Bounced

I think I've bounced back now. Bounced anyways, all around the East Coast looking at apartments... And they are all crappy. Major breakdown on Tuesday night about the crappiness of our choices and feeling trapped by all the crap going on right now. But Wednesday came around, another day of looking at crap only to realize that our situation is fine. Sure, we cant afford anything fancy but considering that we are in the top .33% of all life on this planet, we should be pretty grateful we aren't stuck in a slum in Bangladesh. Just need to be realistic and happy with what we have.

So back to the one we had picked on Sunday and if the owner accepts our terms, we'll be moving to a place that has no pool, no playground, no tennis court, no balcony AND no oven or hot water in the kitchen! How fabulous! But for the same price as we would pay to stay where we are, we will be getting 25% more space. Which also means we'll be able to get a car and live a little.

Ran into a school mum today who accidentally got pregnant and is delivering in March. She is horrified at the cost of having the baby and it was a gentle reminder to myself that we would be righteously screwed financially if the pregnancy had continued. And ironic as it is, perhaps it has all transpired for a reason. (Though the $6k total we spent on this misadventure pisses me off now and again.)

She-Ra

Well, what do you know. I survived. I made it through the surgery brilliantly and now i actually feel almost 100%. A couple tummy aches but nothing worse than a bad period. I haven't even looked at the codeine laced paracetamol that they gave me - of course, taking that would have horribly uncomfortable consequences anyways (tends to constipate me so badly, i think i'm going to shit diamonds). I feel awesome! Like She-Ra, the Princess of Power, the most powerful woman in the universe, carrying my magic sword and ready to take on anything.  i swear i'm not on any drugs to make me feel this way, but maybe the 1/2 dozen choc chip cookies may have something to do with it.

Yesterday was pretty chilled. We went into the hospital and had a brief discussion with the doctor. Almost decided at the last minute to have my tubes tied while i was under but was talked out of it by the glam doc who is annoyingly optimistic about our ability to procreate. I had gotten the idea that it would be just a very easy, peasy snip, snip and wa-lah, no need to worry about contraception anymore. And if it had been that easily, i probably would have said to just do it.

Darling husband said, cool, let's just do it. I don't think he's relishing the idea of never having sex again.  Though he has absolutely put his foot down about himself getting the snip. What a wimp. He was pulling up stats and studies about chronic penile pain associated with it. Well, if he just wants to be celebit, then so be it!

Later he said he would have stopped me if i had insisted after finding out it was another procedure all together. Glam doc said she was not expecting us to ask for this at all. Rather surprised, she asked why we would want to seeing as we want another child. (And i'm thinking in my head, there is no way in hell i want to go through this again.) But she seems to think we are entirely capable of procreating again naturally and easily even though i've told her numerous times how screwed up we are in this regard. She seems like she's a bit on a mission to get us to try again but i'm not having it. I just can't do it. I know our genetics are fucked and i know the kariotyping will confirm it.

So on i go. Will just stay as busy as possible so i don't have to think about all that has happened. I'm sure burying everything under a guise of activity will make it all fade away like it never happened. Hell, it's worked for me so many times before, i'm sure it will work for me again. Right now the project on hand is to find a new place to live. I've been diligently calling dodgy real estate agents and setting up appointments. I think we know where we're going already, having just about made a decision this last weekend to move across the street. But just to appease myself, and of course, to give myself something to do that seems important, i'll go have a look at a few more.

So here's to on with life!

I'm sure everything will come back to bite me in the ass eventually...

ironic

First song i've heard today is the classic Alanis Morrisette "Ironic". To which me and my darling daughter sang along to all the way to school. I actually think i could write a whole nother chorus to that song based on what is going on now.

Next, I get a text message. It's a reminder for my 12 week nuchal ultrasound that was scheduled a couple weeks ago. (Note to self: remind glam doc to cancel that scan)

Then an alert pops up on my phone. The tone is like the glory of god and it's my iperiod app reminding me that it's green week! That means i'm supposed to be fertile this week and ready to conceive. (Another note: delete the app or at least the reminder function in it)

One must really have a chuckle about all this. Someone out there has a very sick sense of humour and i might as well laugh along or risk going stark raving insane.

It is a little too ironic. I really do think.

Inappropriate

Would it be completely inappropriate of us to have a "We're not having a baby party"? Wouldn't it help make this feel far less horrible and depressing? We could decorate the walls with stats on our infertility and serve up non-virgin cocktails and devilled eggs. Not too sure what music we could play. I mean, i haven't really seen a playlist that has songs like "Hooray, you'll never have another baby" or "Oops, we did it again (failed to procreate remix)".

Maybe the classic Bon Jovi "Shot through the heart" would suffice because the chorus is pretty relevant to what is going on here. Besides, we had been Living on a Prayer these last few weeks. And just maybe.... Maybe if we hold on to what we've got. It won't make a difference if we have one or not. We got each other. And that's alot for love. We'll make it, i swear!

I can't wait to have the surgery done with tomorrow. To get the poor little thing out of me and get on with life although this morning i got up in a panic attack thinking about what would happen to my darling husband and beautiful child if i should die on the operating table and leave them to their own devices.

The reason this morbid thought had crossed my mind was the fact that i bled terribly after giving birth to my precious only child, thought i could have died but survived needing a blood transfusion to put me back in order. I know a D&C is not exactly like a birth but still, morbid thought that it was, it got me out of bed and i set about getting my affairs in order. Paying bills, recording passwords for my husband, doing laundry (because god forbid that hubby has no clothes to wear!). I was going to make videos telling my darling daughter how special and loved she was. And one for the love of my life thanking him for being the most wonderful man that i know.

The moment of panic has now passed and I have mostly convinced myself that this simple procedure could not be the end of me and i will probably live to see my child grow up and also live to grow old with this man of my dreams whom i have been with since i was 16. (Though if the unthinkable would happen, i at least know that this wonderful man would be able to raise my beautiful child and they would be just fine in the end.)

So here's hoping that by tomorrow evening, this ordeal will be over and life can return to its pre "Holy Fuck, how the hell did we get pregnant!?" glory. I think that might be something worth celebrating.

Grateful

Today i was grateful. Ever so grateful because i have my one beautiful angel that i have been blessed with. The sweetest thing that could exist on this planet is my child and i do not know how i could love anything more. She is my little star. And a constant reminder that everything is ok because for her, nothing has gone wrong and everything is as it should be.

Darling husband has stumbled in tonight at 12.30am, stinking of alcohol and after a day of absolute silence on his part. I was already asleep when he came in. I'm used to not hearing from him in a day. I know it usually means he has had a bitch of a day and too busy to stop for anything. I'm used to not counting on him to care. Not expecting him to show up or let me know what is going on. The fact that he made it to every scan but the first one was always a surprise to me.

But really, tonight, did he have to wake me and then fall soundly asleep, snoring, keeping me wide awake to stew over his indifference. Remembering that first miscarriage where i felt so alone, trapped by circumstance, unable to escape and consumed by sadness and anger. Wondering if it would end us because he was so silent and i was so hurt. Though it does make this time around feel far less desperate. I am infuriated that he could sleep while i am up and pissed that he couldn't even bother to tell me when he'd be back or how long he'd be. Pissed that he couldn't even check if his wife was ok and not bleeding in an alley somewhere. Perhaps i should be flattered that he believes that i am made of such strong stuff that i wouldn't need him to touch base with me in a day. And i guess the fact that i don't proves just what i'm made of. I've already sorted out my procedure on Monday. i don't even need him to turn up. I'm just wondering if he would even stir if i bitch slapped him in his sleep right now.

Sometimes i wonder if i could have felt the moment the little thing gave up. The moment its heart stopped. The moment it died inside me (if death is even the word for it). I think about it but i can't find that significant moment. It just disappeared quietly and went away completely unnoticed sometime over the last 2 weeks. We'll be paying $800 for genetic testing to see what had gone wrong. i'm pretty sure that they will just find that it was made of dodgy genetic material and always doomed to fail. I think that the drugs i was taking to "support" the pregnancy was only prolonging its certain demise. Still it is better to know for sure. The doctor said it could help us solve the mystery about our failed ivf cycles or give us clues to help us try again (which i think is a horrible, horrible idea). Fact: We produce dodgy bastards. But hell, for $800, let's see if we can get us a certificate or something to make it official.

Which brings me back to being grateful. Because for all the dodgy bastards we've produced in our journey over the years, we have also somehow produced my perfect and beautiful little star.

Not meant to be...

How quickly things go back to "normal". Yesterday, i was pregnant (sort of). Today, i am not.

It was the first scan where i was probly more than 50% optimistic to see how the little thing had grown and it came up with no heartbeat. It had given up somewhere between wk 8 and now.

On the table, looking, i almost wanted to laugh. Yes, of course this would be our luck. This would be exactly what would happen. We half knew it was doomed in our hearts. I had just told a friend the day before that we haven't even begun to be excited about it. I had even told darling husband in the waiting room prior that his lack of enthusiasm was bringing me down and i couldn't get happy about it until he did. Thank goodness one of us was level headed enough not to get caught up with it all.

So it's over. And sad as i am, i'm not utterly shocked or devastated. Some things are just not meant to be for some people. Though i am wondering what the point of all of these last few weeks were. Perhaps someone out there just wanted to see what we would do and screw around with our minds just a little bit more. Or maybe, it had to come to this for me to be 100% sure that we will never have another child. Or maybe a 1% chance that we should keep trying because us getting knocked up this time was inconceivable anyways (OH MY GOD, NO!).

So now we wait til Monday for what has been diagnosed as an inevitable abortion (totally halarious, the idea that i'm having an abortion!) and the evacuation of my uterus of this unfortunate "medical condition" which we had taken to calling it.

Today was back to normal. Even any feelings of pregnancy symptoms had disappeared and i felt back to myself again, physically. Pity that the big belly is actually pure fat - i'm going to have to do something about that now. And i made myself coffee in the morning and savoured every sip.

I've shed a few tears, mostly when well-meaning friends and family decide to use their "sad" voices and their "pity" faces when they ask me how i'm doing or say they are sorry. I know there is nothing else to say about it and most people just have to say it. I would be doing the same. But it seems harder to bear their disappointment than my own. It's not that i don't care. I care alot and i feel it too at times. But what is the use of wallowing in this for any amount of time when it was just not meant to be.

This is nothing like my first "incident" when the aftermath was like the year of the bitch from hell. The pain and grief was almost too much and the outcome of it was like turning my heart to stone.

But this... this is more like a wasted few weeks and wasted dollars and damn, it's unfortunate, but after all the disappointments and heartache we've had in this arena, what did we expect. Right now i'm feeling more pissed about the $4,000 for the evacuation of my uterus and the $2,000 for the other useless drugs and doctors visits we've had to endure.

Thinking about it now, it just serves me right for reading smutty novels and having sex wantonly. One thing is for sure. I'm never having intercourse again!

9 weeks

My first week of not seeing what is going on inside. I suppose all should be going ok. I certainly feel really like an alien has taken over my body.

Obsessed with salt or sweet. Monday, I found a pack of mini Snickers and before I knew it, I had eaten 5 of them. Tuesday, the salty cravings were back and a pack of Cheezels disappeared. Fruit is making me happy. Sprinkled with salt, of course. But I know that's gonna catch up on me sooner or later. Last time I had high blood pressure (though much later in the pregnancy).
Anything umami is awesome right now. Vegemite, tomatoes, yum, yum, yum. And i've developed expensive taste in water. Downing Evian like i have access to the actual spring in my back yard. Still most things, even so delicious going down leave a nasty taste in my mouth. And most every hour i feel like chucking it all back up. Never quite do, but maybe if I did I'd feel better.

I have spent more time in bed than can be reasonable. Still have managed to shop, get some work done and socialize. I even made dinner one night, but doing so meant I was in bed by 7.30 and fast asleep by 8 with the biggest headache ever.

Hubby dearest has left me for dead. Big deadlines at work are his priority. Though it would be comforting to at least get a return text after I text him around 3.30 every day to say that I almost fainted on school pick up because the heat was unbearable. Ok, so maybe I need not text him every single day. But really. Even a :( would suffice. I get nothing. So much for being able to milk my "medical condition" with him!

So we take things day today. And I hope next week I'll be able to check and see how the little thing is doing on there and if it's enjoying it's accommodation.

Bedtime

Lately, I've become obsessed with my bed. That is where I want to be. I am calm in my bed. I am happy in my bed. I don't feel as sick or tired when I am in my bed.

I know that I can't always be in my bed, but when I'm not, I'm thinking about it or wishing I was.

When I'm out I feel tired. I feel nauseous. Sometimes I feel dizzy and most of the time, I feel hot and bothered. I love crawling back into that comforting cocoon and forgetting that I'm feeling crappy. Forgetting all the work I have to do, dinners to cook, the food to buy. Just lying in bed all snuggled up is the best feeling in the world to me right now.

Sometimes I don't even want to share my bed. I want to be able to sprawl out and rest. To hide under the sheets and remain in denial of everything that has already changed these past 8 weeks. And what will be changing in the future.

It's easier in bed. It's nice and safe. And a much better place to mull over all the things that need to happen.

I am in love with my bed. And if you think I've gone MIA, I haven't. I'm just in bed. And I'm happy here.

Doubled.

The little thing has been very busy this week. It's doubled in size and the heartbeat is still strong.

I suppose it's time that I start to admit that I just may be having a baby in the middle of May.

OMG!

My lovely doctor thinks its amusing that I'm always still in shock and surprise whenever I see the little thing growing away in there. I suppose that's a good sign if she's not too worried.

Though my darling husband turns white every time he sees it fluttering away in me. Still disbelief that it's there and hanging on. It's just so surreal.

Next appointment scheduled in 2 wks and drug dosage reduced as well so it must be doing ok, thank God.

Now to go home and see if I can fit in a nap before I pick up my darling daughter from school. I wonder when I should tell her...

Another scan

I always approach my scans with a certain degree of trepidation. What if, in the space of a week, all has gone horribly wrong and today is the day I find out about it. What if the scan goes up and there is nothing there. The little heart that was going 150 last week is gone and it has all come to nothing.

I suppose I could try and shake the fear and opt to think of the best. But I've been here before. Expectant, excited. And nothing...

So now that the risks are high and it's still an unbelievable thing that has happened, I can't help but fear for the worst. Worry for the little thing inside who has already changed everything.

I should just try and enjoy this time. Whether it lives or dies. I will never be pregnant again. But it's really hard to enjoy feeling tired and vomitous. Hard to enjoy the waiting and wondering.

So having peeled myself off my sofa, I'm on my way to see if the little thing has decided to stick around for another week.