Five pregnancies, two and half years, & two hundred posts.

Tomorrow I’ll be 14 weeks.  14 weeks.  It seems surreal.  It’s hard for me to believe that I’m not still stuck in the first trimester, as I was for two and a half years.  Last week I entered my very first second trimester in five pregnancies.

I’ve had my genetic pre-screening done and everything looked fantastic…the baby is even measuring a few days ahead (which is definitely a first for me).  The tests all came back negative, with the downs chance basically non-existant.  Who would’ve thought we could make a genetic superstar?  I’ve had many chances to take a peak at the little one waving and kicking up a storm – my last one just yesterday – and it never gets old.  I thank this little baby every single night for growing stronger every day, for beating the odds to still be here today.  I put my hand on my belly and even though I can’t feel him or her just yet, I feel life.  I realize that makes me sound crazy, but every time I start to worry, I press my fingers to where he or she is and I feel butterflies.  After all my heartache, it’s the best thing in the world.  Forget genetic superstar…this baby is a superstar plain and simple.

I feel like I’ve let many of you down by not being able to come to this space.  Something happened before this pregnancy – a shift in my thoughts that revealed I was ready to step away from the everyday interactions in this world.  My sanity needed me to step away.  I honestly believe it has helped me navigate this pregnancy as well as I have.

This world has been my safe-haven, my strength, my release, my support….I can never forget that.  For four devastating pregnancies, all of you have been there for me.  Some of you strangers, some of you now friends for life, others family and friends in this with me in the real world as well.  I will never be able to thank you enough.  This space has given me so much over the years and I’m proud of the woman this world has helped me become.  She’s a badass in my eyes — in fact, you’re all badasses to me.  We navigate these murky waters with nothing but fractions of hope and the unwavering support of others in the trenches…with our hearts pulling on us and the rest of the world telling us we’re crazy.  But we come here and we’re not crazy.  We pee on a thousand and one sticks and end up finding someone else who peed on a thousand and two.  Because of this world I found inside this little screen, I dove into a fifth pregnancy with no proof it would be any different than the other four.  I gave myself one more chance at this, and knew that if it didn’t work out, I’d be okay.

I’ve learned that here: I’ll be okay.

I will never turn my back on this world.  It’s who I have become and who I will always be.  But because of  how much I care for the other women here and how much I can feel myself in their shoes, this space and this world is different for me right now.  If I find myself visiting the stories so similar to mine, with pain so incredibly raw and familiar, I can no longer separate this pregnancy from the others.  And it needs to remain different for me in order to make it to the other side. For two and half years, I was not myself.  I was pulled under by grief and anxiety and I’m ready to be lighter and present.  I experienced a hell I never thought I would have to live through…and for now and hopefully forever, I feel like I’m coming out of the cloud.

But my thoughts are still with all of you, rooting for you from the sidelines.  I’ll always be there, even if you can’t see me.  I’m the one screaming the loudest, telling you you can do it even when you think you can’t.  Telling you how I understand how painful it is, but you’ll be able to make it through.  I can promise you that.

There’s still not proof this pregnancy will be different, but in my gut, it feels like it is.  If I look past the fear that creeps in here and there, my heart tells me this one is different.  Even if the worst happens, I have a confidence I never had the previous four times: that I will make it through to the other side somehow.  Because of what you all have given me.

Four losses, one currently thriving pregnancy, two and a half years, & 200 posts.

Insane.

Love,
Courtney

P.S.  Even though I may not come to this space very often, or sadly visit yours even less…please email me at any time, I’m still here.  bodegablissblog {at} gmail {dot} com

Where I’ve been.

Alright everyone, this is going to be a long one so you might want to get comfortable.  Maybe even grab yourself some water.  I’ll wait.

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Are you back?

Okay, let’s get on with it, shall we?  It may not be my best piece of writing, but there’s a lot to cover, so here we go…

A little over two months ago, my boss handed me some sample job descriptions for a position he wanted to hire for and asked that I put one together to post.  As I’m reading over the samples, I quickly realize all of the parts of my job that I love, will soon be taken from me and given to a new person.  I went home pissed and hurt.  How did he not think of me first?  Had I not succeeded at the majority of these responsibilities, and more?  Tim thankfully took me out for a drink to help me get some perspective.  Yes, I had a right to be mad.  But at the same time, I needed to fight for it.  I went home and wrote out all the reasons why I felt like I should have the position, listing all of the accomplishments I’ve had over the last three years to further my point.  I was determined to make my case for the new position.

The next day my boss asked me if I had had the chance to look over the samples and I said that yes, I had looked over them and that I wanted the job.  He was taken aback – that possibility hadn’t even occurred to him.  I outlined my points and he said he would think about it.  A week or so later, he told me to put together the job description…for me to fill it.  I was excited and scared and proud of myself for fighting for the position.  Unfortunately, what quickly came with the promotion was the fact that I would be doing two jobs for over a month before we could hire someone to take over the duties I would no longer be doing.    What followed were weeks of late nights and days filled with not even a minute to breathe, and all of a sudden, I found myself with a job that kept me up at night worrying about the things I had to do.  I was afraid I would fail and be out of a job as a result.

In the middle of all of this, Tim and I attended an information session on California’s foster care program.  An hour or so into the meeting, we knew it wasn’t for us.  For reasons I don’t feel like getting into right now because this post will be long enough, it just didn’t sound like something we would have the energy to do.  Nor did we think it would be fair to his daughter/my step-daughter.  At the end of the session, we met with a social worker who ran the Foster-to-Adopt program for the county.  She explained the process and as she was speaking, it was as if a light turned on…it sounded like something that could really work for us.  I knew it was on the table as an option when Tim started asking questions.  And just like that, our world opened up and there was a back-up plan.

I felt like that piece of the puzzle – the lack of a back-up plan – was the final weight pressing down on my heavy shoulders.  I walked out that door and the weight was gone.  Finally.  For years now I was burdened with the very real reality that I may never be a mother.  In the past, adoption had never been on the table for us (due to the cost), so in my mind, my only option was to succeed at a pregnancy.  With my history, that felt like a longshot.  If I couldn’t make the next one work, I’d be facing a future without a child ever calling me “Mom.”  It was a future I was scared to death of facing.  And all of a sudden, that future changed.

But back to work….As I became more and more busy at work, I found I had no time to read blogs or write on my own.  Additionally, when I would get home from work, I had no desire to turn on the computer after staring at one all day.  As a result, radio silence quickly occurred on this here blog.  But what I didn’t expect was how free I felt.  I, of course, missed those that I had followed for years/months, wondering what was going on in their worlds.  Except as my positivity in this whole loss mess continued to climb, I began to think that maybe it was good for me to step back from this world.  When I’m in it, I’m in it.  I read the words of those struggling to get pregnant, those losing another chance, even those fighting against their fears while being pregnant, and I feel all of them as if they’re mine.  I’m inside their (your!) head and I can’t get out.  After being forced to step out of the world for a month, I felt alive again.  I felt like maybe, just maybe, I can do this.  And if I can’t?  I’ll be okay.  After this realization, I found myself fearful of stepping back in.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, I was ovulating.  So in addition to being insanely busy at work, we were getting busy at home.  (Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.)  I was temping and doing all the things I needed to do, including taking progesterone on the chance I did get pregnant.  Tim and I had one really amazing weekend alone (we usually have my step-daughter on the weekends), and I was feeling so good.  Confident in not just our future, but in myself and my ability to fight for what I want at work, something I had never done before.  We celebrated my promotion, the day that we met and the anniversary of our first date.  February has always been a heavy month for us, and this fortunately was proving to be one of the happier (albeit stressful) ones.

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You still there?  Because it’s about to get good.  So wake up!

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The week of February 13th was insane.  We had a huge announcement as an organization coming up on the 16th, and I was spearheading it in my new position. To say I was stressed would be a bit of an understatement.  I felt like my ability to prove myself in this position was about to be tested and I couldn’t fail.  The day of the 15th, I arrived to work at 8 a.m. and stayed until 11:30 p.m.  When I got home, I continued to make a few minor tweaks to the website from bed.  I was exhausted.  And at this point, I knew I was 11 dpo and that the next morning (the 16th) I’d be 12 dpo.  I had decided I wouldn’t test until all of this was over, I knew that whatever the result was, it would distract me from the work I had to get done.  I had planned on waiting until Friday to test when I was 13 dpo, but when I woke up on Thursday, I had to know.

It was positive.

Instead of the normal waves of fear that come rushing with those two lines, I felt nothing but joy.  I didn’t feel like this time would be it, I had no instincts what so ever, but what I did know was I wanted to feel joy.  So I did.  For the fifth time in two and a half years, I was pregnant.  But this time I was happy.

I get to my office and find out that all of my hard work paid off, we had made it onto the cover of our local city’s newspaper (above the fold even!).  I couldn’t stop shaking.  That was certainly too much excitement for one hour.  The day flew by and I couldn’t believe how insane it all was.  The next few weeks were filled with telling my closest friends and family that are in the loop with my history, that we’re going to do this again.  Asking them to please send us all their good thoughts and prayers.

Shortly after I got the positive, Mo found out she was going to lose her sweet Nadav.  I was beyond devastated and knew that that was not the time to announce my pregnancy in the blogosphere. I felt so helpless and have so much love for this woman, I couldn’t believe it was happening.  In fact, I think I was in a bit of denial for quite some time.  As a testament to what an incredible and caring person she is, since she knew about the pregnancy she told me I needed to take care of myself, that the last thing I needed to do was take her pain on.  I promised her I would try my hardest.  And despite an extreme sadness that up until that point I had never felt for another human being, I didn’t take it on.  For the first time ever, I was able to separate her pain from my situation.  I strongly believe that it was because I had been out of the blog world for over a month that I had the ability to separate myself.  As much as I love this community and have grown from being here, this is the part that I have always struggled with.  This is the part that is unhealthy, but unavoidable.

Then of course a few weeks later there was that whole debacle (you know the one I’m taking about).  I did briefly come back to read about it…but instead of inspiring me to write, it sort of confirmed my reasoning for taking a step back.  This is an incredible community.  I can’t stress that enough.  The combined strength of the women here could move mountains.  I’m proud of being a part of this, and know that I have gained so much as a result…but as I’ve found myself headed out of it for quite some time (as a result of knowing my journey’s end is near, in whatever form it comes in), I have questioned whether the benefits outweigh the negatives.  And witnessing the battle between the infertiles as a silent witness, I had an even harder time wanting to come back.  I’m still on the fence about what my participation will be here on out.  I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what feels right.

(And now you’re probably wishing I had just stayed away if I was going to write a novel like this…but bear with me, I’m almost done.  Aren’t you glad you got that water now?)

Before I got pregnant, I told myself that the next time I was going to take it day-by-day.  Since this is the last time I’m going to do this, I wanted to make sure that I enjoyed it.  The baby deserved that at the very least.  Due to the control I tried to have over my last one that still failed, I finally knew that no matter what the fate of the pregnancy would be, that I had no place in that outcome.  Letting go of that control is exhilarating.  In addition to this, because of the amazing piece that Jjiraffe wrote about me in her Faces of ALI series, I had a newfound compassion for myself and for what I have gone through, so I knew that all that was left for me and the baby was to be in the moment.  I am so proud to say, that for the most part, I have succeeded at this.  I have faced this pregnancy as a new pregnancy, one with it’s own chances of making it, with it’s own particular fate.  Every night when I go to bed, I tell my baby that I’m thankful he or she is here, that no matter what happens, I love him and want him so badly.  I thank it for growing and for trying.  And the next morning, I do it all over again: I face the day.

I told myself I’d wait until after I reached the fateful 7 weeks 5 days that the past ones have gone downhill or ended to get an ultrasound.  There was no point in me seeing the heartbeat when it hasn’t meant anything in the past.  Plus it felt good to not be filled with the anxiety of my doctor’s office on a weekly basis.

Yesterday I finally went.  At 8 weeks 2 days, it was measuring right on target and with a heartbeat.  It’s already further than any of it’s siblings.  And I can’t stop smiling.

Except, I can’t look beyond today…and today I’m 8 weeks, 3 days pregnant.

Today, I am pregnant.

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(You may go now.  For those of you left, thanks for sticking it out.  Hope your legs haven’t fallen asleep…or your eyelids for that matter.  Thanks so much for reading!  And for those of you that said you missed me, you still miss me now?)

Four.

Almost a month ago, at 8 weeks 5 days, I found out my baby’s heart had stopped beating.  Two days later, on June 3rd, I had a D&C and another baby taken from me.

Yes, I was pregnant and I’m sorry I kept it from you.  There were people in my real life that deserved to know that I was pregnant before they found out on my blog.  Except the shitty part is I never got to tell them that I was pregnant and instead I had to tell them I lost a fourth baby.

Four.  I’ve lost four babies.  That number is daunting.  That number changes everything.  At three, there was still a chance, my percentages were still pretty great.  But four?  At four they’re not so good.  At four I have to start thinking that this might not happen for us.  At four I have to start imagining alternatives – alternatives I never wanted to face.

I’ve tried to get on here a million times to write this post, but I could never figure out how to start it.  I didn’t think I had the energy to write about this again (this was supposed to be a pregnancy blog after all).  But it’s not just that, things for me have changed after losing this last baby.  Everything I thought before now, is gone.  I think I’m still trying to figure out how to explain how my thoughts have changed and how I’m feeling, but I still haven’t found a way to describe it.  I’m certainly pissed this happened, angry that I’m having to go through this again.  I never thought I’d be here…everyone that knew told me that the last baby was it, this time it was sticking.  I really thought so, too.  But it didn’t stick.  It never sticks.  Or rather, it sticks, but it’s heart just stops beating.

Something else that has changed is I’ve finally realized that I have absolutely no control over the fate of my pregnancies.  While I was pregnant this last time, I took it easy.  I didn’t go for my daily walks, I didn’t stay on my feet for very long, and I rested as much as I could.  I also did ridiculous things like refuse to sit in the chair at my doctor’s office that I sat in the day I found out I lost the third, or refuse to turn on the light in the bathroom that was on while I was losing the second.  I scheduled my appointments no where near the appointment dates from the last time.  I thought the stupid Katy Perry song about fireworks that was playing the second I got in my car after seeing the heartbeat was a good sign because the lyrics really effected me when I lost the third when she says that part about doors shutting and finally the right one opens or some shit like that.  But none of it helped, the baby still died.  Plus it was exhausting keeping all of that up.  I mean, I was bordering on OCD, I realize this.   I get why I did it, though.  We have absolutely no control over our pregnancies or this process we’re going through, and it gives us a feeling that somehow we’re controlling it.  I get that.  I’ve been superstitious my entire life and I just didn’t realize how much so until this last pregnancy.  But that’s all gone now.  I finally get it, universe.  I have absolutely no control over what is going to happen, pregnancy or not.  I hear you.

Can you sense my anger?  I think that’s the biggest difference for me this time….I’m just as pissed off as I am sad, if not more.  So much for the joy, eh?

This wasn’t supposed to be me.  This wasn’t what I thought would be my life.  But here I am.  This is really happening.

My doctor wants to send me to UCSF where they specialize in fertility.  I’m all for it, but worried about the cost.  I have a stack of hospital bills at home as it is, and that’s with insurance.  I may just have to move to Israel after all…Mo, you ready for me?

One thing that is very different this time is the support I have been given and the love I have been shown.  Some incredible ladies I’ve met through this blog have given me the feeling of being understood, which was what I was missing all of the other times….and I can’t tell you what a difference it makes.  I will never be able to thank you guys enough or ever have the words to describe what all of this has meant to me.  I don’t think I’d be as okay as I am right now without you.  You have made it easier to get out of bed, you have warmed my heart, and made me all emotional and sloppy from crying because I just feel so blessed.  If I can be thankful for anything throughout all of this mess, it’s you guys.  The posts you wrote while I was deep in the thick of it, and the comments people left gave me so much strength – strength I’m still feeling now.  This strength is going to help me beat this, I know it will.  You all are a pretty damn good consolation prize.

Of course I don’t want to leave out the people in my life not through this blog that have been there all along.  I am so lucky to have you in my life, I can’t imagine it without you.  Thank you for the care packages, and the calls and the love from thousands of miles away.  I know most of you don’t know what this feels like, and all you can do is love me…and I’m saying now you’ve done that and I couldn’t be more thankful.  And thank you, family, for loving me no matter what.  I know it’s been difficult to see me like this for almost two years now, and I promise I won’t always be like this.  You just have to stand by me a little while longer, okay?  You have to help me fight this.

You should know that despite this anger and change in the way I’m thinking that I’m not giving up.  I still somehow have hope and I’m going to fight.  I’ll probably even fight harder now that odds are against me.  I may finally be able to put that competitive nature to good use.  Wait, can I fight against myself and win?  I sure as hell hope so.

I do know one thing….four better be the last fucking number I know.

Hate the wait.

Sometimes, comments can really hit you in a profound way.  And since I haven’t had any hate mail yet, so far this has always been a good thing.  On yesterday’s post, I received one of these that made me stop everything I was doing, and let her words sink in.  I wanted to share it here because I have a feeling it might help you if you’ve been feeling pretty similar, too.

I don’t know why, maybe it’s the fact that she had exactly the same number of losses as me, or she wrote it with tears in her eyes as she watched her child before her, but her words struck me in a different way that similar advice hasn’t before it.  I mean, seriously, do you know how many people have told me, “you just have to believe,” or “you just have to keep the faith?”  To the point where I can’t help but roll my eyes to the person saying it.  You try and do that it if you think it’s so easy!  And honestly, at this point it just goes in one ear and out the other.  It’s been near impossible to keep that hope when every single day there is evidence around me of women who get knocked up and have babies without even noticing.  And me?  I have a 3-time failure record.  It’s a little hard to keep the hope alive.

Perhaps it was because she worded it differently, I don’t know.  But it made me stop and access that part of me that I’ve squelched for so long now, the intuition part of me that has unfairly been bullied by my head and heart for over a year now, afraid to speak up.

I searched inside me for any clue into whether or not I honestly believed I was meant to have a child.  And I do. I honestly believe I am going to have a baby.  Like L said above, I do feel like there is a little one out there calling to me, and the best I can do at this point, is distract myself until that happens.

From this moment on, I’m going to do my best to not let my heart and head crush my intuition, my dream.  They’ve been ganging up for way too long now, and it’s time the intuition starts taking things over again.

Thank you, L, you have no idea how much your words meant to me.  Thank you.  I only hope I can do the same for another woman in my shoes when I finally have my little one.

Heartbeat.

I’m often trying to convince myself that it’s okay to still be grieving.  I pretend that it’s just my way of defending my grief to others…but if I’m really being honest, I’m pretty sure it’s me trying to defend my sadness to myself.*  Last night as I was laying in bed, I was devising yet another way to convince someone/myself of believing that my grief is real.  That it deserved the attention I had no control over giving this past year.  So I started thinking about the heartbeat.  On June 28th, 2010, I saw the heartbeat of my baby.  I saw the beautiful flicker of life that gives most future mothers a sigh of relief of a thriving life inside.  When I remembered that flicker last night on the screen as I was trying to go to sleep, my heart sank.  I had life in me.  I…we…gave life to another human being.  And just as quickly as it came, my body took it away.  My body stopped it because it didn’t think it belonged there.  I had a baby with a heartbeat and then I didn’t. It wasn’t just a collection of cells, a mass of tissue…it was life.  That heartbeat was supposed to continue to beat long after mine stopped.  The being with that heartbeat was supposed to smile at it’s parents, learn to walk and talk, breathe the air in these hills that we love to breathe.  And then all of that hope that so many people take for granted, was taken away 10 days later.  My baby’s heart stopped beating. I’m allowed to grieve for that.  Why can’t people understand that?  Isn’t this enough?

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*Except, right now, it is both me trying to convince myself as well as a few others.   I’ve spent a good portion of this past month defending how I chose to grieve this past year to someone, and in my head, I’m always trying to make my case.  Why do we have to do that?  Doesn’t that just seem backwards?  How are we not all compassionate?  To ourselves and to others.  It’s not right.

Okay…stepping off soap box…

I gave birth in a lobby.

Last night I had a dream that I can’t get out of my head, so now you get to hear about it.  Up until today, I had never dreamt of my baby.  I have been pregnant in my dreams, but never anything worth noting, and they have never ended in birth.  Early this morning, I dreamt I gave birth (in a lobby no less) to the most perfect 6-lb-something little baby.  The birth was so easy and quick, at one point I realized I should ask the doctor if I tore (ha!).  I remember thinking it didn’t feel like I did and saying to myself: Wow!  I must be lucky!  But the best part of the dream – the part that keeps coming to mind – was the moment I breast fed for the first time.  My chest was bare and the little one was still naked, and I could feel the light weight of his/her body in my arms (I was also sitting in a wheelchair for some reason, but whatever).  The baby immediately latched on and I felt…complete.  For the next few minutes I just kept looking down at this little baby, beaming with joy.

I was then abruptly woken by a critter in our walls* rearranging it’s furniture (who I’d now like to kill for waking me up from this dream) and I tried to fall back asleep to it, but I wasn’t able to.  It just felt so real.  That little baby was mine…happiness in a dream has never been so palpable.**

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*We live in a late-1800′s converted barn, critters are part of the territory.

**Honestly, I don’t know if it’s the no-tearing that makes me happier, or the baby!

Why you need to do your research

Besides the brief moment where I broke down in tears at the sound of a newborn crying for milk, my appointment today was really positive.  Not only did she agree to the testing I wanted, she didn’t have to!  It, um, turns out that the list of tests that I planned on requesting, I’ve already had!  (Turns out you don’t always have to see a fertility specialist, and some ob/gyns – mine specifically – will be just as thorough.  Yay me!)  The difference is that this time when she explained all of them, I had done my research and knew what each one was.  Back in August I was completely crippled with grief and fighting back my tears while trying to comprehend what she was saying.  It was all a foreign language to me and I had no idea what any of them meant.  Even when the nurse had called me back a month later with the results, she had failed at her job of explaining anything to me.    I also didn’t know the information to ask the correct questions, and she took advantage of that.  Her cheery, “all the tests came back fine!” did what it was supposed to: throw me off so she could get back to her list of calls she had to make.  This is a huge reason why I had no idea what any of the tests were that had been done.  (I did tell my doctor that I felt this way about her nurse, and she didn’t seem all that surprised and apologized.)  Anyway, all of the tests I have been researching and wanted - antiphospholipid antibody syndrome, RH factor, thyroid, Factor V Leiden - all came back normal.  I can’t tell you what a relief this is.  Before, it wasn’t the relief it should have been because I was clueless.  4 months ago, all the scientific terms went over my head and I was helplessly lost in my sadness; but today I felt armed with the knowledge I need to fight this.  We’re going to test the Factor V Leiden one more time just to be sure and my Beta 2 Glycoprotein I Igm* because it was a little elevated (I still need to read more about this, I’m not sure what it is and she wasn’t certain either).  So please, if you’ve found this site having just gone through a miscarriage (I’m so sorry), do your research before you hear the results of your tests so you can ask the right questions and know if your doctor is being thorough.  Maybe if I had done the research earlier I would have been able to start fighting this fear earlier.  After today, I feel a little bit more confident.  I’m not all the way there yet, and maybe I never will be, but it’s something in the right direction.

Also?  I already liked my doctor, but the fact that she took the time to go over these with me one more time and not act put out, makes me like her even more.

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* In doing some quick searches, it appears that it’s connected to antiphospholipid antibody syndrome (see the second paragraph) and thrombosis.  And in this abstract that I found, it says that it can be connected to pregnancy-induced hypertension (PIH) or preeclampsia.  But if a woman tests negative for the lupis anticoagulant (which I did), then it does not increase the risk of PIH or preeclampsia.  Not that I got far enough to experience either of the two, but it’s still something I should take note of.  Wow.  I almost feel like this might be a huge clue into why I miscarry.  I’ll be interested to see the results of the second set of tests are and what my doctor finds out about this.

I’m pretty sure none of the books I’ve read have mentioned beta-2 glycoprotein I.  Have any of you heard of this or have any of your RE’s talked to you about it?

Here’s one more article that refers to it.

More testing (hopefully).

Yesterday I made an appointment with my doctor to talk to her about more testing that I want to have done.  After the miscarriage in July, she ordered the tests most routinely done for pregnancy loss: hysterosalpingogram, chromosomal testing, and other various blood tests (where they discovered the MTHFR gene abnormality).  But it was not complete.  I’ve been researching other tests that might provide further insight into why I can’t carry a baby to term, and I want to look into them, even if I have to beg for it.  I know it might seem strange that I’m going to my doctor to ask about these instead of her recommending them, but those of you outside of the miscarriage world should know that, unfortunately, most ob/gyn’s are not skilled enough in the realm of lost pregnancies to really know what to do when faced with one.  And honestly, most of them don’t want to be skilled in that area.  They’re told they’re common and to just tell the patient to try again as there is very little they can do.  There is barely any research on miscarriages and why they happen (the testing is near impossible to do because of timing and ethics, and, of course, the biggest factor: funding).  Unless doctors have a particular interest in that area and do personal research, they are not taught about pregnancy loss.   For the best chances at having a successful pregnancy after recurrent miscarriages, one needs to see a fertility specialist.  But, as I’m sure you all know, they don’t necessarily take insurance.  And right now we just don’t have the money for expensive office consultations and testing.  That was all a really long way of telling you that I’m going to beg my doctor for more tests next Monday.  I’m hopeful that she’ll listen and even agree.  I just don’t feel like I can face my fear of becoming pregnant again without knowing that I did everything I could to make sure I don’t lose another baby.  And right now, I feel like there’s more that can be done to rule things out even more.

Positive schmositive.

Last night I had a dream I was 25 weeks pregnant.  I don’t usually dream about being pregnant, but when I do I’m barely pregnant or I’m 9 months along but don’t even have a belly, so this was a new occurrence for me.  I had a big round belly and I remember thinking “Wow, I made it this far, that’s good.  Only 15 more weeks to go.”  Then right after that discovery, I realized I hadn’t been to the doctor since finding out I was pregnant and I had no confirmation that the baby in me was still alive.  I had this overwhelming feeling that it was dead and even though my belly was big, it had failed regardless; yet I felt compelled to continue thinking positively because maybe it could change the fact that it was already gone.  It’s so funny this positive thinking thing.  I’ve believed for a long time that we have power over our bodies with how we think, but now I just don’t know.  I believed it in the second pregnancy and even managed to continue it in the third.  But it failed both times.  All my positive thoughts did nothing.  My babies still died.  I think that’s where the part of me that feels like I failed comes from, that I did what I was supposed to do, and it still didn’t work.  Even in my dreams I realize that in the big picture, it still doesn’t work if something isn’t right.  I wonder how I will be when I get pregnant again, if it will be a struggle or if I will wonder if it’s even worth it.  I don’t know.  What do you think?  Do you believe in the powers of our mind?  Is there even any proof that it works?   Should I just think I’m doomed from the beginning since thinking otherwise does nothing?  Do you want to slap me yet?

The therapy might be working (it’s either that or the wine).

I think I’ve turned a corner.  Things have started to feel brighter and I seem to have a little more life to me.  I think it’s a combination of things — the fact that I started a new year with my birthday and with that came a gift from Tim (a ring) that symbolizes all that I’ve been through this past year, a connection with someone who knows what all this feels like, and some hope from a seminar I’m going to attend recommended by another blogger.  They’ve all added up and I’ve even started having feelings of wanting to try again.   Except I’m aware I’m not quite ready.  The fear is so strong I’m not sure it could be overlooked at this point, but at least it’s lessening.

Of course, I say all this and today on my way to therapy I was feeling light and the smiling wasn’t being forced, and the moment I walk in the door the tears fall and don’t stop for the entire hour I’m there.  It amazes me the amount of sadness I still have, despite all the healing I think I’m achieving.   But I guess that’s how we keep on going in life, we just learn to deal with the sadness, to cover it up when we need to and let it all out when we’re given the space to do so.

Last week a blogger that I’ve read for years announced she was expecting her third child.  She was only 6 weeks along when she told her readers, and even now she’s only 7 (I know, I’m impressed with my math, too) and all I can think is “don’t get attached” or “wow, that was brave to announce so early.”  I hate that those are my first thoughts.  That I can’t just feel confident, that even for a stranger I expect the worst.  And you know what the worst part is?  The part that I’m sure many of us feel that have been through this, but don’t ever want to say?  My very next thought was that a part of me hopes she loses it.  Because maybe then someone else would know how I feel and I wouldn’t feel so left behind in the world of pregnancies.  Isn’t that just awful?  I’ll understand if you go away and never come back.  But before you go you should know that I don’t really feel that way, because I wouldn’t even wish this on my worst enemy.  I tell myself it’s because I’m human and as humans we don’t want to be alone in what we feel, and I hope that that’s why I have these awful thoughts.   Because she’s a wonderful woman with struggles of her own and I hope nothing awful like this ever happens to her.  I’m happy to go it alone the rest of our lives so that no one else has to feel this way.  But 7 weeks?  7 weeks has been ruined for me.  In fact, anything before 40 weeks may very well be ruined for me.

So, um, yeah, it’s a good thing I’m still in therapy.