So Close

Conversation at work

One girl to another: I originally did not want a girl, you know, all that playing with Barbie dolls and stuff.

Me under breath: Yes, I can relate. I originally didn’t want a miscarriage, you know, all that blood and passing of tissue. Although if it’s a girl now I might just send it back. God forbid it/she plays with Barbies. (although my child will have an IVF Barbie)

Past and the Present.

You know what’s weird, is that people seem to think that being pregnant makes you suddenly part of the ‘normal’ world. By this I mean that once you get pregnant, they seem to think your past is erased, and you are the same as any other normal pg person. I think I understand this. They are so happy that you are now ‘over’ or ‘cured’ from your infertility, that you are now happy and normal, that they want you to move on from the pain of the past and be, well, normal. So I understand that it is coming from a good, loving place.

But. I feel I have to remind people of a few cold, hard facts.

Firstly, being pg does not = having a baby. Sure it should. And for most ‘normal’ people, it does. Unfortunately for some, for me, it doesn’t. It’s the fourth time I’ve been pg and still no baby. So the anxiety, fear, paranoia etc doesn’t stop when you get pg. It actually gets worse after a positive test. Suddenly the stakes are even higher. Maybe it lessens after the baby is born. But for me, I can’t simply be a happy and normal pg person, I would love to be, but once (three times) bitten!

Secondly, getting pg does not automatically erase the past. Sure, we shouldn’t live in the past and dwell on the bad things, but this pg was the result of many many years trying, of many tears, pain, emotions, losses, money spent. There are deep scars that don’t just go away when you get pg. I know that people so badly want you to be happy that they are almost too scared to speak about your past, to acknowledge it. But I can never gloss over it. I lived in that hell for four years, it has made me who I am today, like it or not.

In summary, getting pg does not ‘cure’ infertility. As a matter of fact I am still infertile, I am just pg. Enormously grateful to be pg, deeply thankful, but I am still infertile. What made me have a child was not making love (or shagging) my husband, but rather 6 fresh IVF’s, 3 frozen, 3 IUI’s, and 7 babies lost. So I am not cured. I am just very damn lucky to have managed to get pregnant this time. Please God it lasts.

I still find pg announcements hard to handle. It hasn’t gotten any easier. It still stings. I still find it hard to go to baby showers. I had a friend call me the other day to announce her pg. She is 23w. She didn’t want to tell me until I was “over the danger period”. You know what, it hurt. I am happy for her. She has waited for a long time. But it still hurt. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I am never over the danger period.

I don’t know what I am trying to say. Just that getting pg does not erase the past, it does not make me suddenly ‘normal’, and lastly, it unfortunately does not automatically mean a baby at the end. Of course I would rather be pg than not pg, I am not being ungrateful, just trying to say that is difficult for me to be ‘normal’. Hell, we all know I am not normal. You should the reaction I get when people ask me how the babies are. My stock answer is “hopefully still alive”. They get upset with me. But seriously, I do hope they are still alive. What else am I supposed to say?

I am happy (grateful, thankful, humbled) to be pg, I am just not obliviously happy. I hope this does not come across as ungrateful, or moaning about being pg. Please shoot me if I am ever that insensitive to ever suggest that I am not 100% on-my-knees grateful for this opportunity. Because I am. I’ll take this pregnancy in whatever flavor it is dished up to me, good, bad, anxious or ugly; hemorrhoids, puking, nosebleeds or circus-like weight gain, I’ll take whatever I can get. . I just can’t forget the past.

Make sense?

Bloggers Block

I have bloggers block. My creative outlet is blocked. (as are other outlets but we wont go into that here).

The way I write, is that when the urge takes me, or when I am feeling particularly anxious etc, I will write things down. I have a long document full of entries that I have never posted. Because I write not to post things on my blog, but rather as a therapeutic measure to get things out from inside. Things always seem better on paper than they do when they are swilling around inside. I will occasionally post this discourse when I feel it might be relevant or pertinent, or even remotely interesting.

However now and then I write things specifically for my blog. I also don’t like to go too long between posts because I don’t like to disappoint my few readers / friends who come here every day. I don’t like to leave any one unfulfilled. Besides my husband who is on rations.

But for the last few days I’ve had bloggers block. It’s due to a few things. Firstly Grrl’s news has really affected me. It feels wrong to be frivolous. Secondly, my brain is so full of stressful decisions that I can’t think clearly (work, money, leave, which hospital for bedrest, which Dr, amnio or not etc etc). Lastly, I am still feeling shitty (nauseous, bone tired, screaming headaches). I am actually not that much fun to be around.

So please forgive me for the dearth of posts, I will try and wring something interesting out of my creative spirit soon. It is Monday morning after all, something is bound to piss me off before the week is over.

Over n out. For now.

What a day.

Firstly let me say that I am totally devastated by Grrl’s news. My heart feels very heavy for her right now and it feels wrong to write up a skippy post when her whole world is falling down around her. Life can be so unbearably cruel. I learnt after Ben’s death that there is no logic in this world, there are no answers to the question why, or why me. But it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. At times like this it seems there is no light at the end of the tunnel, in fact that there is no reason to carry on. I remember thinking at the time that if it wasn’t for my husband…… My hope, my deepest wish, is that there is light at the end of the tunnel for Grrl. That there is a ‘happily ever after’ in her life plan. At times like this it seems as if nothing will ever go right, but I am not ready to give up on her happy ending. My heart goes out to you Grrl, may the thousand shattered pieces of your broken heart be healed, even if the scars never fade.

Now, let me move on to my news, although my happiness feels very much subdued.

Clearly baby and pg stuff mentioned:

We arrived at the fetal assessment center this morning both nervous as hell. We both kept sighing, these deep sighs. So many horrible memories came flooding back. Plus it’s a horrible place, it’s a government hospital but the head Dr there is the best in the region and I wanted to go to the best. But what a depressing place.

As I lay on the table I mentally squared myself for what was to come. I couldn’t even look at my husband because I couldn’t bear seeing his fear as well.

First thing we saw is both babies jumping around. So they were both alive. Phew.

Then she did a very thorough analysis of each baby, 30 minutes each. All I wanted is for her to get to the nuchal measurement. When she eventually measured the first baby’s neck and it was 1.6 I was stunned. 1.6 is a brilliant measurement for me. I thought, ok, it looks like we have one normal baby. Every thing else measured fine. Nasal bone, skull, brain, spine, abdominal wall, bladder, hands, feet, placenta etc, all “appear normal”.

Second baby. Nuchal measurement even better. 1.5. Every thing else fine. H/b’s at 167 and 161

The news was far far better than I had even hoped it would be. Last time I had nuchal measurements of 2.7 and 2.9!!!! My odds for the babies then was 1 in 15, 1 in 2, 1 in 25 and 1 in 200. The 1 in 15 and 1 in 25 babies were both tested normal by CVS. So I was convinced I have babies with thick necks.

This time my odds are 1 in 275, taking into account the fact that I have had a previous Downs baby. Which puts my risk profile up dramatically. The Dr said taking that out of the equation my odds would be something like 1 in 600. Music to my ears. Compare that to last time, with the 1 in 15.

We decided not to do CVS, because of the great odds. We will do another extensive level II scan at 16w to double check every thing, and if there are any abnormalities then, we will do an amnio.

I feel unbelievably grateful. I feel unbelievably relieved. It actually all feels unbelievable.

So Hope is back.

Thank you every one.

Anxiety Levels

Tomorrow is my big nuchal scan. It is also 10 days since my last scan.

See below for a scientific analysis of my anxiety levels.

I am very very very scared. I've been here before and it wasn't good.

Your view on Boobs

One of the great things about the Internet, is that it has allowed me to make friends with people from all over the world. When you share a common bond like infertility you make some really deep friendships, or at least I do. They probably hate me back. Not caring.

What I find so cool is that I get an insight into cultures that are totally different to mine. The American culture has always amused me, and I don’t mean that in a disparaging way, it’s just, well interesting.

Here in South Africa we have a very interesting mix of cultures. A real melting pot. Or as the cliché goes, a rainbow nation. Because we were colonized by the British and their friends, we speak British English. It is colour, not color. Flavour. Programme. Enterprise. And it’s 19 July 2004. Not July19, 2004. We also have a more British sense of humour (humor) than American. But we are less uptight than the British and we are better lovers. (joke)

And candy = sweets, biscuit = roll, cookie = biscuit. Fries = chips.

All in all a challenge when I write my blog because I have to translate my posts to American English. Thank god I am so clever.

But enough about that.

The reason for my post. You are wondering what boobs have to do with American culture.

Well, a post on another board today reminded me of a question I wanted to ask my American friends.

The girl on the other board posted something like this: (I say something like because as you know I never read any thing properly). Apparently she noticed that a guest of her neighbour (neighbor – this is getting annoying) was tanning topless in the neighbour’s garden. Apparently if you looked over or through the fence you could see the woman’s boobs. The girl on the board was so outraged and offended that she called the police to come and tell the woman to put her top back on. It really upset her.

I am amazed. In fact I am probably more amused. Who cares? I couldn’t care less if my neighbour tanned topless. My friends do it all the time on the beach.

It was the same thing with Janet Jackson’s boob. Apparently most of America was totally outraged, morally offended and in some cases even traumatized to witness a 3 second flash of a boob. With a nipple cap on. It’s a boob!!! We’ve all seen them and 50% of us have them.

I am probably missing something here, and I realize it could be a cultural difference thing, but I honestly don’t get the outrage at seeing boobs.

Is it really such a big thing there? Would my dear American friends get upset if their neighbour tanned topless?

I hope I don’t get a million google hits from acne’d teenagers looking for pictures of boobs.

A few minor little character flaws.

About six months after my met my husband, we were driving in the car and I thought (stupidly really) I would play that game, you know the one where you say “I know! Lets each tell each other what we think the other one’s flaws are”.

I had a whole list ready to tell him, he is a bit stubborn, he is too aggressive on the road, not demonstrative enough etc etc. You know, all things he could change (with a little direction and help from me) to become a better person.

I let him go first, thinking he would have to think for ages before coming up with any thing, and he immediately said “well, you whine quite a bit”.

“WHAT?????”

“I whine? What do you mean, I whine?” I was floored. Me a whiner?? And he wasn’t even being ugly, he was being matter of fact. It was one of those moments of enlightenment. And I realized, for the first time in my life, at the ripe old age of 30 something, that I am a whiner. I never knew. In a way it was quite liberating. They say the first step to solving your problem (not that I want to solve this, or that I believe it’s a problem), is admitting you have the problem in the first place.

It’s also been very effective against my husband because when he accuses me of being a whiner I say “I know”. Because that’s what I am.

However, if he listened to me the first time round then I wouldn’t have to whine, now would I? Please don’t walk outside in your socks, please take those muddy shoes off, please DO NOT USE THAT CLOTH TO WIPE THINGS OFF THE FLOOR! He uses the cloth that I use to wipe the counter tops. Has the man no sense?

So, I am a whiner. I whine. Anyhow, moving on.

Every now and then I discover other character flaws. Very few of course, and absolutely minor ones. This latest one was pointed out to me by Julie. My BF. Well, could be ex BF. She asked if I ever read any thing through properly. I mentioned something that apparently if I had the rest of the post I would have got the full story. And I had another one of those moments of enlightenment. Do you know that I never read any thing properly, ever. I have the concentration span of a two year old and I skim read every thing. How I managed to do three degrees I will never know. There was discussion on Jo’s blog about the book ‘What to Expect’, about some iffy parts of the book. I’ve never noticed. I’ve read the book twice.

I’ve mentioned before about my love of bullet points. Apparently I read that way as well. It’s just that my brain is really full. I don’t have much space for the details. I know it is also because I am damn lazy. If I can’t understand something straight away, or I get a lengthy, wordy document at work I will immediately ask the person to summarize it in a few bullet points.

I feel guilty now because I am not giving the full and proper attention to all the bloggers out there. I speed read the posts. And very seldom do I read the comments. I am a superficial bitch. A superficial, whining bitch with the concentration span of a two year old. Thank god for my many other fabulous and wonderful qualities.

A Randomized Study into Alternative Infertility Solutions

In an attempt to finally prove or disprove the validity of several popular alternate infertility solutions, espoused by various fertility experts (cleverly disguised as well-meaning friends and family) we enlisted the help of volunteers Jack and Jill.

Although the sample size was small (n=1), we felt that the sample was sufficiently representative of the general infertile population, and that based on the findings of this controlled double blind research, we could extrapolate the findings to the general populace (p=.01).

The sample:

Jack (age 38) diagnosis: slight morphology issues, slightly lower count, otherwise healthy

Jill (age 35) diagnosis: PCOS, stage II endometriosis and some adhesions, otherwise healthy.

Jack and Jill have been trying to conceive for four years. They have no other children.

Hypotheses:

1. Just Relax

The hypothesis here is that if Jack and Jill ‘just relaxed’ they would get pregnant. The inference is that by not relaxing, they are by nature permanently stressed and tense and this tension is somehow preventing the sperm meeting the egg, fertilizing the egg and the embryo implanting in the womb.

The couple was rather surprised and said they did not feel particularly stressed or tense at all, but were willing to go along with the experiment.

For this experiment we asked Jill in particular to ‘just relax’. The reason we asked Jill is because it is common knowledge that it’s the woman who causes the stress in the bedroom when trying to conceive.

Initially Jill was puzzled as how she should ‘just relax’ but after a few glasses of wine and some pot, she did seem a little more relaxed.

The findings: Jill reported back that in spite of being so relaxed that she fell asleep twice during sex and once during foreplay, she still did not manage to conceive.

Unfortunately it would seem that ‘just relaxing’ will not clear up your endometriosis or assist with fertilization. By all means continue with the wine if it helps.

2. Just don’t think about it

A similar hypothesis to the ‘just relax’ one, the hypothesis is that by not thinking about the fact that you are trying to conceive, you will then automatically conceive. The inference here is that your constant thinking (read obsessing) about trying to conceive is making your uterus frigid and inhospitable.

Plenty anecdotal evidence has been supplied by our local fertility ‘experts’. Apparently they all know someone who just stopped thinking about it and boom! they got pregnant.

To be honest the researchers were at a loss as to how to suggest to Jill she ‘just not think about it’. Clearly the well-meaning experts have ‘on-off’ switches in their brains that they are able to switch a certain train of thought off. And there is no truth in the rumor that most of these people have their switches permanently switched to ‘off’.

However our intrepid volunteers soldiered on and tried their best. Jill said she totally ignored when she was ovulating by taking several Tylenol thereby numbing herself to the signs. She also ignored her period and pretended she did not know where she was in her cycle. Apparently it got extremely messy and embarrassing. When asked at a social function whether she had any plans to have children she acted vague and said ‘Children? What do you mean?’

Unfortunately this did not seem to work either. The researchers welcome the experts to suggest a way one could ‘just not think’ about something. Short of having a lobotomy, it proved nearly impossible to ‘just not think about it’.

3. Why don’t you just adopt?

You will notice that there is a lot of use of the word ‘just’. Implying that, really, the solution is painfully obvious and simple and you must be a bit thick not to get it.

The hypothesis here is that you can ‘just’ adopt and then you will stop moping around hankering after a child.

Unfortunately Jack and Jill discovered that there is nothing ‘just’ about adopting. Not only is this an enormous decision that affects their future, and the child’s future, the adopted child has nothing ‘just’ about it and you can’t take it back if you change your mind.

Additionally, adopting is extremely difficult, and rather costly. Babies cannot be ordered off a catalogue, COD. No one ‘just’ adopts.

4. Just adopt and you will get pregnant

Ah. The inference here is that the adoption, and by consequence, the adopted child are merely tools (expendable?) to get pregnant, almost like a fertility doll or statue. Perhaps you need to rub the head of your adopted child three times and place him facing the front door? The researchers are not quite sure what the fertility ‘experts’ want you to do with the child once you get pregnant?

Despite seemingly endless anecdotal evidence by our ‘experts’ where Susie, Mary and Poppy adopted and boom, they got pregnant, statistics show that there is absolutely no difference in pregnancy rates between those who have adopted and those who haven’t. Really. Promise.

The researchers are reluctant to give voice to the absurd implication that somehow adopted children are second best or Not Quite Good Enough. Surely only really really stupid, narrow minded people would think that?

5. Why don’t you sleep with me / my husband, I / he will get you pregnant.

This was a difficult hypothesis to prove or disprove as our willing volunteers were not that keen to test the validity of this one.

However, after much persuasion (read more wine and pot), we managed to convince Jill to sleep with Bob, her fertile ‘friend’s’ husband. Oddly enough her endometriosis did not clear up, her PCOS did not disappear and she did not conceive. Jill was overheard saying that she would rather have no children than have to shag Bob all the time. Fertile or not, he was one crap shag.

Contrary to popular belief, it would seem that fertility has nothing to do with sexuality, virility or even getting an erection and sticking it in a hole somewhere.

6. Are you sure you are doing it right?

By ‘right’ the researchers assumed that the speaker meant sexually, as well as without contraception. After questioning we found out that in fact Jack and Jill did not use condoms or birth control pills. They seemed to be aware that could interfere with conception. Surprisingly astute, our volunteers.

So the actual sexual act had to be examined according to the very difficult and complicated checklist, to ensure that Jack and Jill were in fact, doing it right.

Penis – check
Vagina – check
Penetration – check
Ejaculation – check

All the bits seemed to be there. Jack and Jill were doing it right.

For good measure we added the ‘legs in the air afterwards’ trick. Nope, did not help.

7. Are you sure your Dr knows what he is doing

The researchers are not sure whether the speaker is implying that they would do a better job, or that the credentials of the Dr are invalid.

Apparently Jack and Jill’s Dr is qualified to practice.

And so unfortunately, after these many tests and many hours of exacting research, the researchers are forced to conclude that in fact these well-meaning ‘experts’ don’t have a fucking clue what they are talking about and if they had two brain cells to rub together they would think before they opened their mouths. Put in scientific terms, they should all ‘just’ fuck right off.

The next study will be to test the theory that the size of these peoples’ mouths appears to be inversely correlated to intelligence.

Act 4, Scene 3

Act 4, Scene 3 – In which Hope makes her reappearance after a long absence.

Background: Waiting room, anxious Tertia writing up bad news blog entries in her head, Dr 30 minutes late.

Tertia goes in to consulting room.

Dr: “How are you doing?”

Tertia: “Ask me after the scan.”

Dr: “You really are cautious aren’t you.”

Tertia lies on bed.

Dr scanning.

Tertia: “Just tell me first, can you see the heartbreats.”

Dr looks for heartbeat in first baby – well-behaved child immediately jumps (acrobat!)

Tertia: (huge relief) “ok that ones alive, the other one?”

Dr looks for heartbeat in second baby – equally well-behaved child jumps and waves his arms. Phew!

Suddenly door crashed open and in skips Hope, singing on the top of her voice, la la laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Tertia: “Where the hell have you been you fickle bitch?”

Hope: (puzzled look) “but you told me to go away and leave you alone?”

Tertia: (grudgingly) “Well, you can hang around for the next day or so. Can’t promise any thing longer than that. Now stop singing so loudly. We are only 10w3d, we have very very long to go.”

So all went well with the scan this morning. I spent a terrible weekend absolutely convinced it would be bad news today. I don’t know why. Just because I am a nervous wreck I suppose.

If stress really is that bad for the babies, I am totally fucked. Because I am permanently stressed out to the max. And please don’t tell me to relax and not to stress, believe me if I knew how to, I would. Suppose a glass of wine or two and a smoke would work but unfortunately that is out of the question.

Next HUGE step is the big level II nuchal translucency scan next Thurs. That is a big point for me, its where I have had very bad news before.

To CVS / amnio or not to CVS / amnio……….

Viva la Difference

I had coffee with a friend of mine yesterday. She is one of those friends who you know for years, who you maybe only speak to once or twice a year but you stay friends with.

About two months ago I got an email from her that gave me such a chill down my spine. The email said something like “Our son Ben was born 3 months early, and after fighting bravely for 10 days in NICU, the fight became too much for him and he died on the xxx …..”.

When I read the words I went cold, I could not process what she was saying. I thought it was an email I had sent to her that she had somehow sent back to me by mistake. It was like very bad déjà vu.

And then I read it again, and I realized that this poor woman had gone through exactly the same thing as I had, just four months later. Our stories are eerily the same, both Ben, both living for 10 days. Both dying in our arms.

We met for coffee yesterday and spoke. And spoke. Her grief is a lot fresher than mine, but I could relate to every single thing she was saying. I can’t tell you how good it felt to speak to some one who had been through what I had been through, not that I would wish this on any one.

Once I left her so many of the memories came flooding back, memories that I have been suppressing. The day you hear the news that your child is dying. The incredible highs and lows of the NICU stay. The birth. As I said to her, when you look back now, you can’t actually believe you went through that all, that you came out of it (semi) sane. It was the most hectic, desperate, awful time of my life. I have not stopped thinking about my little boy for the last 24 hours. And that’s ok. Because I don’t ever want to forget him. Even if the memories are sometime painful.

But what was especially poignant for me was the stark difference in how we grieved. As mentioned previously, grieving is a process, and pretty well most of us will go through the different grieving phases. But I think she handled it better. She surrounded herself with family and friends, she had her family come stay over, she got together with her friends, she had people all around her. She said her friends and family were a huge support to her, and she grieved with them and in front of them.

I was totally different. I retreated so far into my cave that no one could find me. I couldn’t be around any one, and I grieved alone. I was too scared to be let people see how raw I was. I felt like I had no skin. I even grieved out of sight from my husband. I don’t know why I am like that. I have a very loving family who are different to me. They are not scared to be open with their emotions. I also have amazing, supportive friends.

After speaking to my friend I initially felt bad, as if I had somehow missed out. That perhaps I didn’t have friends like she has. But then I realized that it was not my friends’ fault, or any of my family. That is just how I am. I am a cave dweller through and through. And that is how I get stronger, by being by myself until I feel stronger.

And that’s ok. Viva la difference! Thank god we are all different. It would be terribly boring if we were all the same.

We each need to do what works for us.

** A special moment of love sent to both little Ben’s, your mommies miss you, our special little boys. **