second time
- triploidy is typically an error in cell division of the egg, not the sperm
We were very lucky to have gotten this last piece of the puzzle. Knowing the cause certainly puts your mind at ease (not because I thought it was my fault; I actually don’t suffer that kind of guilt). This baby was going to die eventually - and definitely better that it occurred sooner than later. And it's an important diagnosis in terms of identifying potential areas of concern vs. things we can rule out.
With this diagnosis, I was able to tackle the intimidating field of advisable tests, doctors' opinions and the overall issue of whether to TTC again with more clarity and confidence. Below this post, I will provide a dry accounting of the tests I've taken and the results so far. With that, I will have revealed my back story to you all, and from here on out, you move forward with me in real-time as my husband and I try to decide what the hell to do next.
Remember when, after my first miscarriage, I basically double-dog-dared the Universe by claiming that the maximum number of losses I would tolerate would be three? Well, I think I also believed that, after a third miscarriage (impossible), I would bow out of the fight gracefully and reasonably.
I know, I know. Silly girl.
I just keep falling in hope . . . again and again and again … and again.
--------------------
* So everyone out there reading, if you find yourself in this unexpected position, be very, very clear with whoever is rummaging around in your uterus that you want to know what exactly they took out and what exactly you'd like done with those tissues - because they sure don't ask.
TESTS
anticardiolipin = normal range of 9.4
Factor V Leiden = negative
Prothrombin Mut = negative
Proteins C and S = normal
Lupus Ant = negative
Karyotype on me = normal
Hysterosalpingogram= normal
No tests on husband. We conceive every time we try.
