MissConceived

Monday, October 4, 2010

Walking Away From Numbers

First, thank you to the 3 people who nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award! I can't believe I have that many people interested enough to read this, never mind remember it! Your support is so appreciated. I plan on getting to that post Wednesday.

Today I'm still a little hooked on numbers.

Numbers never used to be such a part of my life. Before my m/c I was happily unaware of levels, sizes, doses, or weeks. Even my age never bothered me. I'm not the youngest SMC out there by far, but I figured I hit it pretty nicely in the center.

I used to go to my scans and appointments, report for the IUI as ordered, and breeze through the 2ww with little unease (I can admit it grew with each attempt, but it was not uncomfortable). I couldn't have told you my follie size or my FSH level, and what is estradiol anyway??

With the m/c came the first set of numbers. Waiting for the beta level to fall. Waiting for the tissue size to shrink. Waiting for the 200mg of misoprostol to work. Waiting to try again.

When the time finally came, my doctors started informing me of more numbers. I think they felt they were doing me a favour. Keeping me informed. Up to date.

I HATE it! The damn numbers bounce around and change, and they have no 'set' meaning. Good old Dr. Google has not yet given me a definitive answer to one of my questions. Which leads to more questions.

So I've decided to say ...well, I'm sure you can imagine a particularly colourful word that could go here, but... To heck with the numbers!

I am NOT a statistic. I am NOT a category. I am NOT quantifiable.

I am ME.

And ME is taking back a little control. I refuse to wonder 'if', and will only ponder 'when'. I refuse to search online for the meaning behind changing levels and varying doses. And I will not spend another 2ww worried about numbers I can not change.

The only numbers I care about will be attached to a due date.

(ok, and maybe the numbers on my student's tests. Which can be surprisingly low. And the lotto. But that is it!)

I just hope it has an '11' in it : )

Friday, October 1, 2010

Is it #3...or #7??

There was a wonderful suggestion to go back into my history a little to help me get comfortable with writing this blog.

And it's a great idea.

Except tonight, I'm a little pre-occupied with right now.

I keep mulling the same thought over and over in my head...

"Am I heading to try #3....or try #7?"

The doctors, they think of it as try #3. Or maybe more precisely, #3b. As far as they are concerned, I got pregnant on try #4. It doesn't matter what the ultimate outcome was, I got pregnant on try #4. So this is in fact an attempt at a second pregnancy, and therefore it will only be try #3.

My head, now it agrees with them. I really am heading to #3, and since it is only #3, there is no need to panic. To worry. To cry. It can still happen. It did before.

But my heart? My heart counts a little differently. My heart remembers six rounds of ups and downs, of pounding in hope and pounding in fear, of sinking and rising and falling again. My heart remembers one wonderful, amazing, life-changing result, and five disappointing, definitive, and increasingly painful 'no's'.

My heart has no doubt - I'm heading to #7.

I like my head's version better.

My wallet would too...!

Monday, September 27, 2010

Words From The Wise....

As in words from you.

I have no real words of wisdom to offer.

...Ok, maybe this one, though not sure it counts so much as wisdom but general common sense...

Never, under any circumstances, take a laxative and a sleeping pill on the same night.

The pretty much taps me out as far as wisdom is concerned : }

But I am willing to bet the rest of you do.

I started this blog because I thought perhaps it would be a way to share the part of my life that I currently keep private. I figured writing in this 'anonymous' world of the blogosphere would be a great chance to share, vent, and confess my daily doings to an audience of like-minded and supportive people.

I was correct about the audience anyway.

But the writing? The writing is proving very difficult. For some reason it just feels awkward.

And it's not like I don't have anything to say. It just makes me feel ...exposed...to write it.

(Isn't that a kicker!? After all the exams and pokes and prods and camera's and tubes and balloons and 'spreaders' we've had down there...and I feel exposed because of words!)

Keeping things private can be a rather hard habit to break. I think the common cure is alcohol. Lot's and LOT'S of alcohol. And much as I'd be willing to type tipsy (I became somewhat of an expert in university I am told!), I'm afraid alcohol just doesn't fit in well with the TTC program. Unless you are in high school. Then it seems to be the key ingredient.

So I ask all of you - how did you become the honest blogging women you are today? Did you struggle with the idea of sharing, or does it just come natural? Do you ever put up posts and then regret it (or remove them altogether..)? Do the comments and support more than make up for any discomfort?

What advice can you give a reluctant writer???

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Starting Again

It's pretty amazing what we will try when TTC.

I consider myself a pretty level-headed person. I used to silently laugh at the folks who read every article and analyzed every ingredient and yelled at the ocean before meditating in the sand. I had friends who seemed to go completely overboard when they were trying. No more caffeine. No loud music. Proper food. Vitamins and vitamins and vitamins. Heart rate below a certain level. Luke warm tubs and showers. The list goes on and on.

I vowed that I would never be one of 'those women'. I'd be sensible about things, but not 'over the top'.

Cut to the present....

The day starts off with a lovely luke warm shower. Breakfast includes fortified milk, folic acid, a multi-vitamin, and a few juicy pieces of pineapple. I take the stairs and walk the halls at a leisurely pace as I am carrying a rather heavy bag full of text books and I don't want to exert myself too hard. My after school tea is decaf (and therefore flavourless). And I skipped volleyball practice to attend my second acupuncture appointment.

All I can say is, if you have a spare sand bucket, you're welcome to join me...the yelling commences at sunset : )

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Being Seen

I had different words here a while ago.

I put them 'out there', thinking it would make me feel better.

It didn't.

Why?

They weren't who I WANT to be.

They were definitely who I am. Sadly. But not who I want to be.

I didn't like the image they painted.

The nice thing about this space is we can simply erase what we don't like. We can highlight, hit delete, and tada! Gone. A blank space, ready for a rewrite.

Wouldn't it be nice if life worked that way as well?

I will leave some of that post here. Because there are some things in our lives that are too boldy written to simply wipe away.

It's been 4 months since that awful ultrasound. The date jumps out at me every month, without my permission or intent. It simply hits me.

And I can accept that. Why wouldn't it stand out in my mind?

What I find hard to accept?

No one else has noticed.

That doesn't exactly paint an ideal picture either, but it's an honest one. It's a refrain I've read often in the blogs, a common thread among singles and couples alike.

No one else noticed.

Worse, I'm sure that has been me on occasion. I'm sure I have been the one to walk blindly forward while someone I care about stumbled a little behind. I didn't mean to. I would have stopped to help, if I'd been aware. I just didn't see.

Perhaps this is karma. Perhaps just bad luck. Perhaps a mere fact of life.

Whatever it is...

I still wish someone had noticed.

Monday, September 6, 2010

How did I get here?

How did I get here? Skulking around on SMC forums, reading IF blogs at midnight, posting anonymous comments with a shaking hand...peeking out at life while trying to stay hidden.

Just like my little friend here.

Where did this person come from? How did it come to this?

I'm not ashamed of the decisions I have made. I don't think I have failed in life because this is my current path. I don't feel embarrassed to walk into the fertility clinic.

But I don't exactly walk in with head held high either. I can admit to even moving a ring to the 'proper' finger on occasion, so as strangers may think though I am alone, I'm not doing this by myself.

Trying to hide in plain site.

Now THAT, I have always done well. I'm a pretty private person. Really private. Ok, Fort Knox is more accessible than I am. I have friends, and I share in their lives, but the details of my own...those are under lock and key. So not surprising that when I decided to investigate becoming a single parent, I told no one. Four years of sneaking around. Because it took FOUR YEARS to decide to do this. Telling friends I had 'very early morning meetings' on scan days. Planning exams and procedures around work breaks and holidays. Plainly busy, but hiding with what.

I, rather incredibly, thought the deciding would be the hardest part. After that it was really just a matter of a vial of swimmers, a few minutes of discomfort, a little luck with timing, and voila! Done deal.

Yeah. I really was that woman.

The voila! happened on my fourth IUI. Heaven! I kept my quiet secret, determined to last 12 weeks because if I spoke it out loud...well, I am sure you are familiar with the theory. Warding off evil and such. Keep IT away, at all costs.

But sometimes, IT finds you. IT sneaks in at 11 weeks, and you find yourself staring into space while an U/S tech tries to gently tell you she is 100% positive the heartbeat you have watched in wonder on four different dates, is gone.

That is when this started. This peeking and seeking. This sudden need to feel...less alone. To connect and share. To tell SOMEONE about my broken heart and aching soul. As my miscarriage dragged on, through dose after dose after dose of misoprostol and finally surgery 10 weeks later, that need grew.

It got so bad I actually told a few friends. And they have tried. God knows they have tried. And I love them for it. But they just don't get it. They don't say the things you woman say to each other in this blogosphere. They see the hurt, but they don't understand it (God willing they never do). They listen to the story, but they haven't lived it (again, can I get an Amen?).

And then I found you. All of you wonderful, strong, fighting women, who are stalking this path (we are no longer strolling are we?? We are stalking and stomping and marching with all we have) ahead, beside, and behind me.

I'm tired of keeping my hood up and ear phones in, eyes facing front while I walk among you, yet separate from you.

I need to count. I need to be heard.

It may not be where I want to be.

But dammit. I'm here.