So Close

Look! I can do something 'naturally'!

Beta is 10! Am giddy with relief.

(for those who don't know what that means, it means that the miscarriage is happening naturally and that I am very, very close to being unpregnant! all by myself!)

Good bad news

The good bad news is that the number is falling on its own.  Down from 642 to 618.  Big relief! Scan on Monday morn to double check errant embryo is not embedded where it shouldn't be, i.e. tube or anus. Off to have some wahn to celebrate!

Oh! Hahahaha! Just read the first comment and realized that you might think we had THAT kind of sex! No no, don't be silly! We are married for goodness sake! Married people don't even have sex, never mind do that kind of stuff!

The little bowel movement that almost was

Things have been fairly interesting of late. Let me back track to two weeks ago. I had been suffering from a pain in my left ovary that had gone from slightly worrying to ‘omg I am going to die’. Which is my world takes anywhere between two weeks and two seconds.

So, on what was CD66 of my cycle (don’t you just love those PCOS cycles), I took myself off to the doctor to have a scan of my bits. After much poking and prodding, the doctor declared that it didn’t appear to be anything more ominous than a bit of blocked bowel. In other words, I was literally and figuratively ‘full of shit’. She prescribed a suppository to get things going and asked whether I wanted to have a ‘peace of mind’ CA125 test. To rule out the ‘omg I am going to die’ factor. I said yes please. And because once an addict, always an addict, I decided to throw in a little progesterone test along the way.

The results came back that I wasn’t dying and that I had indeed ovulated. (prog = 42) Surprise surprise. By this time the ovary pain had subsided as had my obsessing.

That was that until this weekend, when the thought occurred to me that if I had ovulated, then I should have had my period by now. Which got me thinking. What if. Surely not! It can’t be! But what if!

After 456,000 conversations in my head, I decided to email the divine Dr H to ask him whether a progesterone count of 42 always indicated ovulation and if ovulation had occurred, whether one’s period should arrive 14 days later and whether it was scientifically possible that maybe I could be pregnant. Hypothetically and scientifically speaking, of course.

He came back with “go get a blood test:

To which I replied, “don’t be silly, I am infertile”. What a terrible waste of money.

This was on Monday. By Monday afternoon, which was also a rather impressive CD79, I was driving myself crazy. So I bought a HPT. Which came up immediately with two lines. PREGNANT!  What the fucking fuck. How could this happen. I sent the divine Dr H a text message to tell him. To which he replied, “go get a blood test”. This time I complied.

I got the results back on Tuesday morning. Beta = 532, prog = 32. Which could have meant (a) I am pregnant (b) I was pregnant, but am now miscarrying or (c) Ectopic. The only way to know would be to do another test 48 hours later.

I was scared, happy, sad, nervous, freaked out. Marko’s first words were “but it’s impossible”, I replied “I KNOW!!” He immediately got out his measuring tape and measured the spare room and I IM’ed Julie for an hour. We both have our different ways of coping.

I’ve spent the last two days feeling a million different emotions. At 4:30pm today, exactly 48 hours after the first blood test, I had another one taken. This time I marked it ‘urgent’. I have just got the results back.

It’s over. I am not even sure what the number was, all I heard was six hundred and something and I knew it was over. The doctor muttered something about there being a very small chance that it could work out, but I told her quite firmly “no, it’s over. I’ve done this enough times to know”. This is my sixth pregnancy. I know how these things work. (For those who don’t know how these things work, the number should have been around a 1000. 600 and something clearly isn’t anywhere close to a 1000)

My biggest fear is that it is ectopic. I will be very very cross if it is. It is one thing to get a total mindfuck with a surprise pregnancy, it is another thing to have to go through that horrible methotrexate thing again. (Methotrexate is a chemo drug that is also used for ectopic pregnancies)

“Methotrexate may cause very serious side effects. Some side effects of methotrexate may cause death. You should only use methotrexate to treat life-threatening cancer, or certain other conditions that are very severe and that cannot be treated with other medications. Talk to your doctor about the risks of taking methotrexate for your condition.”

Nice.

Dr Julie assures me that her official diagnosis is “not ectopic” as my progesterone was ok. I’m holding her to it.

Back on Friday to check that the number is going down on its own (i.e. miscarrying naturally). If it goes up slightly like it did this week, then it is probably ectopic. I am going away on holiday next Friday and I REFUSE to be messing about with betas and injections. I will make them give me the metho right there and then.

Can you believe this shit!!! I have THE worst luck when it comes to reproduction.

But that’s it now. I am totally done. This has convinced me that I am done having children. I really can’t do this again. I am going on the pill. It is exactly a year ago when I had that spontaneous pregnancy and the whole thing is getting very old now. As are my eggs, as am I.

On a positive note, I got pregnant by having sex! For the second time! Which just proves my point that sex is a very dangerous thing to do and we should restrict it to once a year only. For safety’s sake.

It was a boy

Ok, now I feel sad. Not because it was a boy, but it feels so real now. I miss the child I’ll never meet.

Bye little boy.

I just got the call from my doctor. The baby had Patau Syndrome.

Patau syndrome, also known as trisomy 13, is a chromosomal aberration, a disease in which a patient has an additional chromosome 13 due to a non-disjunction of chromosomes during meiosis.

Most cases of Patau syndrome are not inherited, but occur as random events during the formation of reproductive cells.

Most embryos with trisomy 13 do not survive gestation and are spontaneously aborted. Of those surviving to term gestation, approximately 82-85% do not survive past 1 month of age, and 85-90% do not survive past 1 year of age. Certain malformations, especially holoprosencephaly and other central nervous system malformations, yield a more grave prognosis. Of those infants that survive past 1 year, most have few major malformations, but the prognosis remains poor, owing to multiple factors including long term neurological disability, feeding difficulty, and frequent pneumonia and other respiratory infections. There have been 5 cases reported in the medical history of patients living beyond 10 years of age.

I am glad I found out. Because it explains why I lost the pregnancy. It wasn’t my body. It helps to know that.

Am still sad though. Too many boys lost. Too many.

I was sitting in a coffee shop, working when I got the call from my doctor. I still am sitting here. A group of 10 women have just walked in. It’s a baby shower. The pregnant woman is talking about her last scan. About how the baby was hiding her face with her hand. I think I am going to leave now.  Go home and hold my kids a little.

PS The pregnant woman is complaining about her weight gain. She just ordered a big slice of chocolate cake. Am I allowed to hope it goes straight to her hips?

Edited to add: I decided to finally find out the sex of the baby I lost in 2002 due to trisomy 21. I’ve been too scared to find out until now. Not sure why. It was a boy too. Too many boys lost, too many. That one in 2002, Luke in 2003, Ben in 2004 and now this latest little one. Sigh.  

I’m fine. I am glad I found out. Just a little sad right now.

A sticky eye and a swollen toe

Yes, well. Still waiting for the week to get better.

Friday afternoon and Saturday day have been particularly brutal but I am pleased to say that after copious amounts of wine and sushi (which I can do because I AM NOT PREGNANT), I am feeling a lot better emotionally. Let’s hope it stays that way. Those bad feelings were BAAAD.

 Physically….. well, beside my broken toe and sticky eye, oh and crampy womb, I am doing fabulously well.

 The crampy womb, well, that is going to take time to heal. Not terribly worried about that. To be expected etc.

 The broken toe (I don’t think it’s really broken, just fucking sore) happened today. Adam dropped a wooden coat rack thingy on my toe this morning. He got so upset when I yelped in pain (it was bloody sore!) that I had to pretend I was fine and console HIM! Marko laughed. Have I mentioned how not-fond I am of him (Marko) at the moment?

 Then, I have finally figured out what is wrong with my eyes. When I woke up from the anaesthetic, the skin under my eyes felt raw and sore. I remember rubbing it and thinking ‘ouch’. It has felt really tender and rough since the operation. I had no idea why. I have just figured it out. They must have taped my eyes shut for the procedure and some of that sticky shit has stayed behind. Lovely. I am not allergic as such to the tape, but my skin doesn’t like it. I always pull the surgical tape off as soon as I can or else I get red welts.

 I’ve never had this before (although this was a new hospital I went to), how do I get rid of the sticky stuff without having to take a scrubbing brush to the sensitive and some what wrinkly skin under my eye?

 I swear, if I wasn’t sitting here with a hot throbbing toe and my hospital bills next to my laptop I would think I was making this shit up. CAN THIS WEEK JUST BE OVER PLEASE!

Trying to rest: Impossible

Not so fine

Today’s probably been my hardest day. I think I’ve been a little numb up until now. Actually, I’ve been surprised at how ‘fine’ I’ve been until today. Everyone keeps asking me how I am, and this whole week I’ve been saying “fine. I really am fine”. 

 Today I feel not so fine. I think I overdid it a little today. I am sore. Sore and bloated. And sad. I feel sad today. Really sad. And I don’t like being sad. I’ve did sad for a long time, I don’t want to be sad anymore.

 I am angry at Marko for not being soft enough to me. He thinks he needs to be tough and strong so that I don’t break down. He thinks that if he shows softness it will make it worse because I might cry. And if I cry then it’s not good. He doesn’t understand that crying is good sometimes. And that right now I need him to be soft, not hard.

 I suppose I am being unfair. I’ve been so fine up until now, how is he supposed to know that I don’t feel so fine now. 

 I don’t feel like being fair. I am sad and angry. And he is the closest person around.

 Dammit. I hate feeling like this. I think I need to go take some pain pills and go to sleep. Hopefully I will feel better when I wake up tomorrow.

 Hopefully. I want to be fine again. I don’t like being not so fine.

Reading the signs

Well, I’ll take that as a sign then? (And no, I am not talking about the git unit, although I am sure I would fit in nicely there as well)

 Funnily enough, today was a lot harder physically than emotionally. Emotionally … well, I really have made peace with what has happened. I am not sure if the mental and emotional fall out is still coming (I don’t think so, I really do feel fine), but for now I am just glad that it is over. 

 Physically however, my god, did that suck. 

 I took two cytotec last night and this morning I thought I was going to haemorrhage to death. Revolting. I googled cytotec and guess who appears at position number 3 on the results page? That asshole friend of mine Julie! You’d think she could have warned me. Whore. 

 Anyway, blah blah bleeding to death etc. Then, to add insult to injury, they put me in a bed next to a woman who snored louder than my husband did last night!* How completely annoying. I went in early to rest and I get a snorer as my neighbour. Life can be incredibly unfair sometimes. 

 The procedure itself went fine. It isn’t pleasant, but it’s bearable. Apparently the doctor managed to get some tissue, hopefully enough to run some tests on. I have been thinking about whether I want to know what the sex of the embryo was. I think I want to know. It helps with closure. 

 So, that was my Thursday. Not a whole lot better than Mon, Tues or Wed. Let’s hold thumbs Friday makes up for the rest of the week.

 * Marko is SUCH as asshole. I don’t like to wake him up with a fright at night, so when he snores (which, to be fair, isn’t often), then I will softly say “snoring!” I usually have to say it a few times for him to register and then he mostly just grunts and turns over. Which is usually enough to stop the snoring. So last night, after the third “snoring!” he wakes with a start and says “what”. I repeat “snoring” and he replies “who?” Who? Who do you think you idiot, the guy behind you? The neighbour? YOU, you asshole! YOU are snoring. Now roll over and sleep quietly. 

 This sharing a bed thing is for the BIRDS! Hate sharing a bed. Hate it.

The good, the bad and the ugly.

(I started writing this in a light hearted way. It was meant to be humorous. It has ended up being very dark. I’m sorry. I guess joking around and trying to act fine doesn’t always work. I am doing this post as an extended one, it has got so long.)

 I’ll start with the ugly.

 When I got pregnant this last time (my FIFTH pregnancy, how fucked up is that), a friend of mine who also did IVF to have her twins and then had a total surprise baby 2 years later, said to me "don’t you feel proud of your body!" And I realized that for the first time in years, I did feel proud of my body.

 I’ve never had a particularly good relationship with my body, but infertility killed what little love I had for it. During infertility I hated my body. I despised it. It had betrayed me in the cruelest way possible.  And I was trapped by it, slave to it. I couldn’t do it without it, and yet it kept failing me. And then I lost Luke and Ben. My body not only betrayed me, it killed my children.

It’s so hard not to believe that the answer seems to be … ‘very little point at all’

It’s over. The baby hasn’t grown. No heartbeat. Evacuation of the uterus on Thursday.

 I feel numb.