Major Breakthrough

Today marks 22weeks. Getting this far with my sanity in tact has required quite a feat of mental gymnastics. Mostly it's meant completely distancing myself from the baby and consciously not allowing myself to bond with him. I'm almost embarrassed to admit that, but it is the truth.

I am a planner by nature. The type A-personality, control-freak kind of person who over-plans and over-analyzes every big event in life. With my other pregnancies, I indulged in all the fun planning practically 10 minutes after peeing on the pregnancy test! I bought every baby book that Borders carried, poured through all the baby name websites searching for just the right choice, researched every detail about breastfeeding, excitedly created baby registries, and spent endless hours designing the perfect nursery.

With Gracie, all the planning and preparation paid off. With Isaac, not so much. Coming home to a room of baby things when you no longer have a baby ..... well that's just torture. It's been over two years, and I haven't been able to even *look* at that room since then. Staring at the empty crib sitting there, and envisioning how it should have looked with the perfect shade of blue on the walls, the softest chenille bumper pads and rich silk drapes .... it was all more than my heart could handle. So, I did what any weak-minded grieving mother would do: I shut the door and simply refused to deal with it. Every now and then we would open the door, just long enough to throw in a box of outgrown clothes waiting to be donated, or an empty crate we needed to dispose of. It became a quasi-storage room really.

But always with the door closed.

Since becoming pregnant again, I have instinctively made no plans. People will excitedly ask me things like, "have you picked out a name?", "are you gonna paint the room blue?", "when will you have a baby shower?" ..... each time I can only smile and shrug my shoulders. No plans. No names. No nursery decor. No showers. I simply can not bring myself to do it. I am too afraid.

But something changed last night. I couldn't sleep. I literally laid in bed, wide awake, ALL NIGHT long. My brain was running a million miles an hour and I couldn't figure out a way to turn it off. I was overcome with a feeling of guilt for refusing to bond with an innocent baby. *My* baby. And suddenly an urgent need flooded me: a need to make up for lost time. I laid there, desperate to fall asleep, until about 5:00am. At that point I finally gave up trying. I quietly tip-toed out of bed, walked across the hall to the dreaded room, and opened the door.

Then, I did something even more heroic: I sat down right in the middle of those 4-foot stacks of boxes, and I began cleaning. You should have seen James' face when he woke up a few hours later for work and found me there.

For nearly twelve hours I have sorted, organized, and disposed of the mess .... all the while convincing myself that it's way past time I get over it. It was a bit like a 12-hour pep talk inside my head: I can't let fear rob me of any more of my pregnancy ... This is supposed to be a joyous and magical experience ... I have to believe that we're going to get a happy ending this time.

After much pondering, I've decided that this is truly a leap of faith. And today I take my first little hop.

By the end of the day, I had packed up TWELVE very heavy boxes and bags of things to donate. By some miracle, I managed to drag them all downstairs and load them in my car without going into pre-term labor. Then Gracie and I drove down to Goodwill and passed it all off.

I'm now feeling quite exhausted, having done all this activity on zero hours of sleep. But I'm also feeling incredibly relieved. Today I've purged equal amounts of material junk and emotional junk.

It feels good.

The halfway point!

I can hardly believe I'm 20weeks already! The last several days have been emotionally draining to say the least .... with passing the "milestone" gestational date when Isaac died, Laura being in the hospital, and fears of increasing contractions and a thinning cervix. Praise the Lord we've all survived, and Laura is just fine despite a good scare.

I must say I expected Isaac's milestone date to be sad, but in all honesty I was not expecting it to be so completely overwhelming. I literally spent the entire day in tears, and on the way home from Dr. Garcia's office I stopped by the cemetary (haven't been in a while). There I sat, alone, sprawled out in the grass, weeping like a crazy woman while it snowed.

Not my proudest moment.

I'm blaming it on the hormones. And the fact that our current circumstances have increased my fears of a repeat. I've been seeing Dr. Mann (perinatologist) every 2 weeks ... each time I go she does an ultrasound and takes careful measurements of my cervix. At week 16, it was measuring 4.0cm, which is good. Two weeks later (week 18), amidst increasingly frequent contractions, it had shortened to 3.5cm. This is right at the bottom end of the "normal" range, but of course its enough to have my mind racing with fear. I go back again on Wednesday for another measurement - I'm praying for no change so I can relax a bit. Right now James and I are holding our breath, to some extent it feels like waiting for the other shoe to drop. We talk about our fears often, which helps just to know I'm not alone. James is also immensely stressed and frightened.

Though he can't blame his fears on the hormones. That's one of the perks of being pregnant!

Breaking Back

I'm 16weeks now .... and right on schedule my horrifically debilitating back pain has arrived! With every pregnancy I've been plagued with this, the can't-move-without-crying kind of pain in my mid to lower back. Some days when I'm super lucky it radiates through the booty and shoots down both legs, causing me to walk with a gimp that James can't resist making fun of.

To compensate for his giggles, James treated me to a massage at BodyWorx Spa last week. The massage was fabulous, but somehow it actually made the problem worse. I have tightened up so badly that I literally can not take a deep breath without pain shooting down my back and tears filling my eyes.

And since I'm on the topic of pregnancy discomfort, can I just say that I've also (ahem...) observed, that I am covered in black bruises, I can't sleep, I have to pee every ten minutes, I have unidentified fluids pouring out of my nether-regions, I'm eating Tums and Colace by the handful, I'm so tired that I can hardly walk straight, and I have medicine coming out my eyeballs.

But again, I'm not complaining. I am blessed to be with child.

Adding to my super-fun experience this week are Braxton-Hicks contractions. They have started already. Dr. Garcia says not to worry at this point (doesn't he know by now that "Worry" is my middle name?) ..... I'm just praying that my cervix holds up. I'm trying to stay off my feet as much as possible, which is hard with Thanksgiving approaching. And drinking 60+ ounces of water each day is not helping my frequent-pee problem, but I digress ....

My second set of injections is scheduled to start next week. They are giving me 17-alpha-hydroxy-progesterone, 250mg injections, once per week. This treatment is fairly new ... it's given to women with previous preemies, and is thought to reduce your risk of preterm birth by up to 30%. These are intermuscular injections (unlike my lovenox which is just subcutaneous), so I am unable to do them myself. So they are sending a high-risk obstetrical nurse to my house each week to administer the injections and monitor me for pre-term labor. Once again, thank GOD for insurance.

Matria, the home healthcare company, sent all the injections to me this week via FedEx overnight express. I made the mistake of opening the package and inspecting everything. With much trepidation and horror I report to you that I *observed* .... those needles are freaking gigantic. Probably 4-5 times the size of my Lovenox needles. Apparently the medication is compounded in castor-oil, so it is very thick (almost looks like vegetable oil!) .... and giant needles are necessary to push it through. The home nurse called this week to arrange everything, her name is Sharon. She seemed nice on the phone, but even still I keep picturing her chasing me through my living room with a 40-foot needle. I'm terrified of her already.

I am blessed to be with child. I am blessed to be with child. I AM BLESSED TO BE WITH CHILD .......

Team BLUE!

Holy crap we're having a BOY!!! We found out yesterday during my first trimester screening. I was shocked that we were able to see "it" so clearly, I was only 13w0d!

But alas, there on the screen we saw the unmistakable "toilet shot", and the ultrasound tech announced quite confidently that we are indeed having another son.

I'm feeling a little shocked, and if I'm being honest - a wee bit sad. I've been hoping for another girl, mostly because I have such a close relationship with my own sister and I wanted that experience for Gracie. And also for selfish reasons - I feel like emotionally this will be much harder for me to handle since it's a boy. I worry that I will forever be comparing him to Isaac ... the way he looks, the way he talks, the way he runs, the way he laughs ... wondering if that's the way Isaac would have been. I was hoping it would be a girl in part so I wouldn't have to deal with some of those emotional complexities.

BUT .... once again God's plan is His own and I am getting on board. It will be an adventure shopping for blue for a change! I've already started peeking at cute little blue nursery decor online - though I don't have the guts to actually purchase a single thing!

With the gender discovery, of course, has come the inevitable battle over the perfect name. And once again, James and I can't agree on a single thing! We always have the hardest time with this! James is set on the name Cash, in honor of his pseudo-hero Johnny Cash. I think the name is cute ...... FOR SOMEONE ELSE'S KID. But not for mine. Can't explain it really other than to say it's just kinda weird. Gracie loves the name because it makes her giggle, so last night the two of them were double-teaming me, begging "puleeeeeeze let us name the baby Cash!". I told James no, I don't like it, the name is weird, and not to mention -- what in the world could we possibly use for a middle name since it's so strange, I mean what goes with Cash? Gracie came rushing in from the other room shouting, "REGISTER!!!!". So apparently at this point my child's name will be Cash Register Wren. Fantastic.

In other news .... my latest hematology tests have me breathing into a paper bag. Went to the hematologist last week, though for some reason I got stuck with the nurse practitioner rather than the doctor. Won't be making that mistake again -- she was completely clueless. But my Protein S numbers have plummeted dramatically, hence the bag-breathing. Recall that I have an inherited heterozygous Type III Protein S Deficiency. Sometimes it's referred to as Type IIb rather than Type III. In a nutshell, there are three types of Protein S measurements: "total", which measures the actual amount of protein in your blood, "free", which measures only the amount of protein that isn't already bound to other blood components, and "functional", which measures how well the protein is actually working (irrespective of the amount present). My disorder, Type III, is a functional deficiency, which means my free and total #s are both normal but my functional #s are abnormal. For instance, my functional levels have hovered around the upper-40's to low-50's over the last two years (normal is considered 60-120), while my free and total numbers have always stayed in the normal range.

At this office visit, Nurse Know-Nothing reports to me that my functional #s are down to 24. (I have honestly never even *heard* of numbers this low before.) And to top if off, she tells me I now have a free deficiency as well - down from the normal range to just 27. When I asked her if this will cause a major problem, she shrugs and says "I'm not really sure, but as long as you keep taking your lovenox then I think you should be okay". Well that's super reassuring. Convinced I'm going to drop dead from a pulmonary embolism as soon as I get in my car to drive home, I asked her if it's possible that pregnancy would artificially drop my numbers so dramatically, at which point she tells me - again - she's not sure but I could google it if I wanted. Yes, that's right, that was the advice given to me from the licensed Nurse-Practitioner at the hematologist's office, the folks who are supposed to be knowledgeable specialists in blood disorders. I was furious ... I take time off of my day, arrange childcare for Gracie, sit in your waiting room for an hour and a half, pay my $40 copay, and you want me to GOOGLE IT?!?!?

Needless to say, I'm looking for a new hematologist.

Big Sister

Up until now we have been very hesitant to share the baby news with Gracie. Primarily out of fear that something awful will go wrong and then we'll have to explain that to her. Not too long ago she named one of her stuffed animals "Cemetary", at which point I nearly lost it. No 4-year old should have to know so much about death. It bothers me immensely, but looking back on everything I know we handled it the best way we could under the circumstances. But hoping to spare her from any more tragedies, James and I have agreed to keep the pregnancy from her as long as possible.

Well today we ventured to the pumpkin patch with our friends, Sherry and Andy, and their two little ones. Their daughter, Malina, is best pals with Gracie ... they go to school and dance class together.

Poor Sherry is just two weeks shy of delivering her third bundle and looks like she wants to POP! I remain so impressed with her total mobility and her normal good spirits ... I can only pray I will be in such good shape when I'm nearing my own due date! As we arrived and began chatting, Sherry pulled me aside (out of earshot of Malina and Gracie), and tells me that she had been discussing my pregnancy with Malina. She had told Malina that yes Ms. Kristi has a baby in her tummy but you can't tell Gracie because she doesn't know yet. Malina responded that yes Gracie does know already .... earlier in the week Gracie told Malina "my mommy has a baby but don't tell anyone because it's a secret!".

I was stunned! I knew she was a perceptive little thing, but never in a million years thought she would figure it out on her own. Any time we have discussed the pregnancy in her presence we always spelled key words, like B-A-B-Y. Surely she's no spelling genius at age 4, but somehow she managed to figure it out nonethless. Adding to my amusement is her keen awareness that her mommy's pregnancy must be a secret because no one has announced it to her yet!

Once he learned that the cat is already out of the bag, James immediately wanted to tell her all about it. I was still hesitant, but relented. As we tucked her into bed tonight, James asked her "do you know what's inside Mommy's tummy?". Gracie's eyes widened significantly and a little smile curled the edge of her lips in anticipation. She said, "Noooo?". Then he told her, "there's a baby in there!". She immediately began SCREAMING and shouting and running in circles around her room. I had no idea a preschooler could get so excited about a sibling. I wish so badly that James had warned me he was about to spill the beans, so I could have videotaped it. Her reaction was truly priceless. After jumping and squeeling in excitement she immediately began pulling open all her dresser drawers and hurredly shouting instructions that we must go to Target and buy some diapers and baby pajamas. She then begged me to use the phone so she could call everyone and share the great news. We allowed her to call all her grandparents and both sets of Aunts. Each time she was screaming so loudly into the phone that no one could understand a word she said.

So tonight I go to bed with sticky fingers (from the pumpkin-carving of course), and a warm heart knowing that my little girl is going to make a fantastic sister.

7w0d

The lovenox shots started 5 days ago. I have made a vow not to complain, since we are blessed to be with child. So let me just say that I've *observed* these things hurt like MAD!

(See, not a complaint, just an observation)

Here, you can observe my bruises.

I'm thinking the bruises are simply a result of the fact that this stuff is made of gold or something. At least that's my assumption, since it cost almost $1200 for 30 injections. Thank God for our health insurance!!!

Currently I'm seeing Dr. Garcia every week, sometimes twice a week. I have my first appointment with Dr. Munjal (hemotologist) this week, and I'll see Dr. Mann (perinatologist) next week.

I'm still quite nervous about this whole thing, but trying very hard to remain hopeful. I've been at Dr. Garcia's office every few days to check my HcG and progesterone levels, so far they are really high! In fact we did a second ultrasound just to make sure it wasn't twins! That one really sent my brain for a loop during the few days we thought that could be a possibility, phew.

People keep asking me about my morning sickness, energy, blah blah blah ... the normal pregnancy stuff. Yes I feel like barf almost all the time. No I have no energy. But my mind is on such bigger issues that honestly all of that seems so trivial to me.

I would gladly barf every single day for 40 weeks if that's what was required for a healthy outcome.

Of course, if that's the case, then don't expect me to keep my vow about the complaining!

It's official

Safe to say my brain has been going a million miles an hour since Saturday.

And of course, being Labor Day weekend (which I have grown to despise since two years ago) ... today was the earliest chance to get into the doctor.

Four full days of obsessive Kristi-brain is not pleasant. That's all I will say about that.

But alas, Tuesday is here and we are officially pregnant. The joy and the fear is all so overwhelming, honestly I have not turned my brain off since I woke up Saturday morning. I have worried my way around every possibility and what type of mountain we could be facing. And my thoughts are so jumbled that I couldn't possibly put it all on paper if my life depended on it.

My emotions are an insane mess. No it's not the hormones. Well, maybe a tiny bit. But mostly its that today is Isaac's 2nd birthday. Quite a day to be all alone at the doctor (James was stuck at work), worrying and wondering about the fate of this new little one. The irony of it all will just slap ya in the face really.

So tonight we will go to the cemetery, and grieve for the child we lost, while we simultaneously rejoice that we now have another.

The whole thing is so mixed up I seriously can not wrap my brain around it.

SHOCK AND AWE.

So, my period was due three days ago. I haven't even let myself get excited about the fact that it was late, because I knew it was coming. All the signs were there: oily skin, crampy abdomen, sore breasts. It was like mother nature was trying to torture me by dragging it all out somehow.


This morning I wake up thinking, "good STARS just hurry up and start already! How long is this gonna take?"


Then, my brain kicks in. Oh yes, that annoying, obsessive Kristi-style worrying. I haven't peed on a single stick all month. So really I have no clue what is going on with my cycle. I don't even know if I actually ovulated this month! Obviously something is wrong. If I'm not having a period, then I'm definitely not ovulating, and if I'm not ovulating then I'll *never* get pregnant.


So, I wander into the bathroom, annoyed at the thought that today is Saturday so it will be two more days before Dr. Garcia's office opens and I can call and tell him: SEE I told you something was wrong, now I'm not even having a period!


Thinking that, of course I'll need "proof" of my statement when I call, I dig out my gigantic trusty bag of sticks and pull out a pregnancy test. Only the 7,452nd test I've peed on over the last eleven months. Or at least it feels like that many.


I've become so adept at the whole pee-on-a-stick-process (which is a true artform, by the way), that I can literally do it without even looking. And would you believe, that when I finally got done washing my hands and grumbling about my misery, I glanced down and saw a second line?


A SECOND LINE!


I blinked several times thinking surely my eyes are playing a cruel trick on me. But the longer it sat, the the more clearly I saw it. In complete disbelief I walked to the top of the stairs, and called down to James "ummm, could you come up here please? Like RIGHT NOW!"

Before he's even in the room I'm waiving that stupid stick in his face. We are stunned. Overjoyed. Terrified. All at the same time.


Thank you Jesus.

The wretched week of sadness

Oh yes, all the ladies know just what I'm referring to. Men, if you're hyper-sensitive to girly-stuff then please avert your eyes:

I started my *&$%@! period again.

I can't even begin to describe the heartbreak. I'm so over it. Every single day, I wake up and pee of some type of freaking stick. On cycle days 6-14 it's an ovulation stick. On cycle days 20-27 it's a lab-grade home pregnancy test. Some time between days 25 and 27 I usually collapse in anger and disappointment, throw the stupid thing across the bathroom, and bury my face in bed.

I have been doing this for TEN solid months now. And I'm done.

I have been begging James since May -- please, I need a break. The emotional toll is too high. Every month I get my hopes up ... the anticipation, the excitement, the hopefulness, and then inevitably .... the crushing disappointment. Months ago when I decided to name this blog Riding the Rollercoaster, I had no clue just how accurate that would be. I feel like I am on a never-ending rollercoaster of ups and downs. After a while, it becomes more than a normal person can handle. I WANT TO GET OFF THIS RIDE.

I need some time to relax. I need to throw away the calendar. To ditch the ovulation kits and pregnancy tests. I need my sanity back.

Hence, my repeated requests over the last several months for a "break". Just for six months? Three months? Something? I need to stop obsessing and get my focus back on life again. But my husband .... my dear sweet husband so desperate, so longing for a baby .... keeps begging me to give it one more month.

Well not anymore. I officially give up.

6 months and counting....

We are officially loosing our minds. Months of precise charting, ovulation kits, and calendar obsessing have come and gone. Still no baby. I am starting to think we are broken.

We knew this process would be a rollercoaster. That was a given from day 1. But I never expected the anxiety and overwhelming worry to be focused on the simple process of conception. Though, if there's anything I've learned over the past six months, it is that conceiving is anything but "simple".

We began fertility testing this month. Dr. Garcia has been running a series of blood work on certain days of my cycle to check hormone levels. So far everything is coming back within the normal range, so Monday he recommended that we have a semen analysis done on James. Fabulous, 'cause the poor guy isn't stressed out enough as is. Once that is complete he will begin more invasive testing on me.

So today I sit, on Mother's Day no less, crying and wondering why I'm again surprised that my plan and God's plan are two very different things. He has been so patient with me, teaching me this lesson repeatedly over the last two years. Of course, being the stubborn one, I've insisted on learning it the hard way. I know that He is in complete control of this, and I know that He has a plan. I guess I'm just grieving over the fact that it doesn't seem to be the same as mine. Once again. It's a bitter realization.

Adding to the sting is the fact that no less than SIX friends of mine have become pregnant since we began trying to conceive. No, it's not a contest. Yes, I am genuinely happy for them. It's not so much jealousy as it is a frustration that most people seem to take this for granted. They have no clue how lucky they are. Most are still in that blissful bubble of ignorance, having no clue what it feels like to struggle with infertility, or to hold your dead baby in your arms. I lived in that bubble once upon a time .... there are days when I wish more than anything that I could just go back there. To believing that bad things only happened to bad people and that pregnancy and childbirth were "natural" things that the body easily accomplished according to its design. I long to be one of those people .... like the friend who rolled her eyes and complained to me recently that any time her husband so much as WALKED passed her, she gets pregnant! Oh, pity, what a problem to have. Or the young woman I counseled at the PRC last week who's seeking her third abortion, and laments to me that its not her fault she's so darn fertile, what else is she to do? I find myself in these situations, listening to these complaints, and I have to really guard my heart against bitterness. I may smile and nod in empathy, but inside I'm wanting to scream.

And then there's the well-meaning inquiries that come from folks living in the bubble. Like the check-out girl at Publix yesterday who found herself in deep conversation with Gracie. She turns and asks me, "how old is she?". I respond, "she's four". Now, at this point, I could think of seven hundred ways for this lady to respond .... something about four is a fun age .... or oh wow I bet she really keeps you busy ..... anything. But instead, this total stranger feels the need to say,

"Oh, she's FOUR? Well it's about time you have another one, don't you think?"

So there I stood in the middle of Publix, trying to figure out how to respond. Am I supposed to say, "yeah, well, we DID have another one, and he died, and now despite months and months of trying we can't seem to get pregnant again. But thanks for asking!!" ..... SERIOUSLY HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO ANSWER THIS??? My mind scrambled for a moment but could only come up with - eyes down, head nod, "mmmhmmm", grab receipt, dash to the car before bursting out in tears.

Obviously this poor lady meant absolutely no harm with her comment. She's just in the bubble and she truly has no clue. She's certainly not the only one -- I am pelted with similar "hints" from people all over the place, well-meaning acquaintances and curious family, and now total strangers. When I take the time to think about it, I know I'm probably guilty of doing to same to someone else back when I lived in the bubble. But never again. Now I know better. I will never assume that someone has "only" one child by choice, or no children by choice. We have no idea what type of obstacles someone else may be facing.

See, the Lord is teaching me all kinds of things through this less-than-lovely experience. Maybe if I hurry up and learn everything quickly He'll let me off the hook with this one?