Maybe he was having a bad day. When Jon gets fed up with people's erratic driving behaviors I start coming up with story lines to try and explain away bad behavior such as why the person cut him off from the merge lane, or why when we're sitting in bumper to bumper traffic we see a solo car driver fly past us in the carpool lane. Maybe they have to get to the hospital because their parent is dying? Or perhaps they aren't familiar with the area and suddenly realized from the far left lane that they needed to exit the freeway ASAP?
Maybe we are all entitled to have our moments. For me, I haven't quite passed the point yet where other things bother me because I can't imagine anything possibly worse than losing my baby at 8 weeks after 15 months of trying to conceive. A long grocery store line isn't going to remind me of our infertility. To the mid-50s guy, if I told him that he has infertility and his wife was going to lose his baby he wouldn't care less because his life is full of different priorities and perspectives.
As a confidant was explaining to me, a tragic event suddenly shakes your life by turning it upside down to the point that your body turns a different shade of color setting you apart from everyone else. You're on one side of the glass and I'm on the other. When Jon and I were at the State Fair last weekend it was with the condition that we may suddenly have to leave the fair if I started miscarrying naturally because I hadn't had my D&C yet and I could start bleeding and cramping at any un-forseen time. Thankfully, I didn't. But I couldn't help but saunter around the fair grounds among the hoards of people wondering if anyone else was walking around with a dead embryo inside of them. No one could see it, but I was different than everyone else. When we wanted to go on rides I saw signs that said, "Pregnant women should not enjoy this ride" (yes--you read that right..."enjoy"). I began to wonder if that applied to pregnant women who still had high levels of HCG, but no viable pregnancy? What about people like me? Where do we fit within society?
It's been a week since my D&C and the most common question I'm asked from family and close friends is how I'm feeling. The morning after my D&C I took my basal body temperature and the temperature was higher than it was in the few days following my positive pregnancy test. I had quit temping within the first few days of the positive test, but this temperature was a clear indication that even though everything had been cleared out, my pituitary gland had not gotten the memo and thought I was still pregnant. A high temperature means your progesterone levels are high. I was still enduring mild pregnancy symptoms and I was only lightly spotting. I was still chemically pregnant.....if someone were to ask me if I was pregnant I could truthfully and validly answer, "I'm only sort of pregnant".
Just like in a previous post when I mentioned that it took about a week to convince myself that I was indeed pregnant following a positive pregnancy test--after the D&C was over the pain was minimal and the bleeding was light. Although I knew that my baby had been removed, it took me a few days to adjust to the fact that I was no longer viably pregnant. Sometimes I wondered if the doctor really even did anything during my "procedure" because I was asleep and certainly didn't notice one way or another. On Friday morning, however, I woke up to go for my first long run in 2 months (I didn't run at all during my pregnancy), only to be hit with heavy bleeding. I skipped the long run that day because the sight of so much blood initially startled me. I began cramping to the point that I finally caved and took some ibuprofen to alleviate the pain. The following 48 hours consisted of heavy bleeding that eventually tapered again to light spotting. Apparently this all normal. My progesterone was finally dropping and with that comes bleeding. It was my body shedding the thick uterine lining, and emptying any remaining tissue that wasn't removed during the D&C. My brain had finally figured out that I was embryo-less and just like that, my pregnancy symptoms were suddenly gone. This morning I took my temperature and saw that sometime between last week and this morning my temperature had dramatically plunged back down to the pre-ovulation levels. This was a stark reminder that I was indeed no longer pregnant and was back to the grind of trying to conceive. As strange as it sounds, I missed my high temperatures. It meant that it was finally all over. I had lost the dream I had of becoming a parent in March, and I had shed the last of the evidence.
As all of this was happening over the weekend, Jon and I got to work on our memorial for Isaac. I wanted to have something to remember this pregnancy, but I didn't want it to be an everyday reminder. So I ventured out one night last week and bought a stepping stone mosaic kit. The kit allows you to mix concrete and create mosaic pieces and carve into it before the concrete fully dries. We decided to plant Daffodil flowers in our garden next to the stepping stone because Daffodil's are March's flower which is Isaac's birth month. Because it is so late in the season we were only able to buy bulbs that we'll plant in October just before it gets cold, and in the spring time they will bloom. Here is a photo of the makeshift memorial.
The top of the stone says Isaac David and the bottom says Aug. 17th, 2012 (this is the approximate date he stopped growing). The mosaic pieces in the middle are baby footprints.
On the day that we found that Isaac didn't have a heartbeat Jon began blaming himself for our loss. Of course I assured him that it was no one's fault, but I encouraged him to see for himself by going in for his repeat semen analysis test that he as supposed to have done in the latter half of August (pregnant or not). I was fairly certain that ovulating and subsequently becoming pregnant at the 7 week mark following his first dosage of Anastrozole meant that his semen results had dramatically improved. It would have been awfully coincidential if I just happened to get pregnant within a few months of his first dosage.
We eagerly awaited these results so that we could finally check "infertility" off our list and know that getting pregnant again will be quick and no longer the arduous longing that had subsisted for 15 months the first time around. We had every reason to believe following his dramatically improved blood work in June that the medication was indeed working.
Unfortunately. This is not the case.
Jon found out today that there was no improved results. We have a urology visit on Friday in which we will further discuss these results with the urologist and discuss next steps. Although I can't be sure what sort of analysis the doctor will have regarding his results, my guess is that the next step is for Jon to pursue surgery to correct his Varicocele. If you recall from my spring time posts, the urologist noted that he had minor Varicocele and that he needed an ultrasound to confirm it before pursuing surgery. The radiologist, however, said that it was so minor on the ultrasound that surgery would not be necessary. That news had devastated us, but we quickly lightened up when we learned that Jon could try medication in order to increase his total active testosterone levels. A few weeks later, the urologist then disagreed with the radiologist's claim and said that he felt Jon would be a candidate for surgery. We put this option on the back burner because we were more eager to try medication than have him go in for invasive surgery.
Many of you have begun to ask when Jon and I can start trying again. It's forced me to think about it because lately I've been so focused on this miscarriage and trying to gain some closure. I haven't thought much about wanting to replace the baby I thought I was having in March (or at least that is how it feels right now). I wanted THIS pregnancy. I wanted THIS baby. I wanted a baby in March. I was supposed to have a baby in March. But to answer your question, as soon as I get my period we can start trying again. The medical literature indicates that it is no less safe to start trying again right away versus waiting 3 months. As I approach my 30th birthday I sense that my biological clock has begun ticking. And even though many women in their 30s get pregnant so easily, I know that I'm not going to be one of them and whatever I can do to enhance my chances I should be doing.
As Jon and I move past this I'm left with this longing for something that was so incredibly tangible and then suddenly lost. We had our hands on the prize and then we lost it. We had a definite end date (March 29th, 2013) and all our uncertainties and worries were diminished. But now it's come flooding back. We have no idea what to expect as we pursue this again. It could be years before we have a baby or maybe by some sheer force of coincidence we get pregnant again right away. I don't even want to speculate anymore about how long it will take because I tried speculating all of this in April 2011 and never in my wildest speculations did I think it would be September 2012 and that we'd still have no end date.
What further baffles me is hearing about the women that have been trying for years and years. As I toyed with the idea of the memorial I felt myself go back and forth wondering how I felt about my miscarriage. Sometimes I couldn't wait to build this memorial in Isaac's memory, but other times I wondered if maybe this miscarriage was really no big deal. So many women miscarry and unfortunately, some miscarry many times over. Some try for years and finally get pregnant. Some lose their babies at full term and have still-births. Some give up and pursue adoption. I lost my baby when it was the size of a raspberry. It seems so miniscule in comparison to what it could've been. So where exactly do we fit in this puzzle piece otherwise known as pregnancy loss and still birth? Is our situation worthy enough of a memorial? I toyed with the idea for several days before deciding that Jon and I needed to do what we felt made us happy.
This little guy left a lasting impression on Jon and I. For that, I think he deserves some sort of recognition.
The sun goes down
The stars come out
And all that counts
Is here and now
My universe will never be the same
I'm glad you came
(Glad You Came by The Wanted)
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