Clomid Day 3

I shouldn't be complaining about the clomid.

It really isn't that bad.

I have been through a lot worse this past year.

Which makes me wonder...why am I complaining about it?

I should be happy to take it. Cramps, bloating, headaches, and profuse sweating are worth having a baby. Right?

The truth is I'm scared.

Scared it won't work.

Scared it will.

Scared of the effect that this is having on my marriage.

In some senses I know that the journey we have traveled in the last year has bonded us. Bonded us beyond what I believe the average couple reaches in their first year of marriage.

In another sense it has also torn us apart.

I used to feel like Mr. Rootbeer got me. Ya know?

Like he was the only one who really understood me.

And now, even though we are united by the greif and disappointment of the past, I feel alone.

Alone in a way I have never felt before.

I just want it to all go back to the way it was before.

Sometimes I think about giving up. Saying fuck it. Going back on the pill.

But I don't think that would help.

Our only choice is to keep pushing forward and trust that God has a plan for us.

Sorry I am such a debbie downer today...blame it on the clomid.

A Trip Down Memory Lane

A few months ago I put google analytics on my blog. I was interested in seeing if anyone was even reading my blog and where my readers were coming from. I was quite surprised to find I actually had readers. And from all over the country and even in other countries.



So, yesterday I was sitting around with Mr. Rootbeer, watching football as per usual on a Sunday afternoon, when I decided to pull up google analytics and check on this little old blog. And would you believe that people are still reading my blog? When I figured this out I felt just plain guilty. Guilty, because my blog has sucked hardcore lately. I have been writing without inspiration. Or barely writing at all.



I needed inspiration and guidance. And somehow I got the bright idea to go back and read all my posts from the beginning. This was really the first time I have gone back and remembered those few weeks I had my baby. The verdict is still out on whether this was a good idea.



You decide.



My blog can basically be broken up into 4 parts.



Part 1 - TTC ROUND 1

This made me laugh. I was so impatient after trying for only a few cycles. Alas, I can recall some of these feelings. I remember being so frustrated the cycle I got pregnant. I remember the night we found out. But when I read the post about that night, I remembered much more. I knew I was pregnant before I ever saw those two lines. I remember going to dinner with Mr. Rootbeer that night and telling him I was pretty sure it would be my last sushi dinner for a while. I remember getting home from dinner and Bubs telling me to test. I remember seeing the lines and feeling so happy. I know happy is a pretty run of the mill way to describe such an overwhelming emotion but when I think back all I can see is happy.



Part 2 - Baby Rootbeer

Once I saw those two lines my blog was happy. There's that word again. This was the happiest time my blog has ever seen, and yet when I read it last night it was the hardest part to read. One one hand it was sweet to see how delighted and hopeful I was, on the other hand it was sad to see how innocent and unaware I was.



There was a post about pregnancy pimples that brought me to tears. I was complaining about having zits all over my body. But at the end of the post I said something to the effect of not being able to wait to hear Baby Rootbeer's heartbeat and how it would be the sweetest sound I had ever heard next to hearing Baby Rootbeer's first cry. I never got to hear those sounds. It breaks my heart all over again.



Part 3 - The Aftermath

Ok this is the part where shit hit the fan. After losing Baby Rootbeer I was a mess. It was hard to read. I had posted a recount of the events of that day. And I had tears streaming down my face as I read it last night. This section is full of raw emotion. Sadness, greif, confusion and sheer disbelief.



Part 4 - TTC Round 2

This is where the blog really started to turn to shit. Because you see, there is no magic left in TTC for me. I write about nothing. The posts show clear signs of a bitter and depressed newlywed. How wonderful.



I have friends who are TTC for the first time. They are so excited and filled with hope and anticipation. I dare not burst their bubble. However, I am insanely jealous. I wish I could get that feeling back. I feel like I am stuck somewhere I am not supposed to be.



According to google analytics, an average of 6 of you have been reading these miserable posts. So, to the six of you I apologize. I vow that I will make a valiant effort to make my blog better. To entertain you with the funny little anecdotes that occur, and to fill you in on the details of TTC round 2.



And since we are focusing on positivity...there was something wonderful I found while reading my blog. I found all the wonderful, supportive, and loving comments left by readers. Thank you. Thank you for the support and the love.



The truth is people. I am scared. I am absolutely terrified of being pregnant again. Even though it is the one thing I want more than anything.



What happens then? Will I be happy again? Will all the pain I have been trying to process over the past 6 months go away? Will I be able to enjoy another pregnancy?



I guess we will cross all of these bridges when we come to them.



I am also anxious about my impending due date. January 5th. The day Baby Rootbeer was estimated to arrive. What the fuck am I supposed to do on that day? Just thinking about it causes my chest to tighten. And as this day approaches I find myself being reminded of what I should be doing. I should be finishing up the nursery. I should be attending my shower. I should be huge. The approach of this due date and the holidays makes me want to run away.



:deep breath:



OK enough about that.



In CBEFM news, it is still giving me a "high fertility" reading. Today is CD 15. Mr. Rootbeer and I have been having a sex-a-thon for a few days now and I don't plan on calling it quits until I see a "peak fertility" reading. Also, I bought a pineapple.



I am desperate people. The thought of standing on my head after sex has actually crossed my mind in a serious manner.

Mr. Fix-It

Well here we are again. I haven't blogged in a while mainly because I haven't really had anything new to say. We are still trying to get pregnant, and I am still not pregnant. I am still having a hard time with all of this. I am trying so damn hard to be positive but it is more and more difficult every month.

Today is most likely CD 28 and I am probably 13 DPO. I say "most likely" and "probably" because I didn't chart or use OPKs or anything again.

I have been hearing things like "Just relax and it will happen," or "it will happen as soon as you stop trying" for about a year now. Both are among my most hated phrases.

I took the last two cycles to "relax" and "let it happen."

But guess what, it didn't.

I spotted yesterday, and again today. Which is a clue that AF is hiding right around the corner. Waiting to pop out and remind me that I am not pregnant yet again.

A few months ago I would have still had hope at this point. I would have said to myself, "self, you're not bleeding yet. Some women spot when they are pregnant." But I am fresh out of hopeful pep talks for myself. And frankly, I am annoyed by the ones I get from others. Even from people I love most.

The two people closest to me in my life are Mr. Rootbeer and my Dad. I am incredibly close to my father and I always have been. He knows more about me than anyone and we talk about everything.

My Dad is Mr. Fix-It. He always has been. He can fix ANYTHING. I never had to worry if something broke, I would bring it to Dad and he would fix it, no matter what it was. In fact, when I was 11 my pet cockatiel Prissy had an unfortunate accident with a ceiling fan. She broke her beak and I remember picking her up and carrying her over to my Dad and saying, "fix her Daddy." He did.

And when I met Mr. Rootbeer I noticed the same quality. Mr. Rootbeer can fix anything as well. I don't think I could have married a man who couldn't. I break things a lot and it's comforting to have a man around that can make everything right again.

Well, I have been feeling pretty broken lately. It has been over a year since Mr. Rootbeer and I started TTC. I am disappointed and discouraged every month when I start to bleed. It breaks my heart into pieces all over again, and it seems to get worse every cycle.

This month has been the worst so far. It's not about the miscarriage anymore. It is about the fact that I have tried everything in my power to get pregnant and FAILED over and over again. Getting pregnant is the most basic and natural function of the female body. And I can't seem to hack it.

I was overly optimistic about this cycle. My breats have been very sore. I have been bloated, and breaking out very bad. I actually thought we might have finally succeeded.

Yesterday I ran home and into the bathroom and I looked down and saw pink. I closed my eyes and starting saying "no no no no." I prayed. I actually sat on my toilet and prayed for God to make the blood go away and replace it with a positive pregnancy test. And today when I saw more blood in my bathroom at work, I lost my shit. I sobbed and I felt sorry for myself.

Neither my Dad nor Mr. Rootbeer can fix this. And they have tried. They try with their words. They tell me that I will get pregnant soon. They tell me it will happen when we least expect. They remind me to be thankful for what I have. But it just makes me feel worse. Because I know they can't fix this for me.

I am still feeling sorry for myself. I don't know where to go from here. On one hand I want to call the Dr and begin testing. On the other, I want to go back on birth control and maybe regain some sanity.

I probably won't do either. I will probably just keep trying and praying.

And again...

we are on to the next cycle. AF showed up on Thursday. I feel like since I haven't been charting or using OPKs (at the request of Mr. Rootbeer), I can't really be that disappointed. Yet, I am.

So here we are, almost 4 months have passed since we lost Baby Rootbeer...still unpregnant.

I decided after careful consideration, to give Mr. Rootbeer's "good ole fashioned way" one more try. He is convinced this is the best way, and he really wants to try one more cycle, or not try, or not try to try. Ugh...one more month of this crap.

I am doing this for my husband. I have to keep telling myself that.

If I don't get pregnant this cycle, we have decided to use a Clear Blue Easy Fertility Monitor next cycle. And of course the pre-seed. At least then I will know if and when I am ovulating and if we are timing sex correctly. Based on the length of of the three cycles I have had since the miscarriage, I know something MUST be different. I have got to be ovulating later. But thanks to my stubborn husband, I have no idea.

I know, I know...so many people make perfectly healthy babies without ever having to chart, or use OPKs or even know anything about their own body. I say GOOD FOR THEM.

It doesn't matter what other people have done. This is MY journey to MY family. For some reason, this is the path I have been forced to take, and I have no choice but to find a way through it. I know I will have the family I am meant to have. I just hate the uncertainty in it.

My Shoes

A wonderful and inspirational woman on the bump posted this and I thought I would share with you...

I am wearing a pair of shoes.
They are ugly shoes.
Uncomfortable shoes.
I hate my shoes.
Each day I wear them,
and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.
Yet, I continue to wear them.
I get funny looks wearing these shoes.
They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in other's eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in this world.
Some women are like me and ache daily as they try to walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so that they don't hurt quite somuch.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they thinkabout how much they hurt.
No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.
They have made me who I am.
I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.

Waiting...

I am still waiting for AF. I probably shouldn't have expected to see her on Sunday, but I did. On to CD 31 tomorrow and more waiting. I would have been 17 weeks today. I lost baby Rootbeer 10 weeks ago tomorrow. It is so weird. I feel like I was pregnant just yesterday, but at the same time I feel like it was years ago.

I went to see the shrink today. She has been on vaca for a few weeks so we should have had a lot to catch up on. Or um I should have had a lot to catch her up on. But I really didn't have much to say. She asked how I was feeling, I replied with "flat." She said I am depressed. She said she thinks I should consider calling my Dr to get on some sort of anti-depressant. Apparently, she isn't the prescribing-type of Dr.

Um no. I will not be taking an anti-depressant right now. Mr. Rootbeer and I are finally gearing up for TTC again and this is no time to be introducing new drugs into my body. I just want to feel better. I know that I can get through this without meds. Mr. Rootbeer totally supports my decision. So for now I wait...

Wait for my period...

Wait to TTC...

Wait to feel better...

Did I mention I am one of the least patient people on earth?

Dreamweaver

I had a dream last night I was pregnant again. It brought back a whole slew of emotions. The good news is that I woke up happier than I have been in a while. I haven't been that heppy since I actually was pregnant. I forgot how wonderful it felt to be pregnant. To feel that little baby inside me and know that it was a product of our love. I can't wait to feel that again.

In other news, Mr. Rootbeer and I talked some more. I told him that I need to chart. Charting makes me feel as if I have some kind of control over my body and my cycles. So, I will be charting...I think. I'm confused. Don't mind me.

The "talk"

I received a text message from Mr. Rootbeer yesterday saying he wanted to "talk" when we got home. Excellent. This is never good. I had a funny feeling it was going to be about TTC. I must be psychic. When I came home we spent some time chatting about each of our days, and Mr. Rootbeer ate dinner which he had made for himself since I had a working dinner meeting.

Deep down I knew this was coming. Mr. Rootbeer is not much of a verbal communicator, however I have become increasingly comptetent at deciphering his non-verbal cues. I had this feeling all day long that this was not going to be a talk I really want to have. I worried that he would tell me that after the miscarriage, he isn't sure he wants to TTC again. I knew this "talk" was TTC related, because as I get closer to this cycle being over and closer to the time we decided we would TTC again, I can feel the tension rising. I knew there was something he has been wanting to say and hasn't. It took a lot of poking around for him to finally tell me that he would rather me not start temping and charting again. Which I am ok with. My OCD tendencies tell me that charting is the only road to conception, but I know that isn't true.

So no more charting for me, which is relieving.

8 weeks later

It has been 8 weeks since the D&C. I feel so much better than last week. I am almost afraid to type those words. Everytime I think that I am finally doing better, I regress. Everytime I feel accomplished for taking 5 steps forward, I take 2 back. I know this is "normal"...there's that word again. I understand this is a natural step in the process of grieving. Anywho, I am feeling good this week, and I attribute this to two things. One being that this cycle is almost over and we are getting closer to TTC again every day. The other being how much I have accomplished in terms of my house being organized and clean thanks to the FLYlady.

I am excited and scared to death of TTC again at the same time. I want to get pregnant again. I cannot wait to feel tired, bloated, and nauseous all over again, as long as it leads to a healthy baby. But at the same time I am scared. Scared of another miscarriage. Scared it will take another 6 cycles to even get pregnant again. Scared that when I do get pregnant I will be a nervous wreck and not be able to enjoy it. Some of this I have control over. I need to be patient and let things happen. I truly believe we will have our baby soon. And when I am pregnant again, I need to just enjoy every day for what it is. A blessing.

7 Weeks Later

It's been just over 7 weeks since we lost Baby Rootbeer. I feel like I should be doing better. Most days are pretty good. But truthfully I am sad to my core. Even when I am happy, or having fun, I am still sad in some way. The odd part is that it doesn't translate into my life as sadness, but rather as anger. Which sucks, because being angry does not feel good. It makes me feel guilty because the sources and targets of my anger are usually undeserving strangers that have done nothing besides procreate. The shrink says that everything I am feeling is normal. Fantastic. The trouble with that is that it doesn't feel normal. It feels so far from normal.

My cousin's baby shower is today. I am not going. I decided it was best for everyone, including myself, if I stayed behind. I lost my shit at a graduation party last week, case closed no baby showers for me.

I go to work everyday, I go out with friends and with my husband. I see family. I clean my house. I have definitely made progress. I am just not 100%. It's not that I go around yelling and being mean to pregnant people and people with kids, it's more on the inside.

Mr. Rootbeer doesn't want to TTC again until my next cycle. The doctor mentioned that would be optimal, and since I know Mr. Rootbeer is terrified I will miscarry again, we are waiting. I don't want to wait, but I am. I pray that some of this anger will go away when we do get pregnant again. But for now, it's a waiting game. I am happy to report however, that we are having a ton of sex. It's pretty awesome.

A death, a birth, and a few scorpion bowls

I went to church yesterday for the first time since the miscarriage. My great-aunt died and my family and I went to the funeral. I didn't forsee this being one of the things that sparks an all-out breakdown. Alas, it did. Here I was sitting in church, sandwiched between my dad and brother when it was time for communion. For anyone who hasn't gathered it from my previous blog posts, I just haven't been that happy with God lately. After receiving communion I knelt and prayed. I prayed for Aunt Rita's soul, I prayed for my Uncle Jack, I prayed for her children, grandchildren, and anyone else who is greiving. And then I realized that I never prayed for my baby. I never prayed for Baby Rootbeer's little soul. I started to cry a little but managed to hold it together until the service was over. When everyone had finally filed out of the church, I snuck off to light a candle and pray just for my little Rootbeer. I cried harder than I have cried in a few weeks. I have been holding it all in and trying to be strong, and this was my moment to let it out and do what I should have done a long time ago. I made peace with God. I asked him to take care of my little one until I got there. I begged him to bless Mr. Rootbeer and I with children, if that is his plan for us.

After the funeral I headed over to the hospital to welcome the newest addition to our family. My littlest cousin, "Baby Izy" was born Wednesday night. I was nervous walking in. I didn't want to cry or look upset, and take anything away from her day. But when I walked in, I couldn't have been any happier. She is so tiny and precious. I sat there holding her for about an hour, talking to her proud parents about the birth. I kissed her little nose, rocked her, and told her how much I loved her and how happy I was to finally meet her. I knew my entire family was watching me and exchanging nervous looks, and secretly gauging my reaction.

After the hospital I went home to let the doggies out and take a nap. I slept for about a half hour, and then the fun began. My friends and I try to get together once a week for dinner, it usually works out to twice a month due to scheduling conflicts and such. Last night four of us went out to a Japanese grill. The food was delicious, the scorpion bowls were strong, and the conversation was highly inappropriate. After we had had our fill we couldn't bear to leave each other yet, so we continued the festivities at a favorite local hangout. 4 beers, 4 cigars, and 4 drunk girls later...we finally left. I stumbled home and Mr. Rootbeer took advantage of me :) It was a fantastic night.

Accomplishment

I did not cry once today. This is BIG. I have cried at least once a day since losing Baby Rootbeer. Granted, there are still 3.75 hours left in the day, however, I think I can make it. I am healing and finally getting back into a "normal" routine.

I went to see a shrink yesterday. I call her that because I don't know what else to call her. I went because my parents wanted me too. I am not one to do things because others want me to, but I secretly thought it was a decent idea. She was very nice, she asked me a lot of questions, and she said some things that make a ton of sense. I am going back next week. I think she can help me get to a place mentally where I am ready to try to get pregnant again.

I have learned that everyone deals with pregnancy loss differently. Some can't wait to try again, and some need to take time before they can even fathom the idea of being pregnant again. I fall somewhere in the middle of the two. Of course I want to get pregnant again. I yearn to be a momma more than I ever thought possible. But at the same time, I am scared. Scared of pregnancy, scared of ultrasounds, but most of all scared of losing another one. Many women go on to have success after a miscarriage, and many miscarry again. I need to be prepared for whatever hand life is going to deal me next. It is entirely possible that my feelings on this will change as soon as my period shows up. That's when we officially have the green light from the Dr. But for now, I am concentrating on making myself as strong as possible. Physically and emotionally. I am concentrating on making my marriage as strong as possible. And I am enjoying as much of life as possible.

Life can be so funny. It can be so good but yet so bad at the very same moment. As hard as that can be sometimes, it is also amazing. Because in our darkest hours, there is still something positive to focus on, even if we cannot see it at the moment. I have an incredible husband, who adores me.

Just Those Few Weeks

This poem was posted by a fellow nestie. I thought it was perfect and could bring some comfort to someone.

Just Those Few Weeks

For those few weeks-
I had you to myself.
And that seems too short of time
To be changed so profoundly.

In those few weeks-
I came to know you...
And to love you.
You came to trust me with your life.
Oh, what a life I had planned for you!

Just those few weeks-
When I lost you,
I lost a lifetime of hopes,
plans, dreams, and aspirations...
A slice of my future simply vanished overnight

Just those few weeks-
It wasn't enough time to convince others
How special and important you were.
How odd, a truly unique person has recently died
And no one is mourning the passing.

Just a mere few weeks-
And no "normal" person would cry all night
Over a tiny, unfinished baby,
Or get depressed and withdraw day after endless day.
No one would, so why am I?

You were just those few weeks my little one
You darted in and out of my life too quickly.
But it seems that's all the time you needed
To make my life so much richer-
And give me a small glimpse of eternity

By Susan Erlin

Bittersweet

My Dad hired me a personal trainer. This is fantastic and friggen horrible at the same time.

It is fantastic because I am dropping weight like pigeons drop shit. It is horrible because I have to get up at 4:00 am every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday so I can get my ass kicked.

I wish I would just get my period already, so Mr. Rootbeer and I can get back into the baby making business. The anxiety of not knowing when it will show is driving me insane.

I feel pretty good lately. I know the excercise is helping. It feels good to lose weight. My clothes fit better, my face looks slimmer. I feel amazing. It also helps me focus on something else besides getting pregnant again. I need another goal. Becoming a mommy has been my goal for the past 8 months, and now that I have been forced to move that to the back burner, I need something new to focus on.

I went to my parents house last night to jump in the hot tub, since I could barely walk due to the 36 flights of stairs I ran up and down on Monday morning. While I was there my mom gave me a pile of mail that had come to their house for me. Inside the pile sat a ticking time bomb. I know she knew it was in there, because she had gotten one too. An invitation to my cousins' baby shower. I opened the envelope and rolled my eyes when I saw the cute little stork on the front of the card. I winced when the registry card for Babies R Us fell into my hand.

I am so happy for my cousin, she has been trying to concieve this little one for over 4 years. I was so elated when I first found out she had finally gotten pregnant. And now I am just an asshole. My joy for her is gone. I am dreading the day of the shower. I will die if they make me play those stupid baby shower games. I know I will struggle watching her open gifts. I know my time will come and GOD willing, I will have my baby. But, I want that baby. I want that baby more than anyone will ever understand. I want back all the bloating, all the nausea, the puking. I want it all back, because it meant I was pregnant and it was nothing compared to the pain I am feeling right now.

Alas, I am going to go. I have to. I will have my mom go shopping for the gift. I will hide in the bathroom while she opens them and everybody ooohhhs and ahhhhs. And I will sit outside and smoke an entire pack of cigarettes while my aunts and cousins play "Guess Mom's Belly Size."

This miscarriage has made me so bitter. Which in turn makes me sad. I want to be happy for my cousin, I want to play the games, and gawk at the onesies and crib bedding. I know that deep inside I am happy for her, it's just that my coping skills are currently a work-in-progress.

Ohhh, I almost forgot, I went to a Dave Matthews Band show on Saturday night and some pretty amazing shit happened...more to come later. It deserves its own post. A post with not one single mention of babies.

finding the peace within...

I think I am finally starting to really deal with the miscarriage. The D&C was exactly two weeks ago today. I am actually processing everything that has happened and is still happening. Things were blurry at first. Maybe I was in shock. I think I was so overwhelmed with greif and anger that I was unable to feel anything else. I also don't think the xanax was doing me any good besides helping me fall asleep. So I stopped taking it a week ago today. I was thriving on the low it made me feel. I could sit and stare at nothing and speak to noone for hours and not care. I didn't want to leave my house. I didn't want to take calls or visitors. That is not me. I am friendly and outgoing. I am vibrant and fun. And I refuse to allow this unfortunate happening to change me completely as a person.



I had a sickening moment last Friday, which made me realize that I needed a break from the xanax. I was watching TV with Mr. Rootbeer when a commercial came on for some new show on MTV about pregnant teenagers. Girls who get pregnant by accident in the back of a Civic. My knee jerk reaction took over me. I flipped the double bird at the TV and I yelled out "Fucking Whores." And then it hit me. I AM one of those babies. My parents were 18 when they got pregnant with me, and I have always thought my mother so brave for not taking the easy way out and stepping up to her responsibilities. My father as well I should add.



I immediately started to cry hysterically. I was hyperventilating. At that moment I realized what I had allowed to happen. I allowed myself to be changed by the miscarriage. It hurt so bad to realize what I had become. I would have NEVER reacted like that before. Those girls are brave women. They are taking responsibility and accountability for their own actions and their decisions, and I truly commend them for that. It is not their fault that my baby died. It doesn't work like that.

I am so sick of everyone looking at me and treating me differently, so I have just been pretending nothing happened. I go about my daily routine, I smile fake smiles, and everyone is happy. And it really is much better than wallowing around in my misery all day, it feels pretty good actually. I feel like things are going back to normal, as normal as things can be right now. I also stopped taking the Xanax. I think it is making me worse and it is making the grief last longer than it has to.

I realize that I will always be sad on some level about losing this baby. But, I am ready for the gut-wrenching grief to go away. For the moments that I find myself curled up in a ball, crying on my floor to become less and less common. I am ready to heal. I want to find peace within this unfortunate situation so badly. And I think getting back into a routine is the way to get there. I really do. The problem comes when we go to bed. I still CANNOT sleep without the Xanax.

Here's how last night went down...

10:30 pm...Mr. Rootbeer falls asleep on the couch

11:30 pm...I wake him up, drag his ass upstairs into bed, and crawl under the covers

11:32 pm...Mr. Rootbeer is OUT COLD snoring and sprawled out, I am watching the tonight show

12:00 am...I turn off the TV and attempt to fall asleep

1:00 am...I am still not really sleeping, I am drifting in and out of conciousness, tons of thoughts going through my head.

sometime around 1:30 am...I finally fall asleep

4:00 am...I am up again

I am not used to this. I LOVE to sleep. I used to come home from work, take a nap, and then go to bed at 9pm. This sucks. I am a zombie today. This isn't good for anyone. Tonight I may try taking 1/2 of a Xanax before bedtime.

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next." Gilda Ratner

Helter Skelter

That is what this post will be, a mish moshed rambing of a whole bunch of random shit. I promise that the entire entry won't be depressing and bitter. I will work my way up to the good stuff. I will warn you that my emotions are raw. You may not like what you read.

People say really dumb shit to you after they learn you have had a miscarriage. And at this point in the game, I am not excelling at filtering my responses.

"At least you know you can get pregnant." - That's a good one. Probably the most common one I have heard. My response to this is usually "What is your point?"

"This too shall pass." - Ok, the first 2 times I heard this one, I wasn't really sure what the intentional meaning was...so the 3rd, 4th, 5th...times I responded with "What exactly do you mean?" I mean really, what is that supposed to mean? I am not being sarcastic, I am being as serious as a heart attack.

"This is God's plan for you." - Let me begin by saying that this is the only one on the list that actually makes sense. In fact, my faith in God is the second most important thing getting me through this right now. My amazing husband is the first. The only reason that it is even on this list is because it makes me mad. And it makes me mad because I am mad at God right now. Yup, little Mrs. Rootbeer is mad at God. I am mad at him because women who smoke crack and don't take prenatals have perfectly healthy pregnancies, and I lost a baby. I took my vitamins, I didn't smoke crack. See my point? No? I don't care. Oh yeah, and I don't even respond to this one I just roll my eyes. It's really the best I can do.

"Now you guys can practice." - I am assuming this is a "cute" way of saying we have an excuse to have sex now. Hmmm...last time I checked we didn't need any other excuse besides the fact that we like to. Glad we got that one out of the way. I roll my eyes at this one too.

Ohhhh I got a good one...

"You know, having a miscarriage is as common as having your wisdom teeth removed." - I have only heard this little gem once. I was caught a little off guard, so I said, "Ok well they can remove all my teeth and give me my baby back." Yeah, can you say uncomfortable?

This next one really hurts my feelings and makes me want to cry everytime I hear it...

"Well, at least this happened now, your body knows something wasn't developing right." - Ok, there is a pretty strong possibility that my body did what is is supposed to do and naturally terminated the pregnancy. I know and understand this. But there is no need to mention it. Also, when you say it like that, you are presuming that I would not have had this baby if there were such a complication and my body had allowed the baby to develop a heartbeat. Which is wrong. I would not terminate a pregnancy for any reason. It is my own choice and it's none of your business. So just don't say that. Ok?

And this one today was my fav...

"It just wasn't the right time, hunny, ya know? The economy is so shitty." - Bwahahahahahahahahaha yes, I laughed. There was nothing else to do. I laughed so hard I almost cried, and it felt so good.

And do you know what happened? She laughed too, kinda nervously, she was probably afraid I was losing my shit. But I really thought that was funny. So, right then and there I have decided that when someone says something dumb to me about my unfortunate situation, I am just going to laugh at them. Because it makes me feel better and it makes them feel bad, instead of me feeling bad because they have said one of the above phrases and them feeling better because they have offered me some sort of "wisdom."

And, let me also say that I know that people have no idea what to say to me right now. And I also know that 98.4% of the people saying these things are people that love me. They mean nothing but to comfort me, I am just bitter.

But really, they don't need to say much, all they need to say is "I'm sorry." And for all those women out there who have had perfectly healthy pregnancies and beautiful chubby babies, don't feel guilty when you talk to a woman who has gone through something like me, or something even worse. Feel lucky. Thank God. (or your lucky stars if you don't believe in God) Appreciate your blessings.

Ok enough about that. The good news is that after the D&C, my doctor prescribed me xanax. It is glorious, especially since I hadn't slept in two days.

On Saturday, Mr. Rootbeer and I decided it was time to get out of the house. So, we went to Lowe's. We bought TONS of flowers. Any flowers I wanted, I got. We got yellow grecian roses, lavander, lilacs, lilies, daisies, etc Mr. Rootbeer also wanted to re-mulch the gardens, so we did that as well. The yard looks amazing. I felt so accomplished. I got a total high from working as a team with my husband and seeing our backyard vision come to fruition. Here are some pics.

I think you all are probably sick of hearing about how unbelievable my husband is. But, you guessed it, I don't care. You should have married him. He is really that wonderful. And not only is he so friggen awesome, he is also really handsome. On Friday night he said something to the effect of "soon we can forget all of this ever happened." And I lost it, I started to cry and I told him I didn't want to forget my baby. So Saturday morning he gave me this gift:

It's a beautiful little angel charm for my bracelet. He said it was a little something for me to remember our baby. I love it. I love him.

Mr. Rootbeer loves to fish. So to show my appreciation for him, I accepted his invitation to go fishing yesterday. And guess what happened? I caught a freakin fish! A brown one, with spots! It was awesome, he was so proud of me. And I was very proud of myself. I wanted to take a picture holding it but I just couldn't touch it. So, I settled for a picture of Mr. Rootbeer holding the fish. Here are some pictures for your enjoyment:

This is a picture of Mr. Rootbeer waiting for me to hurry up. I had flip flops on and that path was covered with very pointy sticks and pine needles which did not agree with my choice of shoewear.

This is a picture of the beautiful pond we went to fish.

That's the fish I caught!!!

And for the rest of the weekend, I pretty much just did this...

I love my dogs. They are such good snugglers.

May 20, 2009

Tuesday I had some light spotting and cramping, I decided to call the Dr. in the late afternoon, just to be safe. They told me to call Wednesday morning and let them know if I had any more spotting. I barely slept Tuesday night, I must have woken up 20 times in the middle of the night to check. I was so worried about the possibility of something being wrong, but I honestly thought everything was ok.

Wednesday morning I called the Dr.'s office and told the nurse that I had a little spotting the night before but nothing today. She told me to come in at 10:30 and I would seeing Dr. L. She said that this was just for reassurance and I shouldn't worry. She said he may want to send me for some bloodwork. She said to come to the NH office, I knew the ultrasound machine is in the H office, so I didn't think I would be having an ultrasound. I called Mr. Rootbeer and told him about the appointment. I knew he wouldn't be able to make the appointment because he was an hour away and he still had customers to see in that area, and although I was nervous, I was sure everything would be ok. And it was then that I made one of the dumbest decisions. Mr. Rootbeer and I work for our families business, and I could have decided to have him leave and rush to the appointment with me. But I was thinking as a business owner at that point, and not as a wife. I was thinking with my left brain at that moment, and not with my right. I have always had an independent streak. I have always known that I could do things on my own. I figured someday it would bite me in the ass, well that day was yesterday. I didn't reschedule my husbands' appointments, I didn't call my Mom and tell her I had an appointment, I didn't beg my friend who worked down the street to meet me, I just hopped in my car and drove myself.

I had never met Dr. L before. In fact, this was my first time seeing anyone at this practice because I switched practices a few weeks ago. I went in to see the Dr and I was calm. He was very nice, and exactly what I wanted in a Dr, I thought to myself, I would love for this Dr to deliver my baby. The baby I assumed was growing and thriving inside my belly.

Dr. L said he was going to do an ultrasound, I stupidly thought it was so sad that I was going to see our baby for the first time without my husband, but Dr. L assured me he would give me plenty of pictures to bring home for him. We headed for the ultrasound room, I undressed, sat on the exam table, and waited. It was right then that I remembered why I was there, I remembered the spotting and the cramping. I started to pray. I prayed that the baby would be on that huge screen in front of me, with its tiny heart beating away.

Dr. L came in, and I watched the screen nervously. I knew something wasn't right almost immediately. Maybe because I could see the nurse biting her lip and glancing nervously from the Dr. to me, and back again. And then he started to talk...

Mrs. Rootbeer, let me explain to you what you are looking at. Blah, blah blah...your baby has stopped growing....blah blah blah...there is no heartbeat...blah blah blah....I can't remember what else was said.

I lost my shit. I was alone and staring at a 51 inch image of my dead baby inside of me. I started to cry. They handed me tissues, removed the probe and left me to get dressed. I started to sob uncontrollably. The rest of the day was a blur. I had to break the news to my poor husband over the phone, sitting on the ground in a parking lot. I don't even know how I managed the 1/2 hour drive home, I don't even remember driving. I called my Mom and she was scared. More scared than I have ever known her to be.

My phone rang all day, I couldn't bring myself to answer it. I don't want to talk to anyone. Mostly because people don't know what to say to me, and I don't have much to say to them. I know I am miserable and bitter and angry.

All I can say is that I love my husband more than anything in the entire world. He is such an amazing man and I am so very lucky to be his wife and to have his love and support. I know he is hurting, he told me yesterday that he is absolutely devastated, but is trying to be strong for me. I know that we will get through this together. But I also know I will never be the same. Something was taken from me yesterday and I know I will never get it back. Maybe it was the last of my innocence. I don't know.

Tomorrow, I will have a surgical procedure to remove my baby from my body.