Aside from the obvious positive (BABIES), pregnancy is doing one awesome thing for me: my hair is growing at an astonishing rate.
I usually have very long hair. I occasionally cut most of it off and give it to Locks of Love or some equivalent charity. Last summer, shortly after my older sister's wedding, I went from hip-length (which really was too long) to almost-chin-length. Which was way too short, and not what I wanted. It wasn't cute, because I didn't want to lose even more length to layers or "style". I just waited for it to grow out. Which it sort of did, reaching pony-tail length. And frankly, I just stopped caring, because between depression, IVF failures left and right, work and school, and an all-around dissatisfaction of my physical body, my hair was the last thing on my mind.
And now, all of the sudden, I'm trimming my bangs weekly (and shaving my armpits daily and my legs far less than I should), and my hair falls past my bra-strap on my back.
Rock on.
I wonder if I could somehow harness this magical hair-growing power and use it to draft an agreeable CBA so I could actually watch my beloved Jazz this season?
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
15w5d: And measuring at 20...
I had an OB appointment yesterday. It was mixed news. But the babies seem to be doing well. She easily found both heartbeats on the Doppler, and heard movement as well. I wish I could feel them moving--sometimes I think "Oh! Maybe that was a baby..." but I wasn't feeling anything at all when she heard Bitsy (presumably, since it was much higher) moving around. And my uterus is clear up above my belly button, which I already suspected because of my home-Doppler time and because yes, ok, I palpate around. I'm measuring at 20 weeks. So we have every reason to believe they're doing well.
I, however, lost 6 more pounds. (I think it's closer to 4 in actuality--I think I wasn't properly rehydrated from Thursday's very badness.) And now she's concerned. Yanked the Reglan, kept the Zofran, adding Phenegran, kept the Unisom (which I don't think does anything, but whatever), discussed adding Prilosec. I really don't know about the last one. It's for heartburn. I only have "heartburn" after vomiting. She left the decision up to me--it's OTC anyway. I asked my doctorsister about it, and she said she personally wouldn't treat someone with it, but she doesn't think it would be harmful.
I have to say, though, after following the link Bridget left in my comments, I'm much luckier than I thought. Her friend who had HG had a PICC line during her 2nd pregnancy! I've only had to get fluids twice, and don't need my meds infused. I'm extremely vigilant about drinking, but I know that only gets you so far, so I'm counting my blessings. One thing I found interesting on her links was that vomiting bile is a "bad sign", an indicator that it's HG and not just morning sickness. Is that really true? Because I know many women dry heave, and you can't get to that point until you've truly emptied your stomach, which yes, means puking bile. And if most women are puking in the morning...isn't it bile? Because that's what I get, even if I force a few crackers down first (they just come back up, and then the bile).
Anyway, I'm pretty well-managed, no central lines and I can live my regular life 8 or 9 days out of 10, with frequent meds and pit stops. So that's a good thing.
But the other news that really upset me came after my cervical check (long and firm, woohoo!) and Pap (I was overdo, but she didn't want to do it till the spotting had stopped). She felt around in there, palpating on my abdomen, good times, you know the drill. She then informed me that my pelvic inlet is very narrow, and if my babies are more than 35 weeks, she doesn't think I can try vaginal.
Have I mentioned that I'm not some dainty little thing? I'm 5'6", and have hips. I know it's the inside not the outside, but...no way. I come from a long, long line (on both sides!) of childbearing Mormons. We're talking mainly 6+ kids, no maternal childbirth deaths. And I know my genealogy, my mom did it all way back when (and we're talking Mayflower and Joseph Smith's brother on my mom's side, by the way, making us both American and Utah royalty). Where on earth would I have gotten some non-functional pelvis from?
I was very upset by this. Hormonal, I'm sure, but it felt like yet another sign in the "you shouldn't be having children" road. Infertility? Check. Pregnancy that maybe would have killed me pre-anti-nausea drugs and IV fluids? Check. Pelvis that can't bear kids? Check.
My birth plan, as I've mentioned, is simple: babies out, all alive. But I don't want a C-section. I will, of course, get one if needed. No hesitating. But hearing my prognosis like that--of course I want my babies to gestate for more than 35 weeks! So fine. Section it will be. But to think that, even if I were having (or am lucky enough to try again and get pregnant with) a singleton, I'd still need one? It's...it's just unfair. I want to give birth vaginally. And my doctor is saying no, never, not unless it's PTL.
I called my sister, to talk about this. Because I don't know much about childbirth, but I know that relaxin is supposed to do something--loosen my pelvic joints, soften everything up. And I know position matters. And frankly, I sort of thought the "too narrow" thing was a myth. My sister says yes and no. She says even when they do fancy ultrasounds and measure the babies' head(s) and the pelvic inlet...they're still wrong more often than not. That she personally would never tell a woman she couldn't deliver vaginally. But that if labor wasn't progressing, she would start recommending a section much sooner, before the mom gets worn out and/or the baby starts showing signs of distress. She said, if I were having a singleton, she'd recommend I find someone else who was more willing to work with me.
But I'm not. And we're worried, with Itsy being so low, about placental previa (we'll get a better idea on Oct 3rd, when I have my Level II ultrasound). And, well, with two babies in there, there's not much wiggle room. If Itsy decides breech is best, decision's made for Bitsy too. Or any of the other things that can go wrong, times two.
Maybe I should just resign myself to a section and call it a day. It's not like my babies got inside my uterus on their own anyway.
I, however, lost 6 more pounds. (I think it's closer to 4 in actuality--I think I wasn't properly rehydrated from Thursday's very badness.) And now she's concerned. Yanked the Reglan, kept the Zofran, adding Phenegran, kept the Unisom (which I don't think does anything, but whatever), discussed adding Prilosec. I really don't know about the last one. It's for heartburn. I only have "heartburn" after vomiting. She left the decision up to me--it's OTC anyway. I asked my doctorsister about it, and she said she personally wouldn't treat someone with it, but she doesn't think it would be harmful.
I have to say, though, after following the link Bridget left in my comments, I'm much luckier than I thought. Her friend who had HG had a PICC line during her 2nd pregnancy! I've only had to get fluids twice, and don't need my meds infused. I'm extremely vigilant about drinking, but I know that only gets you so far, so I'm counting my blessings. One thing I found interesting on her links was that vomiting bile is a "bad sign", an indicator that it's HG and not just morning sickness. Is that really true? Because I know many women dry heave, and you can't get to that point until you've truly emptied your stomach, which yes, means puking bile. And if most women are puking in the morning...isn't it bile? Because that's what I get, even if I force a few crackers down first (they just come back up, and then the bile).
Anyway, I'm pretty well-managed, no central lines and I can live my regular life 8 or 9 days out of 10, with frequent meds and pit stops. So that's a good thing.
But the other news that really upset me came after my cervical check (long and firm, woohoo!) and Pap (I was overdo, but she didn't want to do it till the spotting had stopped). She felt around in there, palpating on my abdomen, good times, you know the drill. She then informed me that my pelvic inlet is very narrow, and if my babies are more than 35 weeks, she doesn't think I can try vaginal.
Have I mentioned that I'm not some dainty little thing? I'm 5'6", and have hips. I know it's the inside not the outside, but...no way. I come from a long, long line (on both sides!) of childbearing Mormons. We're talking mainly 6+ kids, no maternal childbirth deaths. And I know my genealogy, my mom did it all way back when (and we're talking Mayflower and Joseph Smith's brother on my mom's side, by the way, making us both American and Utah royalty). Where on earth would I have gotten some non-functional pelvis from?
I was very upset by this. Hormonal, I'm sure, but it felt like yet another sign in the "you shouldn't be having children" road. Infertility? Check. Pregnancy that maybe would have killed me pre-anti-nausea drugs and IV fluids? Check. Pelvis that can't bear kids? Check.
My birth plan, as I've mentioned, is simple: babies out, all alive. But I don't want a C-section. I will, of course, get one if needed. No hesitating. But hearing my prognosis like that--of course I want my babies to gestate for more than 35 weeks! So fine. Section it will be. But to think that, even if I were having (or am lucky enough to try again and get pregnant with) a singleton, I'd still need one? It's...it's just unfair. I want to give birth vaginally. And my doctor is saying no, never, not unless it's PTL.
I called my sister, to talk about this. Because I don't know much about childbirth, but I know that relaxin is supposed to do something--loosen my pelvic joints, soften everything up. And I know position matters. And frankly, I sort of thought the "too narrow" thing was a myth. My sister says yes and no. She says even when they do fancy ultrasounds and measure the babies' head(s) and the pelvic inlet...they're still wrong more often than not. That she personally would never tell a woman she couldn't deliver vaginally. But that if labor wasn't progressing, she would start recommending a section much sooner, before the mom gets worn out and/or the baby starts showing signs of distress. She said, if I were having a singleton, she'd recommend I find someone else who was more willing to work with me.
But I'm not. And we're worried, with Itsy being so low, about placental previa (we'll get a better idea on Oct 3rd, when I have my Level II ultrasound). And, well, with two babies in there, there's not much wiggle room. If Itsy decides breech is best, decision's made for Bitsy too. Or any of the other things that can go wrong, times two.
Maybe I should just resign myself to a section and call it a day. It's not like my babies got inside my uterus on their own anyway.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
15w4d: To The Pain! IF vs. Pregnancy vs. Parenting
Chickenpig (http://chickenpig-betterfullthanempty.blogspot.com/) has a post up (and no, I still can't comment on her blog, or many other blogs...) right now about complaining about parenting, and how it's, more or less, totally a totally legit thing to do. This is in response to a post written by another blogger, complaining about a mom bitching about her mom-duties on Facebook. I don't want to get involved in the original drama, as I don't follow that other blogger.
But it's interesting, nonetheless. Chickenpig encourages us, as IFers, to cut our future selves (as parents) some slack. That parenting is hard, and complaining about it is...justified. And that it doesn't mean you aren't grateful to be a parent or that you don't love your kid(s).
I think she's right.
I mean, how fucking annoying is it, when you complain about your job, to be told, "At least you have a job!" My doctorsister has wanted to be a doctor (no joke, been obsessed with it) since she had her appendix out at age 4 or 5. And now she is. It's her dream come true, and she worked--and works--very incredibly hard to get to where she is, and to be the best doctor she can possibly be. And you'd better believe she complained and continues to complain about med school, about on-calls, about annoying coworkers (and yes, annoying patients). I think we all complain about our jobs--those of us who worked very hard to get to a certain point in our career, and those of us who just sort of stumbled into something. Some of us love our jobs, but...who on earth has a good day every single day? Who on earth never gets irritated?
Not me.
I have a lot of guilt for not enjoying my pregnancy. I've blogged about it (and been told to shut up about it :p ). I worked so hard for this. That's a large part of it. I worked so hard...for this??? You don't even have enough fingers to count how many times I threw up today. You can't even count the number of places I puked today, if you count every bush and patch of dirt I "christened" to and from my car. Why I even bothered going in today is beyond me, because, at 10:30, I had to leave...and everyone was glad I was going, too.
Today has been a bad day. A bad, bad day. A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
And I judge myself for that.
I'm the one who wanted pregnancy. We both wanted kids, but honestly, I'd say I wanted them more. But my husband would have been just fine with adoption, might even have preferred it. he agreed to IVF for me, because I wanted to experience pregnancy. He even, the night we got our terrible fert report, agreed to donor sperm (which is a big deal for him and took him almost 10 months to come around to, in part because his ex-wife cheated on him, and he had a very hard time getting around the notion of me being pregnant with "another man's child", which, obviously, it's different, but still). And here I am, visibly pregnant, living the dream, and I can't wait for it to be over.
Aside from announcing it at 13 weeks, I have been utterly silent about it on Facebook. I've thought of saying something like "hyperemesis gravidarum is not really an enjoyable weightloss tool" or something, but I don't. Because so many people would kill to be in my shoes, so I should be fucking grateful.
I am.
What I'm learning is you can both love where you are and hate it at the same time. That you can curse your mile to walk but be absolutely unwilling to swap it with another. That you can cry on the floor of a public restroom after your knees gave out from an epic bout of dry heaving and think, simultaneously, "What the FUCK have I gotten myself into and I can't believe I paid almost $20,000 for this" and "Thank god, thank god, they're still safe inside, no bleeding, please babies, stay put for 20 more weeks".
I "hid" an acquaintance of mine on Facebook after my first cancelled cycle of IVF because, at just the wrong moment, she posted that, although her newborn twins had lovely names and adorable nicknames, she and her husband mainly called them "this one" and "that one". What a fucking bitch, right? Like hell does she deserve kids if, 3 weeks after birth, she can't even be assed to tell them apart and call them by their damn names.
Looking forward...I'm not even sure if I'll get enough sleep to remember my babies' names until they're about four. I am sure (given how I've felt about various dogs and cats of mine, whom I love, but who have done horrible things, like eating an important love letter and dropping off a live mouse in my bed at 4 am...) that there will be times when I harbor horrible--though momentary--thoughts towards my children, for things that aren't even really their fault.
Will I forgive myself? Will I beat myself up for not enjoying every single moment of what I worked so hard to get? Of not remembering, with every breath, how close I was to the alternative, to having no children at all, and how dreadful that prospect was? Will I post on Facebook?
As an IF vet, I think I'll always have a higher awareness. But I'm still human. Would I trade my hyperemesis and pregnancy with, say, a blogger who just failed yet another IVF cycle? Oh hell no. Can that blogger hate me, for complaining? Yes. Should I, therefore, refrain entirely from complaining? Should I be dishonest? Should I paint only a beautiful picture and leave out the shadows? I'm thinking no. No, because hopefully that woman will eventually cross over, and she shouldn't be lied to about what it's really like "over here". And no, because even if she doesn't...why lie?
Now, complaining about every single thing and never talking about the positive, I can see how that is annoying, and just as dishonest as the reverse.
But all told, I would rather be friends with someone who, regardless of their parenting/marital/employment/whatever status, trusts me enough to share the ups and downs, and expects the same of me.
It's not a comparison. It's not a competition. It's just life.
But it's interesting, nonetheless. Chickenpig encourages us, as IFers, to cut our future selves (as parents) some slack. That parenting is hard, and complaining about it is...justified. And that it doesn't mean you aren't grateful to be a parent or that you don't love your kid(s).
I think she's right.
I mean, how fucking annoying is it, when you complain about your job, to be told, "At least you have a job!" My doctorsister has wanted to be a doctor (no joke, been obsessed with it) since she had her appendix out at age 4 or 5. And now she is. It's her dream come true, and she worked--and works--very incredibly hard to get to where she is, and to be the best doctor she can possibly be. And you'd better believe she complained and continues to complain about med school, about on-calls, about annoying coworkers (and yes, annoying patients). I think we all complain about our jobs--those of us who worked very hard to get to a certain point in our career, and those of us who just sort of stumbled into something. Some of us love our jobs, but...who on earth has a good day every single day? Who on earth never gets irritated?
Not me.
I have a lot of guilt for not enjoying my pregnancy. I've blogged about it (and been told to shut up about it :p ). I worked so hard for this. That's a large part of it. I worked so hard...for this??? You don't even have enough fingers to count how many times I threw up today. You can't even count the number of places I puked today, if you count every bush and patch of dirt I "christened" to and from my car. Why I even bothered going in today is beyond me, because, at 10:30, I had to leave...and everyone was glad I was going, too.
Today has been a bad day. A bad, bad day. A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
And I judge myself for that.
I'm the one who wanted pregnancy. We both wanted kids, but honestly, I'd say I wanted them more. But my husband would have been just fine with adoption, might even have preferred it. he agreed to IVF for me, because I wanted to experience pregnancy. He even, the night we got our terrible fert report, agreed to donor sperm (which is a big deal for him and took him almost 10 months to come around to, in part because his ex-wife cheated on him, and he had a very hard time getting around the notion of me being pregnant with "another man's child", which, obviously, it's different, but still). And here I am, visibly pregnant, living the dream, and I can't wait for it to be over.
Aside from announcing it at 13 weeks, I have been utterly silent about it on Facebook. I've thought of saying something like "hyperemesis gravidarum is not really an enjoyable weightloss tool" or something, but I don't. Because so many people would kill to be in my shoes, so I should be fucking grateful.
I am.
What I'm learning is you can both love where you are and hate it at the same time. That you can curse your mile to walk but be absolutely unwilling to swap it with another. That you can cry on the floor of a public restroom after your knees gave out from an epic bout of dry heaving and think, simultaneously, "What the FUCK have I gotten myself into and I can't believe I paid almost $20,000 for this" and "Thank god, thank god, they're still safe inside, no bleeding, please babies, stay put for 20 more weeks".
I "hid" an acquaintance of mine on Facebook after my first cancelled cycle of IVF because, at just the wrong moment, she posted that, although her newborn twins had lovely names and adorable nicknames, she and her husband mainly called them "this one" and "that one". What a fucking bitch, right? Like hell does she deserve kids if, 3 weeks after birth, she can't even be assed to tell them apart and call them by their damn names.
Looking forward...I'm not even sure if I'll get enough sleep to remember my babies' names until they're about four. I am sure (given how I've felt about various dogs and cats of mine, whom I love, but who have done horrible things, like eating an important love letter and dropping off a live mouse in my bed at 4 am...) that there will be times when I harbor horrible--though momentary--thoughts towards my children, for things that aren't even really their fault.
Will I forgive myself? Will I beat myself up for not enjoying every single moment of what I worked so hard to get? Of not remembering, with every breath, how close I was to the alternative, to having no children at all, and how dreadful that prospect was? Will I post on Facebook?
As an IF vet, I think I'll always have a higher awareness. But I'm still human. Would I trade my hyperemesis and pregnancy with, say, a blogger who just failed yet another IVF cycle? Oh hell no. Can that blogger hate me, for complaining? Yes. Should I, therefore, refrain entirely from complaining? Should I be dishonest? Should I paint only a beautiful picture and leave out the shadows? I'm thinking no. No, because hopefully that woman will eventually cross over, and she shouldn't be lied to about what it's really like "over here". And no, because even if she doesn't...why lie?
Now, complaining about every single thing and never talking about the positive, I can see how that is annoying, and just as dishonest as the reverse.
But all told, I would rather be friends with someone who, regardless of their parenting/marital/employment/whatever status, trusts me enough to share the ups and downs, and expects the same of me.
It's not a comparison. It's not a competition. It's just life.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
15w2d: Real food, please...
I'm so hungry I could cry! But then nothing sounds good. And then I vomit. And then I stare at the Ensure and think about throwing the can right through the window.
Have I mentioned that we're finally, finally replacing our windows? They're single-pane from 1960 and, honest to god, in the winter, you can feel a cross-breeze in our bedroom--and in the nursery-to-be. We've been meaning to replace them (Utah isn't exactly known for a temperate climate) since we bought the house, and we bit the bullet and ordered some fancy double-pane vinyl (I think) windows that will be installed in a couple of weeks.
(I think, even if I lose these babies, I will not hate the windows for being a baby-reminder, so they are safe to buy.)
The weekend at the cabin was very nice. It made me a bit sad, to think that my children probably won't be going there all the time, like we used to do, especially after my grandparents are no longer with us. (Although my awesome aunt might help out from time to time.) I had one really good day--only puked three times and had a decent amount of energy. The other day, not so much. But I guess if you're sick and tired, you may as well be sick and tired in the Uintas. I was amazed out how out of shape I've got, though. I know we were at a very high altitude and that pregnancy can make you short of breath, but holy shit could I not hike for crap. I get all my exercise on the hospital floors. At home, I'm very sedentary (except when running to the toilet), because that seems to help me feel better. I need to start some sort of "exercise for unfit preggos" DVD.
I've never been a jogger, but now I'm totally fantasizing about getting a jogging stroller and taking my babies out every morning (well, except in the winter) and getting all buff from pushing them up and down the hills.
I think I'm mainly fantasizing about having more energy. Maybe I should go drink that damn Ensure.
Have I mentioned that we're finally, finally replacing our windows? They're single-pane from 1960 and, honest to god, in the winter, you can feel a cross-breeze in our bedroom--and in the nursery-to-be. We've been meaning to replace them (Utah isn't exactly known for a temperate climate) since we bought the house, and we bit the bullet and ordered some fancy double-pane vinyl (I think) windows that will be installed in a couple of weeks.
(I think, even if I lose these babies, I will not hate the windows for being a baby-reminder, so they are safe to buy.)
The weekend at the cabin was very nice. It made me a bit sad, to think that my children probably won't be going there all the time, like we used to do, especially after my grandparents are no longer with us. (Although my awesome aunt might help out from time to time.) I had one really good day--only puked three times and had a decent amount of energy. The other day, not so much. But I guess if you're sick and tired, you may as well be sick and tired in the Uintas. I was amazed out how out of shape I've got, though. I know we were at a very high altitude and that pregnancy can make you short of breath, but holy shit could I not hike for crap. I get all my exercise on the hospital floors. At home, I'm very sedentary (except when running to the toilet), because that seems to help me feel better. I need to start some sort of "exercise for unfit preggos" DVD.
I've never been a jogger, but now I'm totally fantasizing about getting a jogging stroller and taking my babies out every morning (well, except in the winter) and getting all buff from pushing them up and down the hills.
I think I'm mainly fantasizing about having more energy. Maybe I should go drink that damn Ensure.
Friday, September 9, 2011
14w5d: I hate other pregnant women
Especially the ones in my FertilityFriend Due Date group. I'm going to quit it, in fact, because I'm so sick of women (most of whom are due in late March, so 3+ weeks behind me) talking about feeling their babies move. Or complaining about feeling ill. (Sorry, HG has robbed me of sympathy for anyone who "feels sick" but doesn't actually puke, especially not 4+ times a day every single day). I hate the women who complain about their husbands (then why are you having a baby!), and I hate the women who drag their husbands to each and every OB appointment. I hate the women who are on the 2nd+ baby who complain that no one wants to throw them a baby shower. I hate the women who run to the ER every time they "have pink cervical mucus". I especially hate the gender swayers.
Oh well. I've heard other parents can be awful too (love the Mompetition website!), so I guess I'm just getting a jump start on it all.
Oh well. I've heard other parents can be awful too (love the Mompetition website!), so I guess I'm just getting a jump start on it all.
Monday, September 5, 2011
14w1d: An unexpected turn of events (not scary)
I don't know if I've written about my grandparents before. We don't have the best of relationships. They had 7 daughters, with my mom as the 2nd oldest. The whole family is filled with drama and strife. Only the youngest two daughters are consistently in good graces. My mom (and her older sister), are consistently on the outs. Which means, as her children, so are we. My favorite aunt (3rd youngest) is usually in but sometimes out. She passes on all the family gossip.
The whole situation is weird. I'm not very good at playing social games. (Well, actually, I am. I just don't like to do it. Which is why I ruled out academia during my senior year in college.) So my grandparents know that I'm not down with their...whatever. My mother still really wants a good relationship with her parents. So I do all the right things, go to all the dinners, parties, send thank-you cards. But I also have written them a few angry letters, including one I wrote from Africa that actually changed things for a while. (For about 5 years, we were invited to all the family dinners, and especially notably, to the family Christmas party. Usually they have separate dinners for us.)
Anyway, about a month ago, I told them I was pregnant. I also told them I'd had a previous miscarriage. My grandmother had 3 losses of her own, with the last resulting in a hysterectomy. They weren't in a row and she still got 7 kids out of it, so I don't think she truly "gets" what it's like to lose a child and not know if you'll ever have another shot at pregnancy, although on the other hand, she did lose her uterus, and she presumably wanted more children.
My grandmother does not like babies, by the way. Or at least she didn't. My older sister was their first grandchild, and they didn't care at all. My grandmother said it "was too soon"--after all, her youngest was only 7. They never warmed up to any of us until we were toddlers, and even then, it was only my brother (first grandson) that they liked until about age 5.
But apparently, I am having their first great-grandchildren. I have 2 cousins who have been married longer than I have, one of whom I never talk to. I just kind of assumed she would be pregnant by now--she finished grad school about 3 years ago, so, come on, what's she waiting for? (I think she's 29 now, possibly 30). The other one is a pediatrician, but, when we talked about it at my older sister's wedding last year, she said she very much wanted kids but wasn't secure enough in her job (only 2 years out of residency) to have them yet.
I'm not sure if it's the first greats, the prospect of twins, or maybe even telling them about my loss, but...they like me now. They've been calling me ever week to see how I'm doing. My grandmother wants to tend my babies when they're here.
I'm sure it will eventually wear off, but it's very odd to be in their good graces. As a consequence, my husband and I, along with my sister and her husband, get to go to their cabin this weekend. I haven't been to the cabin in over 10 years. When we were little, before we were kicked out of the family, we'd go several times a summer. I'm so excited. They no longer have horses, but...the smell. It will smell like the cabin. I can't wait.
The whole situation is weird. I'm not very good at playing social games. (Well, actually, I am. I just don't like to do it. Which is why I ruled out academia during my senior year in college.) So my grandparents know that I'm not down with their...whatever. My mother still really wants a good relationship with her parents. So I do all the right things, go to all the dinners, parties, send thank-you cards. But I also have written them a few angry letters, including one I wrote from Africa that actually changed things for a while. (For about 5 years, we were invited to all the family dinners, and especially notably, to the family Christmas party. Usually they have separate dinners for us.)
Anyway, about a month ago, I told them I was pregnant. I also told them I'd had a previous miscarriage. My grandmother had 3 losses of her own, with the last resulting in a hysterectomy. They weren't in a row and she still got 7 kids out of it, so I don't think she truly "gets" what it's like to lose a child and not know if you'll ever have another shot at pregnancy, although on the other hand, she did lose her uterus, and she presumably wanted more children.
My grandmother does not like babies, by the way. Or at least she didn't. My older sister was their first grandchild, and they didn't care at all. My grandmother said it "was too soon"--after all, her youngest was only 7. They never warmed up to any of us until we were toddlers, and even then, it was only my brother (first grandson) that they liked until about age 5.
But apparently, I am having their first great-grandchildren. I have 2 cousins who have been married longer than I have, one of whom I never talk to. I just kind of assumed she would be pregnant by now--she finished grad school about 3 years ago, so, come on, what's she waiting for? (I think she's 29 now, possibly 30). The other one is a pediatrician, but, when we talked about it at my older sister's wedding last year, she said she very much wanted kids but wasn't secure enough in her job (only 2 years out of residency) to have them yet.
I'm not sure if it's the first greats, the prospect of twins, or maybe even telling them about my loss, but...they like me now. They've been calling me ever week to see how I'm doing. My grandmother wants to tend my babies when they're here.
I'm sure it will eventually wear off, but it's very odd to be in their good graces. As a consequence, my husband and I, along with my sister and her husband, get to go to their cabin this weekend. I haven't been to the cabin in over 10 years. When we were little, before we were kicked out of the family, we'd go several times a summer. I'm so excited. They no longer have horses, but...the smell. It will smell like the cabin. I can't wait.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
13w4d: Combined results
I got my combined NT results today. They say they don't place "much" in the blood test results with twins, but that, combined with my scan, both babies have a less than 1 in 10,000 risk of any of the trisomies. Woohoo! The MFM nurse said, "basically, you do have a slight age risk (I'm 31), but everything else looks so wonderful that we're going to treat this pregnancy like we would a 20-year-old's" Awesome news, even though I know it's just odds.
Unfortunately, the HG corner I thought I'd turned, well, not so much. I suppose if throwing up 6 times a day is what it takes to have healthy babies, it's a small price to pay. (Well, that and the IVF fees, of course...)
Unfortunately, the HG corner I thought I'd turned, well, not so much. I suppose if throwing up 6 times a day is what it takes to have healthy babies, it's a small price to pay. (Well, that and the IVF fees, of course...)
Monday, August 29, 2011
13w1d: Maybe turning a corner?
I'm beginning to think I might, might see the end of HG one of these days. Friday I only puked three times, Saturday twice, yesterday was awful, today so far just once! When I start having "more good days than bad days", I can start weaning off the medications. They're all PRN and I'm at the max dose for all of them. I'm looking forward to cutting out my night doses first, and hoping to cut back on the Colace shortly thereafter.
Part of me is mildly amused at my drug history. This may come as a surprise, but I'm one of those people who hated medications. I am far, far too tough for ibuprofen, I mock cold medications, I can't even remember the last time I took antibiotics for a non-IF reason, etc. So like--small child history includes meds for eye and ear infections, teenager is birth control pill, college is birth control pill plus I had a UTI, plus study abroad in Kenya so anti-malarials. Then Peace Corps, more birth control, more anti-malaria, ditched the anti-filarials, never caught so much as a stomach bug (wanna know why? Probably because I drank filthy, filthy pond water as a kid with great frequency). After that, just birth control pill, except once when I had the flu very, very badly and they gave me pain meds for the body aches and anti-nausea (probably zofran!) meds so I could rehydrate. And then, HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, my pre-conception prenatal, which I kept taking for, well, ever.
And then along comes IF, and I become all polypharm. And toss in an SSRI when things got too rough. All of the sudden, I was filling prescriptions left and right. And pregnancy--woohoo! Thinking that, at 10 weeks, I'd be off baby aspirin and progesterone, and back to the good old days of just a prenatal. Yeah, not so much. I've added in 3 anti-nausea meds, Colace, Tums (I'm not sure if I'm having heart-burn, having never really experienced that, or if my esophagus is just being eating alive with vomit), and sometimes Pepto-Bismol. Good fucking times.
My OB appointment on Friday went like this: pee in a cup, dip in my own little stick (tested for protein, glucose, blood, and something else), hand if off to the nurse, get weighed, have blood pressure taken, wait, talk to doctor who says nothing much at all, doctor decides against Pap since I'm still sometimes spotting, get told pelvic rest can end once I've gone 2 weeks without spotting (YAY!!!), get told the weight loss is fine (ok), Doppler, sent on my way.
I actually called my doctor-sister to make sure I'm receiving adequate prenatal care. I mean, I know women have been birthing babies every since there were women (and other mammals have been doing it for longer), but...don't they want to, you know, do something to me? Take some blood? Yell at me for improper nutrition at the very least? Because surely there is a reason we're supposed to be going to the OB before about 30 weeks, right??
Apparently not. I did get some extra diet (and exercise) advice from my sister, but yeah. OB visits early on are "more of an opportunity for counselling" than, well, an actual doctor sort of thing.
Who knew?
Part of me is mildly amused at my drug history. This may come as a surprise, but I'm one of those people who hated medications. I am far, far too tough for ibuprofen, I mock cold medications, I can't even remember the last time I took antibiotics for a non-IF reason, etc. So like--small child history includes meds for eye and ear infections, teenager is birth control pill, college is birth control pill plus I had a UTI, plus study abroad in Kenya so anti-malarials. Then Peace Corps, more birth control, more anti-malaria, ditched the anti-filarials, never caught so much as a stomach bug (wanna know why? Probably because I drank filthy, filthy pond water as a kid with great frequency). After that, just birth control pill, except once when I had the flu very, very badly and they gave me pain meds for the body aches and anti-nausea (probably zofran!) meds so I could rehydrate. And then, HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, my pre-conception prenatal, which I kept taking for, well, ever.
And then along comes IF, and I become all polypharm. And toss in an SSRI when things got too rough. All of the sudden, I was filling prescriptions left and right. And pregnancy--woohoo! Thinking that, at 10 weeks, I'd be off baby aspirin and progesterone, and back to the good old days of just a prenatal. Yeah, not so much. I've added in 3 anti-nausea meds, Colace, Tums (I'm not sure if I'm having heart-burn, having never really experienced that, or if my esophagus is just being eating alive with vomit), and sometimes Pepto-Bismol. Good fucking times.
My OB appointment on Friday went like this: pee in a cup, dip in my own little stick (tested for protein, glucose, blood, and something else), hand if off to the nurse, get weighed, have blood pressure taken, wait, talk to doctor who says nothing much at all, doctor decides against Pap since I'm still sometimes spotting, get told pelvic rest can end once I've gone 2 weeks without spotting (YAY!!!), get told the weight loss is fine (ok), Doppler, sent on my way.
I actually called my doctor-sister to make sure I'm receiving adequate prenatal care. I mean, I know women have been birthing babies every since there were women (and other mammals have been doing it for longer), but...don't they want to, you know, do something to me? Take some blood? Yell at me for improper nutrition at the very least? Because surely there is a reason we're supposed to be going to the OB before about 30 weeks, right??
Apparently not. I did get some extra diet (and exercise) advice from my sister, but yeah. OB visits early on are "more of an opportunity for counselling" than, well, an actual doctor sort of thing.
Who knew?
Friday, August 26, 2011
12w5d: 1/3 of the way
According to some, I am in my 2nd trimester. Considering that it's twins, I am very likely in fact (especially since I'm 5 days in to the week) one-third of the way through my pregnancy.
And...this is why I'm having a hard time not hating myself: I'm not liking being pregnant. I am thrilled at the notion of babies entering my life. And I love every ultrasound I get, and secretly wish I could move into the MFM office for easier access. And when the Doppler picks up that galloping sound of Baby Heart and my husband and I hold hands, that I love. But the rest of it...not so much.
I know that I do genuinely have it worse (physically) than most pregnant women. Only 1-2% of us are lucky enough to land hyperemesis (and it's more common when you're carrying multiples, though singleton mommies get it as well). And frankly, feeling like shit each and every day gets old. Waking up in the middle of the night and wondering if you can pee before you puke (puking with a full bladder is not fun) really sucks. I am far, far too familiar with the color of my digestive enzymes. I've lost almost 20 pounds. And yes, I was overweight to begin with...but 20 pounds in about 2 months (when it really got bad)...that is absurd. I have an appointment with my regular OB this afternoon, and I'm afraid she's going to yell at me for it. I can't even look at the nutrition section of my baby book without feeling guilt. I'm pretty sure I'm getting my vitamins down (along with chocolate milk), through very careful timing and pure will. (I've mastered the art of delaying my vomiting for almost 5 minutes now.)
And the SCH is just a kick in the ass. A reminder that things might not end well. That more blood could follow. So don't get too comfy.
I always wanted to be pregnant. I mean, always. I loved being Mary in our Christmas pageants because she was pregnant for most of it. My grandparents recently gave us an old videotape (turned DVD) of a bunch of their grandchildren playing--we're putting on a fashion show and I'm modeling maternity (calling it "the Charlotte look", after my then-pregnant (incredibly awesome) aunt, and, by the way, if we have a girl, Charlotte is her middle name). I'm about 8 in this, with a hugely stuffed belly. The primary reason we did IVF over adoption was because I wanted to experience pregnancy.
And here I am...and it's nothing like I thought. It has become a means to an end. I still hope, very hard, that things change. That my HG goes away and I can enjoy this. That when I feel movement, I will become a joyful gestater. That (I'm crazy, I admit) both of them turn head-down and I get a vaginal birth and it's wonderful.
And meanwhile, I've only got two-thirds left. And while I am hoping, with every fiber of my being, that I get those full two-thirds, part of me is already wishing them away, wanting to fastforward just to babies.
I feel so guilty. I'm a shitty person. I worked so hard for this--I really, really did. The money, the cancelled cycles, the cycles themselves, none of that was easy. And I got what I wanted! And all I can think is, "Ok, I'll never do it myself, but I can kinda see why some women bitch about this on Facebook."
I try very hard to focus on the positive. And for this reason, my husband and I did indeed "come out". We put up an announcement on Facebook, saying that, after much effort, heartache, and loss, I have entered the 2nd trimester. I've gotten over 50 comments and multiple emails. Most people knew we were trying. Some knew about Isaiah. Some, like an old friend of my mother's, knew nothing at all, but immediately knew what I was saying. She moved when I was about 12, but had been very close to all of us, an almost-aunt, before. She tried IVF, almost 15 years ago, to no avail. Tried everything. Is living childfree. Wishes me the best. And some, of course, are absolute idiots, and somehow missed the "effort" and the "twins"--2 neon signs flashing "fertility treatments"--and made oh-so-clever comments about the wild and crazy sex we must have had.
We might go shopping. Window-browsing. Carseats are on the menu. I've got a Honda Civic, so finding 2 that can fit in the backseat is our goal. I'm going to buy some maternity clothes, from a real live store. I will enjoy this--goddamnit!--because it is going by so fast. This might be my only chance at a 2nd trimester, after all.
And...this is why I'm having a hard time not hating myself: I'm not liking being pregnant. I am thrilled at the notion of babies entering my life. And I love every ultrasound I get, and secretly wish I could move into the MFM office for easier access. And when the Doppler picks up that galloping sound of Baby Heart and my husband and I hold hands, that I love. But the rest of it...not so much.
I know that I do genuinely have it worse (physically) than most pregnant women. Only 1-2% of us are lucky enough to land hyperemesis (and it's more common when you're carrying multiples, though singleton mommies get it as well). And frankly, feeling like shit each and every day gets old. Waking up in the middle of the night and wondering if you can pee before you puke (puking with a full bladder is not fun) really sucks. I am far, far too familiar with the color of my digestive enzymes. I've lost almost 20 pounds. And yes, I was overweight to begin with...but 20 pounds in about 2 months (when it really got bad)...that is absurd. I have an appointment with my regular OB this afternoon, and I'm afraid she's going to yell at me for it. I can't even look at the nutrition section of my baby book without feeling guilt. I'm pretty sure I'm getting my vitamins down (along with chocolate milk), through very careful timing and pure will. (I've mastered the art of delaying my vomiting for almost 5 minutes now.)
And the SCH is just a kick in the ass. A reminder that things might not end well. That more blood could follow. So don't get too comfy.
I always wanted to be pregnant. I mean, always. I loved being Mary in our Christmas pageants because she was pregnant for most of it. My grandparents recently gave us an old videotape (turned DVD) of a bunch of their grandchildren playing--we're putting on a fashion show and I'm modeling maternity (calling it "the Charlotte look", after my then-pregnant (incredibly awesome) aunt, and, by the way, if we have a girl, Charlotte is her middle name). I'm about 8 in this, with a hugely stuffed belly. The primary reason we did IVF over adoption was because I wanted to experience pregnancy.
And here I am...and it's nothing like I thought. It has become a means to an end. I still hope, very hard, that things change. That my HG goes away and I can enjoy this. That when I feel movement, I will become a joyful gestater. That (I'm crazy, I admit) both of them turn head-down and I get a vaginal birth and it's wonderful.
And meanwhile, I've only got two-thirds left. And while I am hoping, with every fiber of my being, that I get those full two-thirds, part of me is already wishing them away, wanting to fastforward just to babies.
I feel so guilty. I'm a shitty person. I worked so hard for this--I really, really did. The money, the cancelled cycles, the cycles themselves, none of that was easy. And I got what I wanted! And all I can think is, "Ok, I'll never do it myself, but I can kinda see why some women bitch about this on Facebook."
I try very hard to focus on the positive. And for this reason, my husband and I did indeed "come out". We put up an announcement on Facebook, saying that, after much effort, heartache, and loss, I have entered the 2nd trimester. I've gotten over 50 comments and multiple emails. Most people knew we were trying. Some knew about Isaiah. Some, like an old friend of my mother's, knew nothing at all, but immediately knew what I was saying. She moved when I was about 12, but had been very close to all of us, an almost-aunt, before. She tried IVF, almost 15 years ago, to no avail. Tried everything. Is living childfree. Wishes me the best. And some, of course, are absolute idiots, and somehow missed the "effort" and the "twins"--2 neon signs flashing "fertility treatments"--and made oh-so-clever comments about the wild and crazy sex we must have had.
We might go shopping. Window-browsing. Carseats are on the menu. I've got a Honda Civic, so finding 2 that can fit in the backseat is our goal. I'm going to buy some maternity clothes, from a real live store. I will enjoy this--goddamnit!--because it is going by so fast. This might be my only chance at a 2nd trimester, after all.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
12w3d: NT recap
First, I still have two! We saw their heartbeats right away and I started crying. The tech was like, "Umm..." and I went on and on about my loss, infertility, all the bleeding and cramping (and Sarah, an SCH is a subchorionic hemorrhage--mine was originally diagnosed as an intrauterine sinus bleed, and then either Bitsy's chorion migrated and laid down a placenta over it, or else the angle from the dildocam was just never good. They're very common and usually don't threaten the baby at all, but they're scary because you have bleeding/spotting a lot, and nothing strikes fear into the heart like blood on toilet paper and/or undies).
Anyway, throughout all this, both babies were jumping all over the place. No idea why the tech didn't take measurements then! It was so much fun to watch them, moving their little arms and legs, kinda flailing around in there. I wish my husband could have been there. They look like little babies now! They even have (vague) facial features. I kept saying, "They're so gorgeous!" and "Look at the tiny hands" and stuff. The tech was probably very unimpressed, because I imagine one twelve-weeker looks much like another, but...so beautiful to me!
Then as soon as we got serious, Bitsy fell right to sleep and would not budge! Clearly, Bitsy takes after Daddy, as I am a light sleeper and JimDear has slept through actual earthquakes (and my multiple trips to the bathroom each night). The tech couldn't get the measurements she needed, despite having me cough a lot and poking Bitsy with the probe, so she had me drink a bunch of orange juice and go walk the halls for 5 minutes. Then she still couldn't get them, so she called the doctor in. I took the opportunity, while lying on the table, to do a bunch of my belly dance stuff--hip drops, belly rolls, hip circles and snaps, etc. That seemed to do the trick, (much less soothing than a stroll around the hospital!), because the doctor placed the probe on and they were jumping around again.
We got our measurements--Itsy's space was 1.15 and Bitsy's was 1.04. Which was such good news! Itsy is very low and measuring behind--this time a week--and has an anterior placenta, which may be part of why (s)he is always measuring behind. It's hard to see down there! The peri said he wasn't at all concerned and I shouldn't be either. Knowing the placenta is anterior eased my mind a bit, as I've had trouble finding both HBs on the doppler lately.
I decided against CVS based on the NT results, and against amnio unless something comes up to make us very concerned. He said that T13 and T18 are both usually very easy to spot on a Level 2 ultrasound, and those are our main concerns. So we scheduled that for 18w1d. (Which is only 6 weeks away!!! Holy crap!) And I told my husband he HAS to take the day off, plain and simple. And yes, we totally want to know the sexes. Gotta name these naughties!
They did do my blood, but cautioned me that the results wouldn't be very accurate. Why then do it at all, I dunno. I guess if they were still super high or super low, it would indicate something? I seriously bled all over the place with the finger-stick. They had to get a 2nd card because my blood was alllll over it, and I still had plenty left to make the 5 dots on the new one. I've been off the aspirin for 4 weeks now, so I don't know what that was about. It was kind of reassuring regarding my SCH though, because if a tiny pin prick caused all that, well, then whatever's going on in my uterus is probably not all that grave.
All told, the appointment took a bit over an hour, and it was really fun. Not that I recommend having uncooperative babies, but it did mean I got to spend a lot of time looking at them!
Anyway, throughout all this, both babies were jumping all over the place. No idea why the tech didn't take measurements then! It was so much fun to watch them, moving their little arms and legs, kinda flailing around in there. I wish my husband could have been there. They look like little babies now! They even have (vague) facial features. I kept saying, "They're so gorgeous!" and "Look at the tiny hands" and stuff. The tech was probably very unimpressed, because I imagine one twelve-weeker looks much like another, but...so beautiful to me!
Then as soon as we got serious, Bitsy fell right to sleep and would not budge! Clearly, Bitsy takes after Daddy, as I am a light sleeper and JimDear has slept through actual earthquakes (and my multiple trips to the bathroom each night). The tech couldn't get the measurements she needed, despite having me cough a lot and poking Bitsy with the probe, so she had me drink a bunch of orange juice and go walk the halls for 5 minutes. Then she still couldn't get them, so she called the doctor in. I took the opportunity, while lying on the table, to do a bunch of my belly dance stuff--hip drops, belly rolls, hip circles and snaps, etc. That seemed to do the trick, (much less soothing than a stroll around the hospital!), because the doctor placed the probe on and they were jumping around again.
We got our measurements--Itsy's space was 1.15 and Bitsy's was 1.04. Which was such good news! Itsy is very low and measuring behind--this time a week--and has an anterior placenta, which may be part of why (s)he is always measuring behind. It's hard to see down there! The peri said he wasn't at all concerned and I shouldn't be either. Knowing the placenta is anterior eased my mind a bit, as I've had trouble finding both HBs on the doppler lately.
I decided against CVS based on the NT results, and against amnio unless something comes up to make us very concerned. He said that T13 and T18 are both usually very easy to spot on a Level 2 ultrasound, and those are our main concerns. So we scheduled that for 18w1d. (Which is only 6 weeks away!!! Holy crap!) And I told my husband he HAS to take the day off, plain and simple. And yes, we totally want to know the sexes. Gotta name these naughties!
They did do my blood, but cautioned me that the results wouldn't be very accurate. Why then do it at all, I dunno. I guess if they were still super high or super low, it would indicate something? I seriously bled all over the place with the finger-stick. They had to get a 2nd card because my blood was alllll over it, and I still had plenty left to make the 5 dots on the new one. I've been off the aspirin for 4 weeks now, so I don't know what that was about. It was kind of reassuring regarding my SCH though, because if a tiny pin prick caused all that, well, then whatever's going on in my uterus is probably not all that grave.
All told, the appointment took a bit over an hour, and it was really fun. Not that I recommend having uncooperative babies, but it did mean I got to spend a lot of time looking at them!
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