SIS #3

I had been feeling better mentally recently, and I had convinced myself I would actually get to sit in the doctor's office and not cry for the first time in 2015.  Unfortunately, that was not meant to be (I think I may hold some kind of record at this point).

I had a different doctor this time, and he explained every part of the procedure, which I found to be really helpful.  Just knowing what is happening is somehow incredibly reassuring to me.  Something about not being taken by surprise when something is shoved into you I suppose.  I also suspect he may be a wizard of some sort because this time the SIS was a lot less painful; almost verging on just uncomfortable.  Almost.

So I laid there while the 4 people around me got to stare at the screen and see what was going on.  As I looked up at their faces, I laughed to myself about how unfair that situation felt.  How about cluing in the girl who actually has her insides on the screen?! I wanna see!

Later, under more comfortable circumstances, the doctor showed me what appears to be a small fibroid chilling inside my uterus still.  The doctor didn't seem too concerned.  While it's harder to be not concerned when it's your uterus, I have to trust him here.  Of course, that is a double edged sword, because then I also have to trust him when he says we should wait another cycle to allow more time to heal.  Another.freaking.cycle.

It's really hard not to let this get to me.  I know logically it's not so bad, but it's not one visit in isolation, it's a not-so-great visit on top of everything else that's happened the past 4 months, and it's hard not to let even the smallest of setbacks feel like they are just piling on one more thing.  It makes me think of those arcade games with the quarters just barely staying on the ledge.  One more quarter in, and the whole thing goes tumbling down.  So I'll admit, I tumbled again for a couple hours.

On a different note, NPR released an article today dealing with miscarriage.

NPR - Miscarriage Misconceptions

It's a very good read.  I was most struck by some of the quotes.  One in particular really resonated with me:

I wish people knew how much it's possible to miss a person you have never met, and to mark time by their absence.  I will always think about how old my baby would be now and what our lives would be like if I hadn't lost the pregnancy.

I have admittedly been marking time by our baby's absence.  Very often I think about what I might be doing, or how I might look right now, if I was still pregnant.  I count down days to my due date.  There's never really a time where I couldn't tell you what trimester I would be in or how much longer I would have had to go.  It's a shitty way to go through life, so I've been trying to cut this out.  Some times it's easier said than done of course, especially on days like today when you feel a little punched in the gut (or uterus) again.

You Are Not Alone

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week.  The theme this year is "You Are Not Alone". Read more here:

http://www.resolve.org/national-infertility-awareness-week/home-page.html

I've been thinking about this theme a lot this week, and how important this simple phrase really is.

Infertility can be incredibly isolating.  Life becomes a series of doctor's visits, and tests, and disappointment.  It's hard not to let your mind become a bit obsessed when so much of your month revolves around treatment; not to mention the effort of dealing with the grief and anxiety that are infertility's best friends.  The isolation, however, also stems from not being able to talk openly about what has effectively become the biggest "thing" in my life right now.  There are exceptions of course (I have a select few amazing friends and my mom has been like a therapist), but the general population is not expecting, "I'm doing shitty; I lost a pregnancy a couple months ago" as an answer to, "how are you?"  Trust me, I've actually tried this and it doesn't always go over so well.

In spite of this, this week's theme has really been driven home to me over the past few days.  First, I participate in an incredible community of people trying to conceive after a loss on a message board:

www.thencomesfamily.com

A few days ago, a lovely lady started a thread that just opened a door to vent.  Now, we do a lot of that anyway, but this was different.  This wasn't discussing a specific trigger that occurred one day; this was letting all the emotions and deep heartache and worry out of the cage.  And something amazing happened - you could almost feel everyone shaking their heads in unison reading each other's posts.  I found myself reading paragraphs that put into words what I was feeling way better than I could articulate myself.  Similarly, when I posted, I had a ton of people express that they felt the same way I did.

There were some clear themes - a feeling of loss, as if something had been stolen from us.  Besides the obvious loss, there are losses of happiness, of feeling like ourselves, and of the lovely innocence we once had about this process.  There was also a theme of anger; of wanting to smash things.  (This one may or may not have been started by me.  Seriously folks, it's been taking a lot of effort to not take a hammer to things.  My cell phone should be incredibly worried since it's usually the vessel of insensitive texts or Facebook baby announcements.)  In a nutshell - this shit is the shittiest.  But this thread was like looking around the trenches and realizing you had a ton of people fighting there with you.

On Monday I also went to my first support group.  I won't lie - I sat in my car for a good 15 minutes watching what kind of people were walking into this thing deciding if I should bail or not.  I ultimately went in; and I was very glad I did.  I kept picturing a, "hi, my name is _____ and we've been trying for a year and a half, let's all cry now" stereotype, but it wasn't that at all.  No introductions or stories necessary - we're all there because we're generally dealing with the same thing.  Maybe not the same protocol or the same medications, or even the exact same step of the journey, but infertility is a giant umbrella.  Just one in which the rain is on the inside instead of the outside.

We all just....started talking.  We shared knowledge about doctors (coincidentally, all of the girls there were either seeing the same doctor or about to) and treatment.  We shared experiences with medications.  We shared laughter over the silly things people have said to us.  And that 1 hour and 45 minutes flew by.  When I got home and my husband asked me how it went I simply said, "My god, it was SO GOOD to just talk with a group of people who just get it on every level."  (Ok, I've never "simply" said anything, so it came with a lot of other babbling, but that was the general idea).

So, while this whole damn thing sucks so very hard, it is absolutely true that I am most definitely not alone.  And neither are you.

Conscious effort

After a rough few days last weekend, I was finally able to dig myself out of the pit I was wallowing in.   I've often felt through this process like I don't even recognize myself anymore, so to feel a bit more like my old self has been refreshing.   I can get through the days a little happier, but there's no denying that there's always a sadness right beneath the surface.  It takes focus and discipline to recognize when my mind starts getting stuck on the rough thoughts, and to force myself to stop.  It's a conscious effort - no longer is a happy day something that just happens.  A happy day is one I have to fight for.

It's hard.  My mind tends to highlight every little trigger.  If I see a pregnant woman I think, "She looks to be about as far along as I would have been right now."  If (like today) I hear friends announcing their pregnancies, I think, "We would have been pregnant at the same time."  It's a sad little math that my brain tends to get stuck on: how many more months will I have to wait?  how old will that make me when I have a child?  how many tries can I possibly get before my due date arrives?

I am walking a tight rope over that pit.

I hope it will get easier once I'm finally given a clean bill of health.  I suspect that knowing I am physically through the loss will help me feel emotionally more past it as well.  My brain could really use some cooperation from my uterus here!  In the meantime, when the thoughts start to creep up, I repeat to myself some lyrics that have been stuck with me:

But there's nothing more to it, I just get through it. Oh there's nothing more to it, I just get through it.  

Up and down

There's no other way to describe the last 3 months - both physically and emotionally.

Physically, we thought we were finally done with the surgery last week to remove the retained tissue and polyp.  Only, it wasn't a polyp, it was a fibroid, which as it turns out, is a bit more serious because the growth was actually embedded within the walls of my uterus.  So rather than getting a clean bill of health, I instead have to let yet another cycle go by before I have to get another SIS.  If you're keeping count, that makes 3 SIS's so far in 2015.  Let's hope this one is the last one.

Let me just take a detour at this moment to tell you a little something else about my appointment.  When I walked in, I was asked if I had a stent in, which I was sure I did not.  No one had ever told me I did and I'd think I notice some kind of device inside of me.  But the thing is - my husband told me THREE times that I had one.  Except I was apparently still under some anesthesia at the time so I didn't remember this.  I'm told the conversation went something like this:

Husband:  hey, you're awake, how do you feel?

Me:  Ok.  Am I ok? are we cleared?

Husband:  Yes, but you have a stent in that will have to come out in a week.

Me:  Ok, but not another SIS, right?!

Husband: No.  No SIS.

Me:  Thank god.

Repeat two more times.

So color me confused when I waked into my doctor's office and she told me I absolutely had a stent in, and it had to come out.  So I asked how that's done, and if it was going to hurt.  I was given some nonsense answer, because the *real* answer would have been, "Sorry, despite amazing medical advances over the past several decades, no one cared to ever think of any better way than to just yank this thing out of you (with no pain medication) and it's going to hurt so bad you won't be able to form thoughts after it's done."

I still cross my legs when I think about it.

But the good news is now an SIS doesn't seem quite so daunting, because hey, at least it's not a stent removal.

So with that very painful and disappointing appointment, I am back on a roller coaster I thought I had finally gotten off of.  And back to good days and bad days.

Sometimes, like yesterday, I am absolutely toxic.  I am depressed, I am sad, and I am so very angry.  Nothing helps, and no matter how hard my dear sweet husband tries, I can't get out of that dark hole.  And the thing with bad days is you can't plan for them.  So I found myself in this awful place, and also having to head over to the in-laws to see the family.  On a normal day, this would make for a lovely time, but on a bad day, it's hard to feel lovely about anything.  But life goes on, even when you're not up for it.

1 in 8

I want you all to know more about infertility. Because the truth is, 1 in 8 couples has trouble getting or sustaining a pregnancy.  That means I have no doubt that if you haven't experienced it yourself, you know a couple who has gone, or is going, through it.  And I'd like to think you're an awesome person and you'd like to know how best to help your loved one.  When people are dealing with loss or sadness, we often don't know what to say.  And sometimes in our effort to say something (anything!) to show we are thinking about it, we say unintentionally insensitive things.  This post is meant to help you, and in return, help the 10% of the population dealing with this medical issue.  

First, a little bit about a really amazing organization:

RESOLVE: The National Infertility Association, established in 1974, is a non-profit organization with the only established, nationwide network mandated to promote reproductive health and to ensure equal access to all family building options for men and women experiencing infertility or other reproductive disorders.

RESOLVE to Know More

There are some awesome links for both those dealing with infertility, as well as their family and friends.  Please consider reading this.

If you don't mind some cursing and some humor, then read on (you're in good company).

Now, let me just come out and say  it:  people say the stupidest shit to us.  You would not believe some of the things we hear.  I'm going to post some awesome links to read, but there's a few that I want to address here first:

1)  Infertility is a medical issue.  This means no amount of "just relaxing" is ever going to work. Stop saying this to us.  Just....stop.

2)  It is not helpful, or relevant, what your views on Assisted Reproductive Technology or adoption are.  I promise you, anyone who is proceeding (or not proceeding) with either one has not taken the decision lightly.  They are both incredibly expensive and emotionally draining, and ART also comes with serious physical hardships on the woman.

3)  A wise friend of mine once said in relation to my miscarriage: "a loss is a loss".  Despite not ever wanting children of her own, this understanding led her to be one of the most truly supportive people through the shit-storm that was the weeks after our loss. Please treat it, and us, just as you would someone who lost a loved one.  Because, you know...we did.

4)  Please stop asking me to pretend this very big thing is not happening in my life.  I've been shocked by the number of people who basically have said a quick, "I'm sorry" and then have never asked me about it again.  It's exhausting having conversations where I have to put on a happy face; please just give me license to talk about it for a few minutes with a simple, "how are you handling everything?"

And now, some links:

How Not to be a Dick to Your Infertile Friend

10 Things Infertiles Want You to Shut the Fuck Up About

Stop Being a Jerk to Someone Dealing with Infertility


Lastly, a great little video.  If there is one little silver lining about my loss, it's that I'm now a more empathetic person;  I can climb down into the dark hole with others:

Still not over

At this point, I am now under the care of an OBGYN who is a part of my RE's office. She explains that I will bleed for a couple of weeks after the D&E, and then it's a waiting game until my next cycle starts, which can be anywhere from 4 to 6 weeks (although I later heard from women who had to wait much longer).

I am lucky as I only have to wait 32 days.  I take this as a sign.  "It's DAY ONE!" I shout in my house (as that day of the cycle is often referred to).  I march myself into the RE and ask if we can start trying again.  I am told it's early, but that she will do what's called a saline infusion sonohysterography (SIS) to make sure everything looks good. I am told by several nurses that the SIS is not nearly as bad as the HSG.  

They are all dirty, rotten liars.  

So I find myself lying on a table, tube and ultrasound in me, in what is quite frankly an unsettling amount of pain, and all I see are the doctors pointing at the ultrasound screen with puzzled looks, and there is an alarming amount of whispering going on.  I proceed to panic.  My wonderful husband had thankfully insisted on coming with me and he knows me well enough to tell the doctors, "you have to tell her what's going on, she's freaking out because she's probably thinking of the worst case scenario" - which of course I was.  So they finally clue me in by showing me the screen and explaining that I've got a whole ton of tissue I really shouldn't have at this point.  The plan?  To get it out.  Right there.  No pain killers besides some Advil in me.   I damn near kicked the OBGYN in the face.  But the real kicker (see what I did there?) is that despite taking some out, I am not healthy enough to try again.  So we count down 28 more days until.....

Another SIS.  

I'll be quick this time: it looked even worse than the first one.  I'm now also rocking a decent sized polyp, and there's no way around it:  headed back to surgery to I go.  

And so we cross off yet another precious cycle.  But at this point, surgery (with anesthesia) is a much nicer prospect than another SIS!

The loss

There's no good title to this post.  This is the loss post.

At 7 weeks we went in for our third ultrasound.  This was the ultrasound to see a heartbeat.  We knew it was important.  

But there was no heartbeat.

There was a sac still, but no sign of life.  No little heart. 

I can not put that amount of devastation into words.  I won't try.  So we drive home, and all I can think about is calling the family.  I want it over with as soon as possible.  I don't want anyone to be hopeful anymore. So we call everyone, and we say that word: "miscarriage".

That word is finite and succinct, neat and tidy - it doesn't convey what it needs to.  Here's what has to happen next:  I have to pretend I am pregnant for a full week.  I have to carry around my sad little sac; I can't drink alcohol and I can't eat any foods I am not supposed to.  I have to figure out a way to work, to get through each block of 24 hours, to get to sleep.  I have to get to the next ultrasound to confirm what we already know.  Miscarriage sounds so final.  So complete.  But it's not.  This is just the beginning of a horrid process.  

But I make it, because what choice do I have?  And I make it yet another 2 days to the D&E.

The last thing I remember is being strapped down to a table and telling the nurses that I couldn't believe that something so happy had led me here.  

And then at least the physical part of this whole mess is over.  Or at least I think it is.