So Close

Waging the War.

I need to ask a question. About what to say to people still trying. Which might sound strange because I have been trying for so long I should know what to say, right? Well I know what I want to hear but I don’t know if other people feel the same.

Julia described it so well, I feel combative about trying. It has felt like I have been fighting a war all this time. Against who or what I don’t know. Infertility I guess. My so-called ‘fate’. Each time this thing called infertility has tried to beat me down to me knees I have gotten up and said ‘Fuck You, you wont break me, I will beat you’. And it has tried, oh boy has it tried, it has come really close, but I will not let it break me or dictate my future. I refuse to accept a childless future, not for me. If others choose that, fine. But not for me. I will not just give into this thing called infertility. I wont let it decide for me how my future might look.

I have always said that I will have a child one day, whether it is from my eggs or my body, or not, I will have a child one day. Imagine a fist in the air waving at this thing called infertility. That’s how I feel. Fuck you infertility, I wont let you win.

That’s how I feel, embattled yet battle ready. Infertility might have won a few of the battles but I WILL win the war.

And so, when I come across people who are in the throws of the war against infertility, perhaps after losing a battle or two, I want to say to them ‘don’t give up, carry on fighting’. Because I believe (if you are open to it) there are many wonderful ways towards a happy ending, which in our case is a child.

I want to say to them “I know it is hard when you are down there, but don’t let this fucker beat you, get up and give infertility the finger, shout “FUCK YOU!! I will beat you”’. Because that is how I feel. I know you might say it is easy for me to say this now, being pg, but any one who knows me will know that this is how I have always been. Of course it does help that I am totally open to whatever origin my child might come from. I had a wonderful surrogate prepared to help me, and a donor. It makes it easier to carry on fighting when you have choices (and finances), I do acknowledge that.

It’s just that I know how hard it is, when you have been beaten down so many times, and how hard it is to continue fighting the war.

And yet……. What about the people who can’t fight the war any more? Who do not have the financial or emotional resources to carry on fighting? And what about those people who have decided living childfree is their choice, their way of winning the war? (I totally respect and admire this choice, because it’s often the bravest choice you can make.) Then my message of ‘carry on fighting’ is wrong.

It’s just that, well, I hate it when that bastard infertility wages war on any one. I want to rush in there and fight it with them. I want to shake my fist with them and for them. But it might not be how others feel. I can’t put my approach on other people, it might not work for them.

Do you think it could be hurtful to say to someone ‘don’t give up, carry on fighting, you might have lost this battle but you can still win the war’? How do you say what I want to say in a way that won’t hurt the person?

Note to those childless by choice: I respect your desire to live childfree, I think it is a mature and wise decision, I don’t begrudge your choice, please don’t begrudge mine to do what I can to have a child. In other words please don’t slag me off and say horrible things about me on your fred turtle site. I think last time you said you hoped I miscarried? Let’s just live and let live, and leave the other side alone, ok?

Is this your first?

I hate this question, even though it’s a perfectly normal question to ask.

I hate it because I feel very conflicted about what answer to give.

After I lost Ben I went looking for support on Loss Boards. I didn’t stay there too long because the length and depth of the grief there was over whelming, I didn’t want to be a sad person forever. These people were very sad, very angry for a long time afterwards.

However, one of things they discuss there is what to answer to the question “do you have any children”. Similar to “is this your first”. They are mostly quite aggressive in their approach (a lot of them are still very very angry, even 2 / 3 years later). They insist on mentioning their dead baby, to ensure he is acknowledged and remembered. I understand this to a degree.

It’s really hard for me to answer the question “is this your first”. Because it isn’t my first child / pregnancy. I had a son, I gave birth to him. He is and always will be my first born. By answering the question with ‘yes’, am I doing him and his memory an injustice, am I saying he is not worth acknowledging? Yet, do I really want to get into that with strangers, because I honestly don’t want or need their pity or sympathy. I just don’t need it, don’t be sorry for me, be sad that a little boy never got to run on the lawn or laugh when his daddy tickled him. Or even worse people who brush if off as if he didn’t count. Oh he is dead? Well let’s not discuss sad horrible things, lets just move on shall we.

So what I do is I judge the situation, if it’s a stranger I answer ‘yes, this is my first’, however if it is someone I might see often, or someone I can tell will take it the right way then I answer ‘no, I had a son but he died a few days after birth’. I try and say it in a way that won’t make the person feel uncomfortable, I try and show that I am not about to burst into tears.

I asked my husband what he answered to the question and he said he always says yes, because he is not prepared to get into a discussion with other people about our lives. But then again discussion/talking/chatting and Marko don’t go together. I do understand his reasoning though.

It is just I don’t want any one who knows us to ever forget about Ben. He had such a short time on this earth, he deserves to live on in our memories forever, my first born son. But I also don’t want to be aggressive, in your face about it either.

I bumped into my aunt and uncle having coffee at the mall with a friend, and they were all ooh’ing and ah’ing over me and the friend said “is this your first” and before I could say a word my uncle immediately said “yes” for me. And that pissed me off I must say. It was almost as if he was scared I would start talking about Ben and be a downer. For heavens sake, it is family, can’t we admit to Ben in front of family? But I must say this is the same uncle that told my mother she shouldn’t give me flowers on Mothers Day because I wasn’t a mother yet. That really really fucked me off. I had a son you fucking asshole, when they asked for his mother’s name they wrote my name down. If your child dies are you no longer a mother? BS. Ok, don’t get me going on that, that really pisses me off.

I don’t know, it’s a hard question for me to answer, at least in public. In my head, in my heart, the answer is perfectly clear, it is not my first, my first-born is Ben. But to well meaning enquirers, well, what is the correct response? Do I really want to talk about Ben to a stranger?

The Baby Manual

Thank you so much for all your comments, most appreciated. I am going to put them all together and have my own little baby manual. I also have my RL friends typing up some notes for me.

I’ve learnt v important things, buy Avent bottles and get bouncy chairs. And lots of receiving blankets. And read/don’t read ‘What to Expect’. I have the book already (bought it after Ben was born), I will read it selectively ;-)

Any one want a copy of the Baby Manual just send me an email, I will happily share these wise women’s tips.

See what I mean!!!

Remember when I got spammed about the size of my penis?

Well apparently no one cares about my penis any more.

Oh no, now I get this email, and I just know it was aimed specifically at me.
(I haven't clicked on the link, (don't want to encourage the spammers) so not sure what it is)

miami-area suremuh herselfe
schatzmeisterin cnuu

After giving birth some gain some weight and some lucky en-`ough to loss
the weight quickly. For the unluck ones like my fr~'ie,nd, it takes 6 months
to lose the extra kilos.

I love sweets and candies sometimes they are like Angels, so sweat.
Sometimes, especially after I eat them, they are the demon on my tummy.

http://wi.wmu.wheeler436drygs.com/56/

he said to his sister, "I have just o'^f'ficiatedpontific`a`ll`y."
¡¡¡¡This person carried a package--something square, like a la-r'ge box or
a small trunk. Surprise on the part of Boulatruelle.

Ok, so I don't quite get the whole email (what the hell is he saying to his sister?), but I also like sweets and candies so I am the target audience I suppose.

To be honest I preferred the penis emails.

Where is the manual?

Where is the bloody manual that comes with the babies? I’ve looked and looked and there is nothing in the box they come in. I phoned the manufacturer and they say there is no book. WHAT? No book? How the hell are you supposed to install the baby without the effin manual????? Where is the helpdesk and tech support?

I’ve realized, quite suddenly and with absolute dismay that I know nothing about babies. For a few reasons. But mostly because I am infertile and babies are pretty hard to come by. Well live babies any way.

Any way, back to the dangerously low level of knowledge. I know nothing!! (have any of you seen a skit called Fawlty Towers? V v funny British humour with John Cleese, hilarious. The line “I know nothing” comes from there).

Jeez I can digress.

So, I don’t know how to make up formula, what bottles to buy, how to sterilize things, how they are supposed to sleep, what shit to get before they arrive. All important stuff.

I am now terrified that I will come home from the hospital with two babies and not know how to feed them or any thing. They will cry and starve. Or get germs. And what about cot death???? OMG, I don’t know any thing.

Why aren’t there classes or online course to teach you stuff about babies, practical stuff. My husband reckons I should know cos it’s a woman thing. Like maternal instinct. BS. I need the manual.

FatAss Inc

It’s official – I have a fat ass. I suspected it for a while. My excellent sleuthing skills. Tertia Holmes I presume.

To be honest, the clues were pretty hard to ignore. My inability to fit into my sister’s maternity clothes two weeks ago (to be fair to my ass, she is slightly slimmer than me, bitch. And much more fertile, double bitch). The fat jokes dished out by my husband. The fact that my upper thighs now touch, the cellulite on my arms (my arms for goodness sake). And yesterday’s realization that my own maternity pants are getting too tight (they are pressing on my bladder too much, can’t have that). Oh, and the fact that I no longer have to squeeze my butt to see cellulite, it is there without squeezing.

However an official diagnosis was made yesterday by an elderly lady I work with. She said to me “jou boude raak nou lekker dik ne”, which translated means “your ass is getting nice and big now hey”. In fairness to her she is from a culture that values women are less than stick thin, and she wasn’t being horrible to me, she said it in a ‘nice’ way, but still. OMG. It’s official now. I have a fat ass. It’s been confirmed by independent sources. I immediately ran to the bathroom and checked out the evidence for myself. And yes, I’m afraid she wasn’t lying, the ass she is fat.

Ah well, maternal stores and all that shit you know. I mean it can’t possibly be from the burgers, chips and chocolates I am eating. I mean that stuff is good for the babies. They told me, they love fries with LOTS of tomato sauce. Oh lordly, what you do Americans call it? Oh ketchup. Ok, lots of ketchup. (It’s like learning another bloody language).

Maybe I am carrying in my ass?

Shit, I hope I don’t sound like those whinging ungrateful bitches that Infertile Myrtle hates, I am not whinging, I actually find it rather amusing. Myrtle, tell me if I am being an insensitive asshole, I will slap myself.

Signed:
Fartbag FatAss.

Magic Marker

For people who have experienced prior losses, there seems to be a point, a magic marker in the pregnancy that they just want to get past before they start relaxing, or at least perhaps secretly hoping that all will be ok. The magic marker is normally the stage at which they lost their last or longest pregnancy.

For some people it is 8 weeks, for others 12 weeks (I think even people who haven’t had prior losses regard 12w as their magic marker). Several of my now pg IF friends have their own magic markers. For a friend of mine it’s 14w, she is nearly there. Yet another friend lost her twins at 18w4d, she just wanted to get past that point. She is now, and feels a *little* more confident.

I’ve realized that a big magic marker for me is 21w. That’s when I found out Luke had died. And leading up till that time (I am 19w now) is a horrible feeling. You have this sense of impending dread. Of course once I am past that point, the next one will be 26w, when Ben was born. This is a nervous time for me.

I am going for a big anatomy scan at 21w. I am fairly anxious about it for a various reason, but the two biggest ones are the timing of it all and the associated bad memories (‘sorry Mrs A, there is no heartbeat on baby A…..sorry Mrs A, there is no heartbeat on baby A’, over and over like a bad dream) and secondly, because we will get the next diagnosis on Kate’s heart. Nervous times.

Roll on 32 weeks. That’s my new magic marker. Babies born at 32 weeks have an excellent chance at a healthy outcome.

Where is that fast forward button?

Exhausted.

So, after typing up the post from this morning / yesterday I continued to fret and worry, basically building up to near hysteria when I decided to phone the Dr (I just hate ‘bothering’ them). The Dr said come and in lets check.

Well I totally lost it. I haven’t sobbed like that since, well since the horrible times at the beginning of this year. All of a sudden all those incredibly vivid, horrible memories of last year, losing Luke, all came back. The exact same thing happened. I got a bit of fluid, I phoned the Dr, he said come in, I came, had a scan. Dead baby. “Sorry Mrs A, there is no heartbeat”. Words I will never forget. From then on it was all downhill.

All of that came back to me and I freaked out, completely. I phoned my mom to meet me at the Dr’s rooms and just sent a note to Marko. I was too scared to speak to him because I knew hearing me so upset would upset him terribly. But the man has sixth sense and phoned me mid-panic. I could hardly speak I was crying so much, I just kept saying “I’m scared”. I don’t know what the people at work must think.

My friend C phoned me on the way there, he could hardly hear what I was saying because I was crying so much. The poor man was in a state of worry about me.

Anyway all is fine. The Dr checked my cervix – closed. He tested for infection – none. Tested for amniotic fluid – none. He then scanned me, cervix closed. Babies fine. We just had a quick look, no antennas on their heads yet, but their ears were looking decidedly Spock’ish. They were kicking each other quite vigorously. My mother said Adam looks like Marko. Kate was kicking him in the head and he was punching her. Already fighting.

I was exhausted afterwards. The whole way there I just kept thinking ‘I can’t do this again, I can’t, I don’t have it left in me’. All the grief and agony of the last few months came back. Honestly, the grief that I went through after Ben scared me, I never want to feel that again. I thought I was going mad. Quite literally mad with grief. I have never been so close to suicide.

I also realized how I have stuck a band-aid over my grief and hurt. When Luke died I had to try and stay sane for Ben’s sake. I said to myself ‘when Ben is born I am going to lock myself in a room and just cry and scream in agony for the loss of Luke’. I couldn’t do it then, I had to try and stay strong and calm for Ben. Then when Ben died, I immediately put myself on anti-depressants, I stuck a band-aid on so fast the wound never had a chance to air. And then I got stuck into this IVF and got pg. Add to that four years of IF, six fresh cycles, 3 frozen, 3 IUI’s. Four years of continuous heartache and grief.

So all that grief is still there, and quite honestly I don’t think there is space for any more. I don’t think I can go through any more grief without breaking apart, forever.

This is the bravest and scariest thing I have ever done. I am so scared. I am scared of what will happen to me, to my sanity, if this goes wrong. Will it be the last straw?

I am tired, bone tired of the long journey, of being brave, of swallowing the hurt and fighting forward, jumping in the lion’s den over and over. I am tired of being scared. Even after the reassuring appointment, instead of relief I just feel tired. Exhausted.

All I can say thank God every thing is ok. For now. I hope with all my heart it stays that way.
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The above was written last night. I am feeling much better this morning. I think I just had a bit of an anxiety attack yesterday, the memories of last time just overwhelmed me. But the normal Tertia is back. (i.e. semi-sane, with enough of a sense of humour (note HUMOUR) to get me through this.)

I am being booked off work at the end of September, I’ll be 22w, (I will take it easy at work until then, promise), probably home rest for October and then perhaps hospital bed rest from the beginning of November, when I will be 26w. If the babies come in January I will have done really well. That’s my goal, babies in January. Official due date (not that it means any thing in my life) is Feb 04. Or as we say in non-America, 04 Feb.

And don’t worry, my laptop goes where ever I go. I shall be blogging about hospital food and hairy nurses from my bed. I will entertain you with shift changes and special treats on the menu. And perhaps the view from my room.

PS: Am I not the coolest techno chick ever, bet Julie doesn’t know how to blog from her mobile phone. I know something she doesn’t. I text her every day, just to swear at her and keep her on her toes. I will text her immediately to tell her her coolness has been usurped. (note use of big word in casual conversation)

Vodacom SMS to email

(All OK)This msg sent from my mobile phone. I went to Dr. All is ok. I am at home now. Exhausted.

I’m scared. And more than a little irritated.

I’m scared. Added to my fear of dead babies, I am now petrified of pre-term labour (PTL). And I am spelling it like that cos that’s the way we spell it here and I am not in a good mood. Labour, favour, colour. What’s with the ‘u’ discrimination?

I had a bad night on Saturday. First let me backtrack. I pretty much totally suck at being pg. I am crap at it. Perhaps I am actually a man. Because I am so not the tennis playing, yoga sprouting, rosy cheeked, glowing slim pg-woman-with-cute-belly. I suffer all sorts of maladies. In short, bleeding gums, pg tumors (in my mouth), nose bleeds, back ache, rib ache, irritable uterus (a medical term, really) etc. But the thing that is of most concern is that I get a severely traumatized bladder. Not only is it damn painful, but if it gets slight full (i.e. two sips of water) and I don’t pee immediately my uterus starts to contract. Add an irritable uterus with a traumatized bladder and what do you get – c o n t r a c t i o n s.

Now a contracting uterus is NOT what you want when you are already at risk for PTL (multiple pg – check, older than 35 – check, previous PTL – check, previous surgery – check. One puts you at risk, having all of them is not that great). In fact you avoid contractions like the plague. Contracting uterus could lead to PTL, which could lead to cervix opening, babies falling out and babies dying. I.e. contracting uterus = v v bad. Got it?

So back to Sat night. For some or other reason my bladder was especially traumatized (perhaps it saw a bad movie, or the pancreas made a fat joke, I don’t know), so instead of waking every two hours to pee (every night), I was waking every hour with a highly irritable and ratty uterus (in fact a lot like me when I am PMS). I cried on Sunday morning. I was convinced labour was imminent.

Then on Sunday it was better, no more irritations and bladder and uterus seemed in a better mood, and I had a much better sleep last night. Still peeing every two hours but much less pain around my bladder area.

Then this morning I thought I saw some fluid in my underwear. Now fluid is also v v bad. Fluid = potential rupture of membranes = potential dead baby = PTL = all babies dead.

Lots of horrible memories came rushing back. This is what happened with Luke. I got some fluid and two days later I found we had lost him. Which put Ben at enormous risk. And we all know how well that turned out.

I keep thinking to myself surely (Shirley) it can’t happen twice to me. Fate can’t be that cruel. But I am scared. Very scared.

I have checked my underpants a million times since this morning and it seems to be ok, but I am scared.

I hate that I am so scared, I hate it. I am so sick and tired of being scared. I must say it makes me almost want to go on hospital bed rest just so that I have Dr’s and nurses on hand. I don’t need to have the happy skippy naïve glowing pg (would be nice but lets be realistic), but do I have to have the gut wrenching will-my-babies-die pg? All the time?

I will monitor the fluid situation and if I see any thing further I will call the Dr.

Sigh. And ‘they’ want be to ‘be positive’, ‘have faith’. Whatever. You try for me, cos my positivity account has a negative balance.

Off for another underwear check.