Paint it white

Maybe it is the fumes from painting the kitchen cabinets a nice bright white today or the sun finally peeking out after almost two days of rain, but I feel hopeful today. 

I have been thinking about August 28. That is when we go to back to the doctor’s for the results of some recurrent miscarriage tests. I also want to get a prescription for Provera to induce my period. It will be at that point more than a month since the first and only period after miscarriage 2. And given it could take months for nature to take its course that means I need the period kickstart so that we can start (deep breath) to try again. 

On August 28 we will not have the karotyping back yet. We will have the blood test results for autoimmune issues and blood clotting issues, thyroid and maybe a few other things. And I know the tubes and uterus look ok, no wonky shapes or blockages, thanks to the infertility testing. So this should cover most of the most common causes of recurrent miscarriages with just a few laggards left.  I don’t feel like waiting any longer after to try again. Otherwise I will just be spin, spinning my wheels while the eggs are not getting any younger!

It’s funny (and a sign that I am feeling better if I think this is funny) but if I do have an issue that is triggering the miscarriages, a blood clotting disorder feels like one of the best options out of a sucky situation. I mean, aspirin and even daily injections while I am pregnant are well worth having a baby at the end of it. And it is a tangible diagnosis with a treatment that does improve our odds. And it seems to fit our two miscarriage scenarios…established heartbeat followed later by slow embryo growth rate and a heart that just stops beating. 

I have read (and the dr told us) that half of the time they never find a cause. And in my especially hopeful moments I think that maybe there is no cause to find. 

So we had better continue to paint the ugly old melamine cabinet doors white. And tackle painting the deck with, no doubt, even more toxic. obnoxious fumes. Because maybe in a month or two we will back to being pregnant I will have to put that paint brush down.

Hope & hooky

I played hooky on one of the recurrent miscarriage tests this week. 

I ran a cost/benefit ratio in my head, admittedly which was filling very full and overwhelmed at the time. I could not quite figure the value of this particular test which I would need to do twice, both times under the influence of pain killers. I was not sure what this would tell the dr that the numerous blood tests before and during my last two pregnancies. They had checked progesterone and my other hormone levels before and they were perfectly normal.

This was no blood test — no, this was inserting a catheter, and sucking out a piece of my uterus to examine the lining. The doctor warned me it would be painful. After my extremely experience with the HSG (where the dye is inserted to see if the tubes are open) which was described in the same understated way, I figured it was a whole of hurt. At the initial “suck” and with cramping later in the day. 

I am definitely torn. On Wednesday night when I made the decision to not go in on Thursday, I felt like I could not take anymore. I was facing a new large project at work along with the old large projects and was just sad, down and low. I didn’t want the pain, I didn’t want to quite possibly be impacted all day at a busy time at work. Didn’t want. Didn’t want. At the time it made a lot of sense.

She wanted to do the test twice at different times of my cycle. Now, it may be too late for one.

BUT…and here is the but I go through when I am in a more hopeful place. All the tests may not tell us anything…because maybe there is nothing to tell. The two miscarriages were bad luck and badder luck and the next time will work out just fine.

Reasons to be grateful while in a dark place

It’s official. I am depressed. I said it. Maybe admitting it is half the battle? 

I know this because the other night I asked my husband. We were walking the dog on a beautiful summer night where the air feels like a warm, scented bath. I know this because often I feel like I am going through the motions. Like trying to be just happy on a beautiful warm summer night with M and pup. 

My question to him opened the floodgates for him to tell me how he feels. That was a bit hard to hear but helpful. It’s only fair. He is frustrated and wants to help. He feels like I don’t enjoy the small things I used to and some of the other small everyday frustrations things seem to be magnified into big bad things. While I make it to work, I don’t spend as much time with my friends. I am more bitter and down, and he thinks it is getting worse not better. I make him feel bad in how I respond to him sometimes, especially about his work schedule. Too curt, too critical and too “whatever” (shoulder shrug)

Last night I did see two of my friends over dinner. Today, C and I emailed back and forth. She knows that I am struggling with the miscarriages, infertility and a stressful job that I need to keep the new roof over our heads. For different reasons, she has been untangling herself from her own vicious cycle. She said — that as cheesy as it sounds — it has helped her to keep a gratitude journal. So in honour of C and her kind, wise counsel and support. I am grateful:

- my dog always always greets me with a happy wag and jump no matter how unlovable I feel

- I live in Canada where at least some of the infertility expenses are paid (surprisingly none of the recurrent miscarriage testing is)

- hey, so I guess I need to add that my job pays well enough that I can afford the testing

- the young raccoons now apparently living part time on our shed have not discovered how delicious almost ripe tomatoes still -on- the- vine are

- That we CAN get pregnant with the help of clomid and other drugs because the more times we can get pregnant, the better our odds

- that the people who say “I know someone who had 4, 5, 10 miscarriages but still had a baby” mean well and are only trying to make us feel hopeful 

- that my legs still look great in high heel sandals and skirt (thanks for the genetics, mom! ) 

- that my husband has a great sperm count. Hey, I need the medical help to ovulate. At least I know when it’s time, his boys have the right stuff.

Let the recurrent miscarriage testing begin!

July 31. My appointment with my doctor to talk about recurrent miscarriage testing. I have been waiting for this day since I made the appointment five weeks ago (when July 31 seemed like an agonizing eternity. I wanted to know now!). 

But don’t believe the hype. We walked out of the clinic with not much more knowledge or optimism. When my husband and I left I felt confused, tired, frustrated and sad. Again, with the tears flowing as we got into the car and headed to my work. I could cry for a few seconds in front of him or at the folks at work. A somewhat easy choice. 

First, the waiting room. It was still cycle monitoring time, a completely new concept to me a year ago. Dozens of women on their own, with husbands or with their female partners waiting for the role call: blood tests, ultrasound and chat with the doctor. I didn’t mind the waiting — i have done it many times before. This time, and this may completely be my projection, the longing in the room felt palpable and powerful. Each women and each men was striving for the same thing; something so easy and natural to others; yet puzzlingly and painfully hard for us. They want a baby. First timers at the clinic. Couples taking the fertility step of IVF. And no doubt others like us who have come heartbreakingly close to have to start all other again. 

My doctor is a good one. Funny, empathetic. Busy and technical too though like others. She grabs my file and reads it on the fly, refreshing on my fertility history. I am a suit with a work life filled with meetings with time to prepare whether it is in depth or a quick scan. She holds medical decisions in her hands, steps that could determine our ability to be parents or not and yet she, as a doctor, has no time to review a file in advance. There are too many of us.

Quickly she ran through the potential causes and their corresponding tests. The sound of one (uterine biopsy) definitely had my legs tightly crossed. Lots of blood tests. Lots of medical words and a few X Files- sounding one (Protein S? Factor V? creepy). I have a headstart at least. I got the HSG or whatever the one-where-they-shoot-dye-in-your-tubes- to- see- if -they -are- blocked and a few other much less painful ones when they did the infertility testing last year. Oh my god, that one hurt. It felt like my tubes were bucking like a rodeo bull in protest. Today, it was quick discussion with the dr. Much more to come, I hope, with the results.

One question threw me for a loop and later in the car with my husband, I wondered if I made the right choice. I asked him to go through the very sound reasons why he and I made the right choice. My period started Saturday — she wanted to know if we wanted to start another cycle, start to try again, right at that very minute…What? I thought it would be too late for this cycle. I went with my instincts which told me, almost screamed at me, you are not ready yet. You can not go through the ups and downs without some mental cheerleading going on first (gimme a b…a…b..y). I wanted to be practical and first see if there was something we could fix or make better, and not go through this hell and pain again. She looked pleased and nodded. Some couples, she said, could not wait and wanted to try right away. 

Just minutes later my heart piped up. You are already obsessed, it said cheekily. Why not do something about it? Move these forward, try try to have that baby now. Maybe the two miscarriages were simply bad luck and badder luck. Is that way I felt dissatisfied? Or just one of the reasons? It’s not like she can read my palm and predict my fertility future. What magical medical advice was I expecting?

Now my parts will be probed, a piece of my uterus snipped. Blood taken, our karotypes analyzed. I am a collection of parts. Some of them used to be private, but are now getting used to being displayed on cool long metal tables, covered in sterile paper. Anonymous and capable people in labs across the city will test our parts and compile reports. 

I don’t want to be a collection of parts (mini temper tantrum in my head). Trying to have a baby is supposed to be fun, right? nudge nudge. Have lots of sex for a month, maybe two, maybe three and then you’re doing a happy dance with a positive pregnancy test in your hands. This is not fun. Trying is not fun. Sex, ok that can be fun. But not like this.

A month from now we will meet with the doctor again. She will try to take all the data on these parts and paint our roadmap. About fertility, miscarriage but also our life, our fortune. She said they only find a cause in 50% of the cases; the rest remain a mystery. Nonetheless, I will want to try again in the fall. We have gone through 4 cycles; and got pregnant twice. We are pros (with medical assistance) with this. Maybe by end of August she will have an answer for us. All the poked, probed and bled dry parts will be a faint, uncomfortable memory if we can have our baby in the future.