Well, I got out of the ultrasound that was scheduled for today, finally.  I had been calling the OB office all week, "I’m spotting, do I still need to go?" "I’m bleeding more red now, do I still have to go?" and this morning, the bleeding was more intense, and I decided I really, really didn’t want another ultrasound.

I called the OB office (whose number I’ve memorized by now, of course) and argued my case.  The nurse was saying "But, some bleeding in early pregnancy is okay, your dates could be wrong, we just want to be sure."  And finally, I stopped pussyfooting and said "No, my dates are NOT wrong. I had such a horrible feeling about this that I have not had INTERCOURSE with my husband since March 21st.  I am bleeding, red, and there are clots and cramps and I’m okay with it. I am miscarrying, and I know it, and I really don’t need any more confirmation of that."  Instead of an U/S, at the hospital with "more sensitive equipment" I had a beta today, that will be measured against a beta in a week, and I have an office visit next Thursday. That’s fine by me.

I went to the Olive Garden instead of the hospital, and sat at the bar and talked to Andy and ate some lunch. (Andy is a bartender at the OG.)  I was discussing it with him, in vague terms and no one else was around, just in case you think bartop conversations about miscarriage are commonplace in my world, and said "you know, I’m sure there are people who have that first bad one, and go home and pray and hope that god takes care of it and they wait around for that second one filled with hope . . . but that ain’t me.  If it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck, it is no chicken."  I mean seriously. I’m miscarrying, and it’s okay. ANd Andy said "But that’s because you’re a scientist, and they probably don’t get many scientists coming through there."

Good point.  I am a realist, too. I would much rather NOT drag shit out, at what expense (I imagine the EMMC visit would have been a pretty penny on top of what I’m already paying for the OB)?  Granted, I’m not a soft fuzzy bunny of a person, I’m very matter of fact, so don’t draw it out and say "well, maaayybeee.."  when I KNOW that it is physically impossible for me to have this LAUNDRY LIST of things going awry mean anything but inevitable miscarriage.

If there had been less of a discrepancy on Friday, say one that said "Well, you look 8 weeks instead of 9" then I might have gone in for the second scan.  If I had not started bleeding, then I would have gone.  If I was only spotting a tiny bit, and I still had sore tits or other symptoms, I would have gone.  But it’s not worth it at this point.  I’d also kind of like to have my next ultrasound experience be a happy one, not just Dead Embryo, the Sequel.

ANYWAY.  Andy totally hooked me up with extra salad and breadsticks in my doggie bag, and supplied me with the overages of frozen drinks he was making for customers in the restaurant.  I joked that I would be the coolest person at the lab, getting my pregnancy test with the smell of liquor on my breath. Hee.

You know, I’m still feeling okay, and I’m glad that my body is doing what it needs to, but could the bleeding have held off for just 12 more hours?

Here’s to hoping this is the Worst Mother’s Day Ever for me.

Happy Mother’s Day, though, to all of the iMoms that I’ve enjoyed over the years.  Whether you have shared your pregnancy, your birthstory, your struggles with getting pregnant, or the funny things your kids say, I have savored every word of it, and I truly am made more confident by you sharing your lives with the world at large.  It helps me in so many ways, through every step, to know that I am not alone in this.

If I could, I would totally give you all some of the dark chocolate chip cookies that are baking right now.  Big love, y’all.

No, really. It is.  I’m getting lots of phone calls from relatives and such, offering their prayers or their sympathies, and all in a very concerned tone, but I’m really feeling okay now.  I know that my body is doing what it needs to, and I trust that it makes the right decisions.  I actually feel BETTER than I did before, because my intuition was so strong, I felt like a fraud being excited, almost, because under the excitement was this voice saying "Nuh uh, not gonna happen."  To KNOW that I was right, and to not have to pretend anymore? It’s a great relief, honestly.  I have always trusted my intuition, and the energy I have now that I am not trying to convince myself that EVERYTHING IS OKAY every fine minutes is … well, nice, honestly.

I enjoyed visiting with Amy and Dawn; Amy cleaned my kitchen this morning, and then we all went to breakfast and I had a delicious belgian waffle.  We went shopping, where I convinced Amy to buy her first pair of Dansko clogs, and where Amy bought me my miscarriage gift, the onesie, pants, cardigan, hat and booties from this line at the Children’s Place.  The color I got was celadon, and exactly matches the nursery, so we joked that it’s camouflage for any possible baby snatchers.  Put the kid in the green stuff and lean ‘er against the wall, and no one will know she’s there.  As Amy said. "you WILL be a mother soon, and you need to remember that." So, yay on cute outfits!  Also, yay on finding where I can get Robeez locally.

In a nutshell, I’m not devastated. I’m bummed.  Yesterday, I was more devastated feeling, but today, not so much.  Like I said, I didn’t even know this ball of cells yet.  The image on the ultrasound was of a shadowy gray bean, nothing humanoid about it, no discernable head or body or anything, just a clump of gray.  I may have felt differently if it did look more fetal, but it didn’t.  I’m prepared for my body to continue doing its job, and I’m just waiting for the bleeding to start on its own.  I’ll worry about work later.

. . . . to realize I’d probably be sadder if (okay, WHEN) the cat dies?

I’m waiting for my friends to arrive, and I’m laying on the couch, and my big, fat furry girl is laying on my feet, keeping them warm.  She doesn’t go to bed until we’re both in it, so she’s waiting with me.  She co-sleeps with us, and wedges herself between us by morning. 

The embryo is a ball of cells, not something I know, or ever really had to miss.  I told Laura that it feels like being in a weird dream, like the kind where you’re flying and you start to wake up, but you try not to so that you can keep that floaty feeling. . . .it feels like that.  It was a cool dream, and I hope I have it again and I hope that next time I don’t have to wake up to a too-early alarm on a weekend.

I now know that we have RH to consider, as I’m A- and Dave is O+.  When I start to bleed, I need to call my practice to get a Rhogam shot, because I’m miscarrying late enough to need it.  I also know that I’m slightly hypothyroid.  I also know that we conceived immediately after starting our vitamin regeimen, and we’ve kept it up since then, Just in Case.  I know that we CAN conceive, which truly, is half the mental battle.  I’ve found a practice I like — they have been fabulous, calling me and asking how I’m doing, scheduling stuff that needs to be scheduled, answering questions 2, 3 times becaue I’ve been so out of it I haven’t remembered the previous answers.  I cannot stress how much I believe going to an OB/GYN specialty practice instead of my germ-farm family practice has been the right choice for me.  (and honestly, I probably would have ended up there anyway, because the family practice DO does low, low risk, and would probably refer out for RH- or hypothyroid, according to the conversation I had with her last fall.)  I know what it’s like to see a bad ultrasound, and I know what it’s like to leave an OB office in tears. 

I am a firm believer in everything happening for a reason.  I have always held tight to that belief, and I am certain that there was a reason for this.  In due time, I will be a mother. I’m sure of it.

The night before we went to Florida, I went to Target to pick up some last minute travel supplies.  On the way home, I was overcome by nausea (I IMed Laura about this) more severe than ever.  I was so overwhelmed by sadness, I started to cry, and wanted to throw up.  Ridiculous, I thought, that’s crazy, everything is fine, there’s no bleeding. That’s when the paralyzing fear started.  I even use that phrase when I got back from Florida.  On the plane, I had my eyes closed, repeating in my head "I trust my body, I love my baby" over and over and over.  I knew then. I had to let it go, and I knew then.

This morning, I felt like my breasts had lost their soreness. Maybe it’s because I wore a bigger bra yesterday, I thought, but they looked less veiny… maybe because of the sunshine instead of gray rainy mornings we’ve had, that’s it.  I took a shower. I knew.

I went to school, and was supposed to leave at 11:30, but by 9, I couldn’t even breathe.  I was going to the bathroom, literally, every fifteen minutes to just ‘check,’ but nothing was there.  I left early, before 11, and came home and was so nauseous with fear, I had diarrhea. I knew.

I picked up Dave, heart in my throat, to go to lunch.  We talked over lunch, me saying out loud "ninety percent of the time, it’s okay" and when Dave said "Wouldn’t you have bled if something was wrong?" I described to him what was going on in my body, only I didn’t know it yet. "Sometimes they stop developing and take a while to … come out."  I couldn’t eat my fries. I knew.

The exam was fine, I couldn’t believe my blood pressure was normal, because I was almost hyperventilating, it felt like.  I was rigid and tense during the pap, more than usual, but I was just holding on, holding it in, I think. Hanging on to the last few minutes of ‘not knowing for sure.’  Then came the ultrasound.

Dave was sitting beside me, behind me, and the doctor wheeled the machine around so we could all see.  She inserted the wand, and right away, I knew.  I knew what I should see. Instead, it was like trying to make out a comet in the distance, a small gray glob, no movement, no head, no arms. Nothing like what an almost 9 week embryo should look like. I started gripping the sides of the exam table and looking away, trying to not look at Dave, trying to make it stop being real. I knew. 

The doctor got quiet, and said "there’s a sac… and we should see a heart, but I don’t.  Are you sure you’re 8 weeks along? This looks almost 6 weeks."

"I’m sure. I haven’t had sex since we conceived because I had such a bad feeling about this. I should be 8 weeks and 4 days, at the minimum."  She turned the machine off.

She gave me my options, I could have another u/s today at the hospital, but I didn’t want to. I knew what I should see, and seeing it ‘better’ wouldn’t make it alive. I declined.  She told me my options, D&C, or waiting it out, and I chose to wait it out.  She held my hand and said "We’ll schedule an appointment for next week, to make sure." But there is no making sure. I know. I knew.  "When you leave, just leave.  We’ll call you with the appointment and bill your insurance."  I cried for a bit in the exam room, but I wanted to go. Go go go go go .

And when we left, it was the first time I’d ever seen other people in the practice.  My first appointment was very early in the morning, and I never saw another patient.  We were the first appointment after lunch, and were inside before anyone else showed up.  When we left, it was a sea of pregnant women. And me. Crying. Red faced and staring at the ground, finding my way to the door, Dave behind me, shellshocked from seeing his first pap smear and first dead embryo in the space of half an hour.

I came home, and I cried with my head in Dave’s lap.  I finally made him go, so I could call people and tell them.  My mother cried.  My coteacher was in a meeting, but I insisted I talk to her, and she said she’d tell the people at school who knew.  Amy said "Oh, NO." and got teary.  I still don’t regret telling people.  Maybe I knew that I’d only ever have this one chance to announce my first pregnancy in a happy way, and that’s why I did it.  I’m okay with telling, still. 

Tonight, Amy is coming with a friend from high school that I haven’t seen in years, but that Amy sees on a regular basis.  They had planned to come anyway, and I know that I will enjoy the company.  The friend of Amy’s that is coming has been through this, twice, and has 3 healthy boys now.  She also knows the stress of trying for so long, and so I really see this as a way to reconnect — or connect for the first time — with her.  I will be okay.

I know I can get pregnant.  I also know that 2 miscarriages in a row is a rare occurrence.  Dave and I are ready to start trying again as soon as possible, and ready to have that joyous ultrasound experience, not the one where the doctor keeps the pictures and hides them in the chart.

Thanks for all the kind thoughts, whether from IB, or Digs, or here, or email… it means a lot, and I am reading them and feeling very blessed to have my internet support circle, as well as my RL support circle.  Thanks.

No heartbeat.  Stopped developing three weeks ago. Waiting to bleed.

Well, as I mentioned, this week kind of sucked.  Monday was freezing rain when I got home, class Tuesday, student teacher talk and IL Pizza Wednesday, Thursday, I was a slackass, but! But!  I did go out on Friday and Sunday.  I did my route, 2 running segments on Friday (with asthma attack and shin splints) and 3 segments today (just the shins, on the third one.)  i have my Enell sports bra, and as Dave said "Wow, they don’t move AT ALL in that thing," and now I wish I had a Belly Bra, because with the boobs retrained, my gut is bouncing. Oh well. That’s the point.

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Since there’s alllll kinds of weather predicted for this week, I did another day today.  I got in four running sequences (up one from yesterday)  and didn’t have an asthma attack.  I did have a side-stitch, which blew, but what are you gonna do?  My body is FEELING it, too.

I figure I covered just over a mile today.  (I drove it to get some good estimates of distance.)  The cross streets are 1/10th of a mile, and I ran four of those, so I ran about 40 percent total.  I feel like my stride is clunky, but it will work itself out, right?  Because I’ve started all sick-like, I may repeat week one next week just to get a true Week one in. Woohoo!

Well, the easiest way to undo the "whoohoo!" of moving my big fat ass, is to then try to wrestle said ass into new clothes. Specifically, a bathing suit and/or sports bra. Yeah.

I really wanted a tankini for our trip to Florida next month, and it took a while, but I found one that will be okay.  The bra shopping was more ridiculous, on account of my big giant maneating tits.  I tried a Jogbra in XL that just didn’t work (I’m a 40DD) and I tried an XXL racer back tank top that had a shelf bra built in. I wasn’t wanting to use it as a bra, but something to wear over a bra, but even then, the shelf bra was HYSTERICAL.  It didn’t even begin to consider coming down over the big girls. Not at ALL.  So, I just ponied up fifty bucks for an Enell Sports Bra, as mentioned by Oprah, and several other resources as THE bra for the well endowed.  It ain’t sexy, but I bet it works. IT BETTER.

Even MORE depressing, the whole time I’m trying on these garments, I have elbow-socks on.  My eczema is in a horrible flare up, and out of desperation, I cut the toes off of some crew socks, slathered my inner elbows with Vaseline, and pulled the socks on so that my elbows rested in the heels.  SEXY. I also picked up some Aquaphor, as the internet says that it is great for eczema, and my prescription has expired for my regular stuff.  At least the socks keep the Vaseline from staining my clothes, from blood staining my clothes (yeah, it’s gross) and from me digging at the itchiness.  I can scratch on the outside of the socks and get some relief without all the nastiness.

So yes, me, sick, naked but for elbow socks and underwear, wrestling my giant tits into bras that are XL if you consider B cups XL. UGH.

Despite the fact that I still feel awful, and am only getting about ten percent of my RDA of Oxygen via my nose, I started. I did it! I did more of a Day .75, as I did 3 sets of Run for 60 seconds before I thought I might fall over head first in a snowbank, but I did it anyway. I found that the 5 minute brisk walk could route around a small side street, and that the cross streets between the main roads over here are good for exactly 60 seconds of running. Nice.  It worked that I could walk on the plowed, but still snowy/icy sidewalks, and run on the clear and untrafficked connecting streets.   I ended up being out for 23 minutes, which is seven minutes less than the C25k goals, but for my first day, and being sick, and staggering in to beg Dave to run upstairs and find my inhaler, not so bad. You know?

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