I don't know which words to write. I can't believe I'm sitting here, doing this, again. Is this some sort of cruel joke, God? Are you kidding me? I just can't believe this is happening, again.

As I sit here, trying to string together some semblance of a coherent thought, some combination of words that make sense at a time when nothing makes any sense to me, I am overwhelmed with feelings of devastation, heart-break, anger, and bitterness. Unbelieving, unjustness, jealousy, self-pity, self-loathing. And...did I mention anger?

As I sit here, trying unsuccessfully to write, I am losing our second child. Saying good-bye to that precious baby, piece by piece. I awoke from the longest stretch of sleep I've had in several days, startled by the vividness of the dream I couldn't shake: another friend announcing a second pregnancy. These sorts of dreams shouldn't ever become classified in the nightmare category, should they? Others' exciting news of their happy, healthy, ever-expanding families? Ashamedly, lately, that's what they have become for me. Can I take another? Can I sit by, again, smiling and nodding, telling them how happy I am for them, while inside I feel hard, cold, angry? How can I continue to be the friend who sits by and listens, supports, coos over bellies and babies, while a piece of me (and my own baby) dies a little more inside?

I am still in shock that this is happening to us again. To be fair, I'm still in shock that we became pregnant again. This has all happened so fast. And now, the happiness, the hopefulness, is leaving us as quickly as it came. How can this be happening, again?

We received our good news Thanksgiving weekend. Having returned from a visit with my sister and her husband in Columbus, Ohio, on Sunday, November 30, I decided I needed to take a home pregnancy test. My period had not yet arrived, and Drew, Becky, and Justin could probably attest to the fact that I was decidedly tired (and in great need of frequent urination) during our visit. I had been trying not to get my hopes up, and honestly, didn't really think this cycle had turned out that well, anyway (timing issues, lack of hcg trigger shot this time due to someone's incompetence). I took the test, and left the bathroom. I went and sat on the couch in the living room. Drew came over to me and said, "Well?" I told him I couldn't look; I was too nervous. I asked if he could please look for me. (I just couldn't take another negative, again.)

He took a long time. I heard the leaflet from the test package rustle. I heard him walk toward me. I knew, then. "Well, Em, according to this....he looked into my eyes deeply...we're pregnant." My eyes immediately welled up. I couldn't stop saying "Really?" while crying. Could this really be it? Was it finally our turn for happiness? The test line was a little light, but that was definitely a positive test. Thank you, God! We were going to have a baby.

Monday morning, I called my doctor's office, and because they know me way too well there now as an infertility patient, they were all very excited with our news as well. I went in for an hcg quant (blood test) that day to confirm. We got those results back on Tuesday, confirming that I was indeed pregnant. The levels were a bit low, but because I was only a little more than four weeks along, we weren't very concerned. We would just repeat the quant in 48 hours to ensure the levels were rising (hopefully doubling) properly. The results came back on Thursday. I called the office three times that morning. Finally, after lunch, the call came. My hcg levels had gone down slightly. I immediately caught my breath. I knew that was bad news. "Let's not jump to conclusions," the nurse said. "Doctor wants you to repeat the test tomorrow, but we won't have results until Monday. We're not giving up hope yet, okay?" She asked if I was still experiencing pregnancy symptoms, which I was, and if I had noticed any spotting, etc. yet, which I hadn't. I hung up the phone, and tried to hold in the sobs. "Oh God, please, no..." I called Drew, crying, and told him the news quickly, then told him I needed to go to a meeting. I sat in my office, trying to prepare for this meeting, but my mind felt as if it had ceased to think logically, coherently...at all. I sat there, paralyzed, yet hyper-ventilating. My boss walked by, her arms full of binders, on the way to our marketing meeting. "You about ready, Em---oh God, are you okay?" I didn't realize it just then, but I was crying uncontrollably. She came into my office, shut the door, and asked me what was wrong. I told her the whole story, and she told me to skip the meeting, call Drew back, go home, and spend time with him."I'm so, so sorry," she said. "I can't even imagine. This has got to be the worst  thing a woman can go through, and I can't imagine going through it more than once."

I was home Friday, waiting, praying, hoping for a miracle. By the end of the day, I had somewhat convinced myself that this pregnancy might be saved. Saturday morning, around 5 a.m., I awoke with a start. Something wasn't right. I hurried to the bathroom. Hmmm. No red yet. Maybe I'm being paranoid. I went to the bathroom, and that's when I saw it...red on the toilet paper. It had begun. The bleeding became heavy quickly. We did not call the doctor, even though we knew she was on call this weekend. We knew what declining levels and a lot of bleeding meant. There was nothing to be done.

I'm sure I'll get a call from the doctor's office later this morning. Confirming further drops in my hcg levels. I'll tell them then that the miscarriage has begun.

For now, with my head somewhat cleared, I will try to head back to bed. Hope that the elusive sleep can be conquered. And pray that, for now, no more nightmares awaken me, sobbing in a pillow pool of tears.

-Em

Today I finally sucked it up and went to get my hair done. The last time I went to a salon was in May, before my sister's wedding. "My girl" left the salon I frequent earlier this year, and I haven't had the heart to try on a new stylist for size (good ones are so hard to find). So, as I sat there and answered the small-talk questions so prevalent amongst the women in the beauty parlor, I tried to oblige this "new girl" as much as possible. The first bit of conversation we had surrounded the topic of why I hadn't been in for (gasp!) six months, and she clucked-clucked her disapproval while examining my damaged split ends and horrendous "roots." Instead of giving her the "real" answers to her questions, I just sort of shrugged and told her I've been busy and looking for a replacement for "my girl" Alayna. No good answer, really. I guess I am just lazy.

But, in my head, my real answer consisted of something resembling the following jumble of words:

"Well, soon after my last hair appointment in May, I got pregnant. And I was trying to stay away from dyeing my hair at that time, like a good pregnant woman should, until I miscarried in July, at which time I entered into a depression so deep that I could barely get myself out of bed in the morning, let alone think about maintaining any sort of hairstyle. After all, what the hell does it matter, in the overall scheme of things? I lost a child, but shoot, nevermind that, I better suck it up and get myself into the salon...a girl's gotta have her priorities? Right. And so, yeah, I'm just now, ya know, sort of getting back on my feet, realizing I have a body, mind, and soul for which only I am responsible. So...uh...yeah. Here I am, six months later. Capeesh?"

Too much? I have to smile to myself as I think of the possible blunt, truthful answer I could've given instead. I mean, what if I would've just spilled all of that out to the poor, unsuspecting, small-talking hairstylist? You have to admit, the look on her face would've been priceless.

I know. I'm so mean.

-Em

Drew here.

So, after a brief try at having a MySpace page, I obliterated it yesterday.  When the magical cancelling script asked me the reason for cancelling my account, I was able to adequately sum it up in one word "annoyed."  It all started when, somehow, my graduating high school class was able to find me (even though most information I put up was inaccurate and I never even put up school information).  It seems they had created an account to try and find people for the reunion this summer...yay (mucho sarcasmo here).  So, being the nice person I am, I accepted their friendship request and was now opened to a whole new world of annoyance.  People messaging me asking which Andrew I was (there were only like 5 or 6 in my class) and others just going straight to friend requests.  I haven't talked to any of these people in 10 years, sometimes longer (I was never a very social person in high school), so why do I want to talk to them now?  Well, I didn't.  I was able to get past most of that by just ignoring them since there were a few non high school people I wanted to talk to (the aubmeister and d-money for example) using this crazy MySpace thing.  However, I finally had to call it quits when I got a message from said high school class account asking me to put up a picture of me or more information about who I am because noone knows which Andrew I was.  I can stand people messaging me and trying to add me as friends or whatever, but when you try to dictate how MYspace should look, I'm going to throw a big FU your way and maybe even moon you.  So, that's what I did.  End of Story.  Thanks for riding the Drew train.

 

Ha! I laugh at that. Haha! Heh. Hrrrm....

More severe headaches, hot flashes, the WORST BITCHINESS POSSIBLE EVER IN LIFE I'M NOT KIDDING IT'S BAAAAD AND SEEMINGLY UNCONTROLLABLE, depressive lows. Double doses of this devil drug...ugh. Only two more days for this month... I can make it, right?

-Em

To know that I spent the better part of St. Patty's Day making Asian cuisine. That's right, Dad, no soda bread, no boiled dinner. Instead: spring rolls, Thai chicken salad, crab rangoons, fried rice, and egg rolls. My friend from work, Bolay, is a master of this type of cuisine (she herself is from Cambodia), and she had a big group of ladies over on Saturday to perform a cooking demonstration. She's one of those ladies who's finished as quick as you start paying attention (saying, "It's easy; just do this!"), and then you've completely missed what she's done. In years past, she's been the ring-leader for a group of us who have volunteered to cook and serve at the Holland Rescue Mission, and she has a background in catering.

Saturday, however, was unprecedented in that Bolay WROTE THINGS DOWN. That's right: she gave us recipes of all the dishes she demonstrated and got us involved with. And? She went slow (relatively speaking) enough for us to absorb what she was doing. And you know what? She's right. This type of cooking is pretty simple. It's just a change in mindset (and ingredients), but I love that it is fast and without the need to measure (blech, hate measuring, which is why I hate baking).

So, anyway, even though I was wearing green like the good Irish-turned-Dutch-and-Polish girl that I am, I was not partaking in the traditional Irish fare my parents so diligently prepare each year. But...sounds like they had a party that night! 

Yesterday, though still a bit cold, was a beautiful, clear, sunny day, and Drew and I decided to get out of the house for the better part of it, rather than staying home and doing the usual chores. I'll have to catch up on laundry, etc. tonight, but I have to say it was worth it--shirking our responsibilities and going out to play.

In other news, today is my second day of my double-dose Clomid, and so far I am relieved to report the only side-effect seems to be a dull headache. Cross your fingers for us this month and next. We've been researching the "next step" fertility treatments and adoption over the past few weeks, and it has become obvious to us that if Clomid doesn't help this month or next, it will be time to take a break from trying. We will need to save up more money for either more expensive treatments (that seem to provide a minimal ROI) or to begin the adoption tasks. *Sigh*. Having a child is expensive, I've heard, but we're not even expecting yet.

Wishing you all a good week,

-Em