Therapy

So yesterday was my first appointment with the new therapist, hereafter known as Dr. K.

Dr. K was selected from a list provided by Dr. B, and becuase we played phone tag and because of appointment and work conflicts, we weren't able to meet before yesterday. I was nervous because, well, it is difficult to open up to a total stranger and because I feel so much better these days, it's hard to know what goals I have for therapy.

Admittedly, my eyes were on the future - I am anticipating going off the anti-depressants in the first trimester of pregnancy and the thought scares the shit out of me. Because if you've been around for awhile, you'll remember that I was totally and utterly freaked out while pregnant with Gabriel. And lemme tell you - that's not going to get any better with the next one. Some things are already better, like the tests and the monitoring that we are going to be doing. So getting a therapist who can help me manage that anxiety seemed important (apart from the fact that Dr. B required it).

I liked her. It was ok, you know? I told her the whole story, and she was suitably and predictably horrified. And then we talked about our future plans and the plans I have with Dr. B for managing a future pregnancy and the tests we are doing.

What I didn't realize is that Dr. K's sub-specialty is in helping women with previous pregnancy loss. And she believes in taking an active role in care management and in communicating with the other caregivers. And has been active in the midwifery groups in town. So, really? She's pretty perfect for me. She gets where I am coming from, she gets why some of the changes are hard for me. She is all about working with the doctor and has in fact worked with my doctor and just about all of the MFM's I could possibly see.

Her program for me is going to be pretty broad-based. She'll help me work off the meds gradually and deal with the anxiety and help me go through more working through the trauma of Gabriel's birth. Physical stuff like walking and yoga, diet and sleep. She wants to help me learn a lot of coping techniques for anxiety and also for focusing on shutting out the negative possibilities. On getting me as ready as I can be for the next pregnancy. She's pleased with the proactive attitude Dr. B has and with how we are going ahead and, like Dr. B, is positive we can do this.

I'm all on board for that, believe you me.

I'll see her again next week, to get started. Bring it on.

In other news? Ty, Dr. B's nurse, called and Dr. B is insistent that we get the SHG done asap, and so has offered to have the infertility specialist do the procedure, as she will be out of town, if I so desired. Hell yeah. I like Dr. B a lot, but I am not yet so attached that I need her to be the one doing it. They can collaborate and if it means we get moving sooner, awesome. I am growing to like Dr. B more and more. So we are currently scheduled for first thing in the morning, Dec. 8 (but I'm to call if my cycle is wildly different than projected). All of this feels like forward movement, like positive changes. Which is so very welcome right now.

My cat died today.

Prince was almost 18 years old and had been getting thinner and weaker the last few weeks. We knew the end was coming, because he eating less and less everyday and was far more willing to be held and cossetted as we liked than was his norm. He did not seem to be in any pain, but I've known it was probably coming.

Still, it hit me very hard when DH went upstairs this evening after we got home and I realized there was no mewling greeting him. Sure enough, when I asked, he confirmed that he was gone. It appears that he fell asleep and passed quietly and peacefully.

He lived a very long life and a pretty good life. He was insistent, demanding, smart, condescending, loud and intuitively sweet.

I owned him from the time he was a kitten; and I am so very sad right now. I just ache.

Lovely afternoon.

I had a wonderful massage today, with a therapist whose hands are strong and magical. For once, I was perfectly relaxed and walked out feeling good about my body and not at all sore - an amazing feat. That woman is magnificent.

And then I met my friend A for tea. I ordered a lovely, fragant large pot of Earl Grey and Lavender. And a chocolate chip cookie. Both quite good. I was pleased to see A walk with, her ten week old son in her arms.

Seeing him was no problem. I had had a bad moment on the way there, fretting a bit over whether she would want me to hold him or not and whether I wanted to hold him or not. Sometime ago I remember telling myself I would never hold another baby until I was holding my own in my arms again. But I saw him and cooed over him a bit and she asked if I wouldn't mind holding him as she removed her sweater because it was so warm. And I felt no hesitation.

And my goodness, was he wonderful. Small, but squirmy and curious about all the sights, smells and sounds around us, big blue eyes taking everything in. He grabbed my hair and snuggled into my neck and smelled wonderfully like a baby. Then he oblingingly fell asleep, back in her arms, and slept the remainder of the time we were there. I held him again briefly as she gathered all her stuff together and it was so nice.

And then home again, to a freshly vacuumed house and the dryer going with a load of clothes, which my husband has sweetly taken care of.

So nice.

A nice day

We met with our financial planner today. The good news is that we are meeting our goals in terms of slowly building our cash reserves, which is his big focus for us now that we have some form of life insurance. In fact, I think between our three accounts, we are actually half way to our final goal for cash reserves, which, a year ago, was laughable in its enormity (of course our credit card debt is as high as it previously was, if not higher . . . but I'm focusing on the positive). It's slow progress, but we are moving towards where he feels we should be, and once there, we can begin to move toward actual Adult Things like retirement funds and so on. Maybe someday, we'll even pay it off. Hey, it's not that funny.

He, too, shares dreams that we will someday win the lottery. I told him I'm trying hard for all of us. We then joked about who would take whose private jet to meet where and decided on meeting halfway between Houston and San Antonio, a luxurious waste of jet fuel and money and a good joke. He asked when we would try to conceive again and we shrugged and said, "Maybe in the new year. We don't know the timing for sure, only that we are going to try again."

Then we washed Grover at a car wash because he looked so disreputable. We didn't want to waste the energy to do it ourselves, though it would have been less expensive and a better job - it's predicted to rain this next week. The car seemed to appreciate the attention and I have vowed to clean it out and vaccuum it tonight or tomorrow.

Then DH got a phone call from his boss, a bad call. The person who was supposed to have been there today didn't show up for their shift. No notice, no reason why. The second time in as many weeks this has happened. Not his fault, but nevertheless frustrating. And unfortunate, as he then had to go in to work, which is where he is now.

I drove him and then stopped at the shopping center on my way home. I went into Borders, wondering if they had Elizabeth McCracken's book about her stillbirth and subsequent pregnancy (An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination is the title). Today was a book drive for Blue Santa - the local police department's organization of holiday gifts for underprivileged children. Borders was participating - one could drop off gently used children's books or (better yet, in their opinion) purchase new children's books to donate and get a coupon of some kind. I immediately strode back to the children's section and found the Award Winning books - mostly Newbury winners, books that formed the background of my childhood, that I intended to fill shelves with for our children. I chose three that I loved, wondered if they were perhaps not diverse enough, but shrugged and carried them upstairs, where a kind older lady helped me find the single copy of the McCracken book. I went back downstairs and checked out and let the cashier (a young man in his early 20's) know I was donating the three children's books.

He was wide-eyed and grateful and as I struggled to pull my credit card out of its slot in my wallet, I shrugged and smiled and said what had been motivating me all along, "Oh, it's nothing. We lost our son about three months ago and I love books. We're doing a few things in his honor for the holidays, so this is a natural one. I'm glad I stopped in today."

His mouth fell open and he said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I was now snapping my wallet closed and was matter of fact and dry eyed and I shrugged again, smile still in place. "Thank you."

He rung up my purchase and there was a moment of silence where he was contemplating me, this frumpy, fat woman in front of him who casually made conversation with clerks about her dead son, to whom buying a few books for kids she'd never meet was perfectly natural. "I really don't know what to say," he said. "I'm really, really sorry for your loss. Thank you for the books." He returned my credit card and I nudged the McCracken book back towards me. "I hope you have a nice holiday."

I smiled again and said, "Thank you. I will. I hope you do as well." And I slid my card into my wallet and my wallet into my purse and walked out with my book and I smiled, because I could feel Gabriel smiling near me. He may never read The Westing Game, but some other child will, and perhaps they will be as intrigued as I was once.

Then I bought lunch - chicken pesto pasta - and came home and read the book from cover to cover, alternately laughing out loud and crying because I know the pain she writes of so clearly and cogently. Beautiful book, a wonderful tribute to her son and a balm to my soul, to have another person's words bring out again the feelings of my heart.

All in all, not a bad day.

And tonight, I get laid.

Not bad at all.

Dual Nature

Sometimes I feel as if I'm living a completely fractured existence. Don't get me wrong - on the whole, overall, I'm in a far better place than I was a month ago, let alone two months ago. I feel, generally, much more peaceful and calm and content with life.

Which makes it all the more surprising when a thought leaps up, seemingly out of nowhere and reminds me of my membership in the Dead Baby Club. It's especially odd because often it takes me awhile to realize just how fractured it all is.

An example:

DH and I were discussing recently whether or not we wanted to try to conceive before the New Year (our original plans) in light of Dr. B's statements that we could try as soon as the tests were complete (this was obviously before yesterday's news). As we talked, we discussed the advantages and disadvantages to trying again so quickly. And my thoughts went sort of like this:

Well, the doctor isn't going to lead us astray. If she says it is ok to go ahead, even before four - six months have elapsed, then we should be able to trust that. And of course, we'll have the tests done, and that's good as well. Of course, if I lost more weight, then when we lose the next one, I won't have to wonder if being obese contributed to the loss.

Another conversation that took place inside my head as some friends and I were discussing one friend's cousin. This cousin recently found out she is carrying a second girl and not the boy they wanted. She has taken up dangerous behaviors like smoking and drinking because she says she doesn't care about this baby anymore. There are two parts to this discussion - one, the talk about desiring one sex over another and feeling disappointment if the sex you get is not the sex you hoped for and two, this person's specific reactions, including dangerous behavior and willful endangerment of her child. My thoughts went like this:

I completely understand being disappointed to some extent by finding out the sex of the baby, if you have a preference or felt strongly. By the time we knew Gabe was a boy, I was excited, but when I first heard that he might be a boy, I was totally deflated because I'd been so sure he was a girl. So I definitely understand the disappointment. On the other hand, I have absolutely zero preference now. There are reasons I want a son - I feel that I was cheated out of raising mine and I crave that experience so deeply now that my previous fears of raising a boy are completely and utterly ridiculous and my reasons for wanting a girl seem so superficial. In fact, the only reason I'd want a girl at all is to hope it would feel more reassuring and like a fresh start, and because a girl would be less likely to live in the shadow of her dead older baby brother.

Also - these people getting so freaking worked up and disappointed? I mean, I get it and all, but for fuck's sake. You have a healthy, living child. Having a boy or girl when you wanted the other is hardly a tragedy. You want tragedy? Try holding your baby in one hand, because they can fit, and get back to me. You have no idea how close to real tragedy and insanity you walk everyday, no idea how close to the edge you really are. Try and show a little fucking gratitude.

And it just flies through my head and I find myself shocked, because I really do understand the disappointment and the necessity for adjustment. And because I don't think that you truly get to make those kinds of comparisons and judgments. I never realized that that sort of thought was buried in me with Gabriel until it flew through as calm as any other thought.

And when we talk about ttc? And I think about another baby? These are actual thoughts, word for word that I've had and that I've said to my husband and only later though "Er, that's probably not normal. I should probably bring this up with the therapist next week." Thoughts like these:

"There is no sense in waiting on the shg. I mean, of course, it would be good to know for certain there are no structural anomalies, or scar tissues or something that could cause implantation in a funky spot. But really? That's just the illusion of control. Whatever is going to happen with the next pregnancy will happen, whether I have the shg beforehand or not. If it's not a structural thing resulting in previa, bleeding, IUGR, it'll probably be a cord accident or a high blood pressure issue or something totally random during delivery that takes the next one. Why pretend we have any control? Might as well give it a shot, because it's not like waiting does anything other than get our hopes up."

"When we get pregnant again, I need to make sure to keep one of the cameras in my purse with spare batteries at all times. That way, when we lose the next one, we'll know for certain that we can get pictures. Maybe I should knit a small hat or something, so we don't have to use hats that are too big next time. Oh, I should be sure to request handprints. I'm sad we don't have Gabriel's handprints."

"Will we try and keep the sex a surprise next time? I really liked that, but no one will believe that we don't know it, with fifty million ultrasounds. And it would be better for them to get to know that baby in case it dies. Because I don't think Gabriel is real to most people at all. They didn't know him, didn't hear his heartbeat like we did - oh, yes, we'll need more doppler gel, we liked listening to Gabe's heart and will want to do that again - didn't see his pictures, didn't know he was a boy or what his name was. I liked the idea of a surprise, but hell, at this point, a living baby we get to take home would be a surprise."

"I never fully understood people who played fast and loose with the 'dead baby card' and argued in favor of a bunch of unnecessary medical interventions (that are proven in multiple studies to be unhelpful for normal mothers) that often led to c-section to protect themselves. But if Dr. B wants me to schedule a c-section the day after a viable heartbeat, I'll seriously consider it."

And yet, at the same time, I am generally feeling positive. I feel good about our chances for another pregnancy, I feel good about the monitoring we'll be receiving, I feel good about this doctor, I feel good about this hospital, I feel like we have a good shot at a good outcome.

That hopefulness exists side by side with this sense of fatality and irreversibly bad outcome, and they both feel completely natural to me. As natural as breathing or considering the Spurs odds of beating the Mavs without Tony and Tim (I bet on them to win, and they did. In fact they exceeded my expectations for point difference). It's like I completely accept that there are dual natures warring withing me and that it is how one lives one's life After. It's so bizarre to actually contemplate, but there you are. They fit so neatly in there together I barely notice anymore.

No SHG this cycle

It took two phone calls (from me) before I finally got the word that in fact they were unable to schedule the necessary equipment during the window when the test has to be performed.

I was both angry and really bummed out. Dr. B said that we could start ttc as soon as these tests were done (provided they didn't reveal something major). We are ready to start again. I think it is necessary for our healing to start again, to show that faith again, and certainly for us to reconnect again.

But since there is no shg, that means that trying to conceive is not a good idea. While I really don't think there is a structural issue (or we wouldn't have gotten so far with Gabriel without something showing up in there), we can't say for certain without doing the test.

And now that is going to be pushed back to December, and the nurse mentioned that if we were really looking at mid-December, the doctor would be out of town. Which would mean January. And if there is something found that requires attention - even more time.

The delays are pretty frustrating. Particularly when we don't think there is anything structurally wrong. But . . . neither are we comfortable going ahead when the doctor is advising that we do these tests first. The blood testing is done and I think that is the point at which we are most likely to find a culprit and that is done.

It's a difficult place to be. We want to move forward. I know that I will not feel complete until I have a living child in my arms. I likewise know that a living child will not replace Gabriel or be Gabriel or make it ok that Gabriel is dead. So it's not like trying to conceive is a way of avoiding dealing with his death. But it was a difficult decision to make and a hard place to reach, knowing what lies ahead of us. We know it will be a difficult road emotionally and probably physically and we know there is absolutely zero guarantee of an outcome that we hope for. But we have decided that we are going ahead anyway and to have reached that place mentally and be told that we are so close to being able to move forward, to getting mentally ready and psyched up for this and then having to stop and reconsider. . .

"If 'twere to be done, then it is best done quickly." I don't want to lose my nerve or leave time for lots of questions that we'll never have an answer to because we can't see the future. It's a cliff we have to jump off and hope the bungee cord doesn't fail and the longer we wait, the harder it starts to look and the more room you leave for fear to paralyze you. Frustrating is the word I continue to return to.

I really wanted this to happen. I wanted it to be done and to be beyond it and not have another test hanging over us with another questionmark. But, like Gabriel's death, it is the hand I've been dealt, so that is the hand I'll play.

Final Tally

A mere 15 vials of blood, requiring 5 sticks. I spent an extra hour+ before they began, which means I am going to be late to work and I feel tired and grouchy.

But all but one test is completed (on my end). I may have to return for that one, there was confusion about it so they left it off the list as they could not get in touch with Dr. B.

I am eating a chicken salad sandwich as I type. The glucola wasn't terrible, but the combined lack of food/drink for 12+ hours and the sugar gave me a bit of vague nausea. Now to sit and wait. Some results by Thursday, others by next week from what they said.

I'm just glad that part is done and that my husband awesomely made terrific chicken salad last night and it was a short hop back to my house to eat it.