Monday, February 28, 2011

Fairness.

I know, I know, I know. I know deep down and intimately that life is not fair. That there is no guarantee of reward for hard work, and that despite what my mother tried to teach us, there is nothing that guarantees consequences for irresponsible actions. I've known this for a long time, and I was slapped around by it when Gabe died and yet I still find myself clinging to the idea that the universe is an essentially fair place.

It's bullshit.

The universe is not fair, it's random. It's not caring or punishing or judging or loving. It simply is. In all its wonder and mystery and beauty and fragility. There is no fair.

I was reminded today, again, when my friend sent a frantic email asking for thoughts and prayers for her friend (whom I do not know). It's not my place to lay out their story, but I can tell you it ended in utter tragedy of the most senseless and least comprehensible kind. The kind that makes me cling to my husband and weep with gratitude that though we've lost our son, we have each other, and the chance to hold him and love him for a few hours.

It makes me angry, though I don't know why. A lingering belief that there is a consciousness behind the universe, a god that could stop it all and prevent senseless tragedy if he or she only would do, maybe. Anger at the utter impotence and powerlessness to be of any use to these people I don't know or to my friend. I can't even offer to watch her baby while she helps them - we're separated by multiple states.

Maybe it's hormones; the spotting is really bleeding and has turned red. I am weepy without being able to pinpoint why. I dreamed last night I was stabbed over and over and left for dead - the vivid sort of dream I rarely have any longer (to be fair, the other really vivid part was a long interview about Oliver Phelps curly-haired girlfriend Jessika and how much he loves her - I remember that very well, being befuddled by it in the dream as I watched the interview).

I don't know. I am restless tonight, having trouble settling to any task. I want to write - the words are hovering at my fingertips, but they are brittle and hard. Maybe this is the right time to write a brittle piece, but I can't bend my mind to it. I could work; God knows that today was less than productive - lots of meetings and talking. I'm sick of it, just need to wait to see what will be next. Speculating does me no favors.

Today the song that attracts me Fade Away by Oasis. The Warchild version or Noel Gallagher's live version. I can't decide whether I feel uplifted by it or depressed. The tune is catchy enough, the words go either way:

When I was young
I thought I had my own key
I knew exactly what I wanted to be
Now I'm sure
You've boarded up every door

Lived in a bubble
Days were never ending
Was not concerned
About what life was sending
Fantasy was real
Now I know much
About the way I feel

I'll paint you the picture
'Cause I don't think you live round here no more
I've never even seen
The key to the door
We only get what we will settle for

While we're living
The dreams we have as children
Fade away
Fade away
While we're living
The dreams we have as children
Fade away
While we're living
The dreams we have as children
Fade away
While we're living
The dreams we have as children
Fade away, away, away
They fade away, away, away

Now my life has turned
Another corner
I think it's only best
That I should warn you
Dream it while you can
Maybe someday
I'll make you understand

I'll paint you the picture
'Cause I don't think you live round here no more
I've never even seen
The key to the door
We only get what we will settle for

While we're living
The dreams we have as children
Fade away
While we're living
The dreams we have as children
Fade away
While we're living
The dreams we have as children
Fade away
While we're living
The dreams we have as children
Fade away, away, away
They fade away, away, away
They fade away, away, away
Fade away, away, away


I don't know. I just . . . don't know. Not a good night, I guess.

Why should I expect fairness at this point? I don't understand it, but there is this instinctive reaction to revert to deservedness and worth and none of it matters. Even if there was some sort of cosmic meritocracy, what makes anyone more or less deserving of tragedy? I could say why me, why me, why me - but as others have pointed out - why not me? Why not these people? Or why anyone?

I'm not drinking - though it sounds bloody fucking marvelous as an idea - and certainly I can't continue this train of thought without a few drinks. Not that I'll reach a conclusion at that point, but maybe it would make more sense then.

I wish . . . I dunno. That bad things didn't happen to people? How juvenile. That bad things only happened to bad people? Even worse. That senseless tragedy didn't occur? Bah. Without it, we would never appreciate the moments of beauty. I wish it didn't hurt so much, I guess, which is equally infantile. I wish I could still believe that maybe there was some greater meaning. It would be a lot more comfortable than this current state.

It's just . . . unfair. I cannot conceive of another word. The whole thing is unfathomable.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Aha.

Here's the reason I can't make up my mind:

I'm afraid of having to think about fertility treatments.

I know a lot about them, I think they are fantastic, and I'm utterly unwilling to go there. Not because I have any objection, or because my husband does, not even because of the money since we get zero insurance coverage of fertility medications or treatments.

Because that makes things so much harder for us to think about it.

Right now, we're afraid of a potential subsequent pregnancy, because we know what the best case scenario entails: visits every other week and invasive monitoring if all is well, multiple doctors, surgery around 13 weeks, weekly injections, restricted activity and early birth likely including pitocin induction. And that's if things are smooth sailing.

The worst case, of course, includes another death in a colorful variety of ways.

There are times I question why we are ttc or would want to given the above. Whether it's not better for us to stop this madness and simply look towards a gestational surrogate or look more closely at adoption, though it is far from our preferred option. (I don't mean to suggest either of us have anything against adoption. It's still in the mix. It's just that at this point, where we are, we feel like it's not the best suited choice for us. That may change in a couple of years - time alone, I think, may have us in a different place.)

I think most people who ttc after a loss face this question at some point. I'm not unique here.

But then when you take all that and heap infertility or the need for assistance on top of it. . . where is the line? Financially, what makes sense to try? Certainly an IUI for a couple thousand dollars makes more financial sense than skipping that and jumping straight to a surrogate - if it works. IVF seems ludicrously out of the question - if we get to that point, we may as well go ahead and find a way to come up with another $40K for the surrogate and be far more certain (though never guaranteed) about our outcome. What is the point of heartbreak and pain dragging on (and testing and doctor visits) when we can just stop now and start saving up (though really, it wouldn't be saving up for awhile yet)?

It's not a need to have our own biologic children - though I would mourn that if it were not to be. It's more that we are currently following the option that seems less risky - by a small, very small, margin. And if you take away that small margin by a determination that we need help to get pregnant too. . . I'm no longer sure where we stand. And I am very sure that I don't want to have to make those decisions.

The realization of the core of my distress over the continued spotting and the fear that my hormones are completely fucked up, over the reluctance I feel in deciding about ttc is nice to discover. But not particularly comforting in any way.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Sweet Relief

My coworker got the job. She's now my boss. Our big head boss stepped in at the very end of the day after everyone else had left to tell her. The official offer comes tomorrow, but he said he wanted her to sleep more easily tonight. While I felt 90% sure she would get it, it is such a relief to know she's got it. I like her, and I think she's going to be terrific. She's good to my departments, she trusts me and this is about the best news possible.

Mostly, to turn it back to me (aren't I the focus here?!), my job is now a lot more secure. There is a strong possibility that my departments will be negative at the end of the year, mostly for reasons beyond my control. She's got the backstory, she's had a front row for what I've been doing, she'll protect me. And she's in process of reclassing me, so that's a relief, since my additional compensation is over March 1. There is talk that I may take over another department. Maybe not. Very speculative. I just know there are a lot of problems right now with a department, and I know that that is one of the potential solutions. Could be good, could send me to the loony bin. . .

At the least, I feel a little more confident about ttc if we go that route, it's a bit of a relief all around.

* * * * *

In other news, after a lot of contemplation, I decided to do a write up about Gabriel for our March for Babies campaign. I talked it over with DH at length, about my hesitation, talked more with the communications director about what she was looking for in it, and specifics. I decided to write it and sleep on it a couple of nights.

I did write it. I thought for a long time about what I wanted to say, and how to do it. I wanted to leave out the medical issues, and I wanted to be clear that our experience was not that of NICU parents. I wanted to make the point that prematurity still happens, that death still happens and that even though MoD does amazing work and many of us are fortunate not to know the dark sides of prematurity - they are still there. And what happens when your child dies is staggering in the enormity and that it's not easy or simple. And I wanted to say all of that with the right balance of peace and pain, morbidity and optimism, encouragement without manipulation. In 500 words. Y'all, that might have been the harder part.

But I wrote it, got some feedback, and thought about it for awhile. In the end, I decided I was comfortable with it. It was honest without being raw, and it gave a lot of information that I had to think about sharing. Still, I reached a place of peace with it. I gave it to the communications director and she's very happy with it, very eager to proceed. She thinks that sharing his story will really inspire people to participate in March for Babies and that is a good thing. Anything good that comes from Gabe's short life brings us a small measure of peace and a pride beyond what I could have imagined.

So that too is a relief.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Conflict of interests

So. The looming question has become 'what the hell are we doing?' - and the answer is a very simple 'I've no idea.'

Are we ttc? Well, I have gone back to using the CBEFM for the amount of good it's done (none). I am going back onto Vitex, but that generally takes 3-6 months to show any real improvement. We certainly have begun having more regular unprotected sex, but it's not been with purpose or pattern.

And on the other side, I've been terrible about remembering my vitamins on a daily basis. Since I stopped taking the anti-depressant, I simple forget to take the prenatal and vit b series. If I start the Vitex more regularly again, it will probably help. And while I've been monitoring my cycles, I've not gotten strong lh surges or fading estrogen lines on my monitor sticks, so I'm not sure what's going on.

I'm still far too fat and still pretty stressed out at work. And given the conversations floating about, I'm not sure I see that stress ending anytime in the near future. It's concerning, a little. Pregnancy is stressful enough for me without the work pressure added. But then, maybe the two things will allow me a sort of hyper focus. Who knows? I asked my supervisor and hopefully soon to be boss whether I would be doing this job in a year and was told "I don't know." Not in the sense that I'm on the RIF list - I was told they definitely see me there, just not in what capacity.

See, the centralization will take what currently is a number of department administrators (generally one to a department, though through attrition, several of is have more than 1 department) and group them roughly into 4 groups, with a senior administrator and 1-2 assistant administrators. There is talk that I would be up for consideration for one of the senior positions despite only being in charge of a department for oh, six and a half months. The thing is - I get this grouping (which is a weird, non-standard group with lots of extra pieces). I work well with them and I'm beginning to understand their accounts and issues. It could be a good fit. I'd like that to happen, honestly. But the stress involved would be high. I dunno. Some days I'm all for it, and other days I think I'm insane.

But as it's all out of my control now, I'm trying not to worry about it. None of it will matter if my colleague doesn't get our boss's old job. She's one of the final three candidates, and her final interview is this week. My fingers are crossed, making this difficult to type, really.

But back to the ttc. . . I'm not sure I can do it without worrying over it. I'm not sure we can do a laid back sort of see what happens approach. Kind of tried it this cycle - didn't push for sex on Friday or Saturday, despite feeling what I thought might be O pain (the sticks were fading from a peak-y looking stick on Thursday). If it was ovulation (and there are plenty of reasons to wonder at this point, though temps will tell the tale). Now I'm feeling a little anxiety about it all.

The last thing I need is more anxiety, certainly. It's weird to think that if Gabe were alive this is about the timeframe we'd planned on to try and conceive his sibling. I do feel some pressure - self-produced as it may be - because of my age, because we started trying to conceive back in 2008, making this summer the fourth time around. I'm feeling like testing is around the corner and while I think it pretty much all comes back to my weight, I don't know. And don't much want to at the moment. There are times I think - life's not so bad. Why force it? If we're meant to have living children, it will happen.

There are other times I think bleaker thoughts, that our chances died with our son and that it won't happen for us. Sometimes I think that we're meant to sit tight for the next few years, work on our finances and home and jobs and something else will fall into place.

Then there are times I see a baby and ache so badly I have to bite my lip to stop the howl that wants to erupt. Then there are times I see my husband pick up our animals and croon softly to them and my heart breaks, thinking it should be our son. There are times he goes out with the boys and comes home exhausted from the tales of night-feedings and now toddler antics that fill the conversation, and I can see on his face that he's thinking we should have had a child so long ago; we were the first to try to conceive amongst our friends.

I look at our crib - the best model for the best price when we bought it; now recalled because of the dangerous drop side. I look at the expiration date on the carseat and sigh because I don't think we'll use it at all before it passes the recommended safety-use date. I look in the mirror with disgust for my body and think of the time that undoing a decade of weight gain will take. I look at our bank account and wonder if we'll ever be where we hope to be.

And I wonder what we're doing, if non-decision and non-prevention will work for us, whatever work means. I wish someone to take the decision out of my hands, because I fear both paths. It seems there is no right answer. Emotion battles with logic battles with fear battles with desire battles with reasoning. Pros and cons. I can make a list, but how to weight it? How to balance age with finances? How to balance weight with longing?

Conflicted is the most convenient definition, but perhaps deceptive in its simplicity.

Monday, February 14, 2011

All you need is love

Well, it was a mostly shit day. Won't go into it all, it's not worth it. The kickoff meeting for March for Babies wiped the floor with me. I was flat out avoiding one of my departments today. Still not finished with a report that should have been delivered, oh, a month ago.

My theme song for the week is Oasis' "The Importance of Being Idle" (btw, if you've never seen the video, check it out, utter brilliance featuring Rhys Ifans. I played it at least 4 times today when I thought I was going to explode).

But, you know what? Shit day and all, I'm quite a lucky gal, because you know what? I am loved. And I love. My husband just beamed at me from the couch. The cats have curled up with me. The dog leapt on me when I got home. My parents called, my brother messaged me. . .

All you need is love. I hope, as Valentine's Day - an arbitrary celebration of love - closes, you are as lucky and blessed as me, to be loved.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Unlocking the Secrets

The last couple of days have left me a bundle of raw and exposed nerve endings, with a number of things hitting them and sending a jangling shot through my being.

It started with a request from my colleague, who may become my boss if all goes well. She needed a volunteer for our division to be the designated coordinator for March of Dimes. My workplace hosts one of the biggest walks in the nation, and there is a lot of tie-in and work to make it happen and so they require a volunteer from every division.

She asked me for multiple reasons; she knows that I support MoD, that we donate in Gabriel's name every year, that I've offered to do whatever I can to assist her during the transition and to help her look good to get the job permanently. I hesitated, but ultimately agreed, though I didn't much want to. In the course of this, I ended up sitting down briefly with our division communications coordinator, who is new. When she thanked me for helping, I told her that I supported MoD in my son's name, because he was born prematurely and died shortly after his birth.

She didn't know. Which is fine. I never said. A year ago, it would have fallen out of my mouth in the firs five minutes. Now . . . I don't hide the fact - I wear jewelry with his name on it, his name is at my desk, his footprints and birthdate posted in plain view when you walk into my office. But it's not how I choose to identify myself at work. What ripped open a wound was not telling her the story - I do it so often that I've got the relevant details worked out into a kind of 3 minute story. I know even how to phrase it and what inflections to use to best disarm people and give them a polite out from the conversation or the chance to ask more if they life. What set me on edge was when she immediately seized on the idea of promoting MoD participation by using my story.

I get it - it humanizes prematurity, it highlights that loss still happens in this day and age, it reminds people that those we see regularly are as affected by premature birth and sometimes death as Those People To Whom Such Things Happen Elsewhere.

But oh. OH! did it cut me open. I'm still not sure I fully understand it. Part of it was the way she approached it, which was just . . . tone-deaf. Part of it was a natural revulsion to the feeling of emotional blackmail I was beginning to have. Part of it was the instinctive protection of Gabriel, of his story, of anything related to him, when we have so little and it is so precious.

And, I'm realizing, part of it was the ambivalence I feel about the idea of prematurity. There is no question that what caused Gabriel's death was being born too soon, being born prematurely. He was born alive, he died because his lungs were too immature to work properly (all his systems were too immature to work properly). He was too tiny and undeveloped to have any hope of the sort of miracles that MoD has made possible with their extensive sponsoring of research and transmission of knowledge. I have no problem with saying that he was born prematurely - because he was.

But to identify myself as the mother of a premature baby is a step I hesitate to take. Semantics, I suppose, given what I wrote above. But I tend to think of prematurity and equate it with medical intervention, with the attempt to save the baby's life, with NICU and consultations, with neural scans and feeding tubes and anxiety, and the spectre of death or disability constantly looming at your side. I think of preemies and think of babies that had a chance - however slim - of life that Gabe didn't have. I think of NICU parents and a whole world of pain that I never dreamed of: wondering if there is any hope, what the future holds; balancing your own physical needs of sleep and food and showering and time away from all the pressure against the real fear that this may be all the time you have in the world with your child. My pain doesn't touch that, and to put myself out there in a way that represents my pain as the same is something I hesitate to do.

It's not that my pain is less valid for being different from that nightmare. There is a different pain in laboring in a bed while knowing with all certainty that you are killing your child by this failure of your body that you cannot control. There is a bitterness in knowing that all our parenting happened in about 20 minutes and wondering what was more important - keeping him warm or touching him. There is the pain of begging to be given our son while he was still alive, knowing we had only minutes, of knowing he was left alone on a tray for some of that precious minutes. That is a nightmare that NICU parents didn't have, and neither of our experiences are lesser or greater for being different in their paths to sorrow or joy.

But I know how it feels to have your sacred pain dismissed or diminished by a comparison. To have it belittled or demeaned by a well meaning person trying to sympathize who, really, can't. I do not, emphatically do not, wish to do that in saying that my child was born prematurely and died shortly after. I'm merely trying to say concisely and understandably what happened, and I don't think anyone has a problem. But to participate in a campaign in the way I've been asked. . . I fear that may cross a line.

It's true that I received information from March of Dimes when I was pregnant and bleeding that pushed me towards asking more questions (just not the right ones, apparently), and again for information on neural tube defects. It's true that cervical incompetence is the biggest cause for second trimester losses, and that MoD works to get information out about that as much as anything else they do. It's true that many people only know of NICU miracles and that medicine has advanced to such a point that very young babies are being saved and death isn't talked about, despite being the biggest killer of babies in America. It's true that I have been willing to freely share our story, for the right things - education, understanding, explanation. But this . . . feels fraudulent and manipulative to me.

So I don't know what I'll do, really. I do know that even getting to this point, where I've picked it apart this much has both helped and hurt - rather like cleaning out a gaping wound, I suppose and stitching it closed without anesthetic. Necessary, steps towards clean healing and avoiding infection, but painful in itself.

* * *

On those lines, because of the melancholic direction of my thoughts and the edge I feel I've been walking along the past two days, I'm hyper aware of nuances in a way I've not been for awhile. This is especially true of music. Chris at Glow recently wrote about how music helped him cope with his loss and how listening to music, even familiar stuff, through the filter of loss opened up a whole new level to him. Songs and lyrics and snippets took on whole new meanings, even lives of their own.

It's been going on all day for me. I've been on an enormous Oasis/Noel Gallagher acoustic kick in the past month or so. I was catching up on tedium today that's been shunted aside in the series of crises that popped up over the last week or so, and popped on Noel Gallagher's live acoustic set "The Dreams We Have As Children" and becoming acquainted with the stuff I didn't really know well. I've been playing Slide Away about 3-4x a day for about 6 weeks, so that was on the playlist. Then I became delighted with Fade Away and Talk Tonight and The Importance of Being Idle and then. . . then. Don't Go Away punched me in the gut and my eyes filled with tears and my heart seized up.

Now look, I personally think that Noel Gallagher is one of the best songwriters out there, at least lyrically. His stuff is fantastic, open-ended, poignant, has the ability to make people in wildly differing situations feel as if this song is speaking directly to them. Slide Away is such a song, Wonderwall is close as well. Don't Go Away is another.

A cold and frosty morning there's not a lot to say
About the things caught in my mind
And as the day was dawning my plane flew away
With all the things caught in my mind

And I wanna be there when you're coming down
And I wanna be there when you hit the ground

So don't go away
Say what you say
Say that you'll stay
Forever and a day
In the time of my life
Cos I need more time
Yes I need more time just to make things right

Damn my situation and the games I have to play
With all the things caught in my mind
Damn my education I can't find the words to say
With all the things caught in my mind

And I wanna be there when you're coming down
And I wanna be there when you hit the ground

So don't go away
Say what you say
Say that you'll stay
Forever and a day
In the time of my life
Cos I need more time
Yes I need more time just to make things right

Me and you what's going on?
All we seem to know is how to show
The feelings that are wrong

So don't go away
Say what you say
Say that you'll stay
Forever and a day
In the time of my life
Cos I need more time
Yes I need more time just to make things right

And don't go away
Say what you say
Say that you'll stay
Forever and a day
In the time of my life
Cos I need more time
Yes I need more time just to make things right

Yes I need more time just to make things right
Yes I need more time just to make things right
So don't go away


It's a wonderful broken pleading that can't be answered. Begging for something that is likely impossible - but there is a touch of hope in there too. . .

But those lines . . . "Say that you'll stay/Forever and a day/In the time of my life/Cos I need more time/Yes I need more time just to make things right" God, how have I wished for that, thought back to that moment I slipped into that hospital bed, remembered how I felt in the radiology room, when the resident told me he was fine and to hold on to that hope, when the attending told me there was none. All I needed was more time. A few more weeks to make him viable for medical intervention, a few more days to hope, a few more hours to prepare, a few more minutes with him alive. And no matter how I could have begged or pleaded with him or a deaf god not to go away to stay . . . it was never in our hands.

And so, I felt tears in my eyes, and pain in my heart and wondered how long it will be before that stops happening, and wonder if I want that or fear it. Eighteen months clearly is not enough, even if life seems normal in between those moments. This happens and I am forcibly reminded of what I am and how I've changed.

Damn my education. After eighteen months I still can't yet find the fucking words to say with all the things caught up in my mind.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Something to think about for Superbowl Sunday.

So, I've mentioned my addiction to Twitter before. I've come to adore it even more. Not only do I get total fangirl moments when I get replies from people I adore like Bruce Bowen or the Phelps twins, but I've gotten to have conversations with Elizabeth McCracken (about Harry Potter and elves of all things). It's so awesome. I get a fair amount of news from Twitter, which is good since I don't watch the news anymore. It's a good way to keep up with Spurs games I'm not watching and it's always good for a laugh.

One of the things I follow is OMGFacts. They tweet unusual bits of trivia or random facts. They have an off-shoot called OMGFacts Animals and OMGFacts Sports and OMGFacts Sex. I don't bother following those because the original retweets them so I see the interesting ones.

Anyhow, they tweeted the following two factoids, which I submit for your consideration:

"According to American men, the average erect penis length is 10 inches."

"According to American women, the average erect penis length is 4 inches."

Cheers, all.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Looking back.

I've been thinking lately, about my reproductive issues. Thinking about all the mistakes that were made with Gabriel, and thinking about how all of this technology wasn't enough to save him when the humans controlling it still made mistakes. Thinking about how that might change someday, or not.

It made me think about that which lead to Gabriel's premature birth - the ectopic pregnancy that preceded it. People who were around back then may remember the weeks of anxiety over that pregnancy as it was never normal. A dropping temp, spotting, a full period and positive pregnancy tests that persisted beyond the period. Beta tests indicated a likely chemical pregnancy, and home pregnancy tests indicated a persisting pregnancy.

Beta after beta followed, always increasing, never normal. No question about a baby in the future, but a big question about what the hell was happening. At 7 weeks, a pelvic scan was totally normal. At 9 weeks, the 'pregnancy' - now a growing fluid filled cyst attached at the internal os of the cervix was found. I was given options - methotrexate being the preferred option. A d&c was offered but counseled against as an older method that required surgery and may or may not fully remove the cyst/pregnancy and carried a higher risk of damage to the cervix (which was inevitable, as the pregnancy had already damaged it, though we didn't know that then). Methotrexate it was. It worked to stop the growth and encourage my body to do the rest. All together, I spotted or bled for 3 months. It was an awful time.

I remember being shocked by the diagnosis, since I had dismissed ectopic pregnancy as a possibility because of the clear fallopian tubes in the seven week scan. The odds of an ectopic pregnancy occurring outside the tubes are very small (hence the common name 'tubal pregnancy'), and for a cervical pregnancy the odds are 1% of all ectopic pregnancies.

This happens so rarely that there aren't good retroactive studies done for it, so causation is sketchy at best.

The advent of methotrexate being used to stop growth in pregnancy has been life-altering for women with ectopic pregnancies. It provides a non-surgical option for ending the pregnancy, which can better preserve a woman's fertility. While surgical options are much improved with the advent of mini-laprascopy, there is always a risk of damage. With cervical pregnancies, the chances of damage are greater, because it requires manual dilation (which can weaken the cervix)and curettage in the cervix (which can cause problems like what I have). Back in the day, the most common end to a cervical pregnancy was a hysterectomy caused by excessive bleeding. The abnormal bleeding I experienced - while not excessive - is perhaps the biggest sign of something wrong, and I was lucky it seems. Though without modern technology, who knows what would have happened? That group of cells just stuck around and continued to grow and expand.

Would I have died? Would I have had a hysterectomy? The odds are that if I survived the experience - and there is no guarantee the further back into history we go - then it is unlikely I would ever bear a child to viability because of the damage. That damage was dismissed and undetected by our modern means of medicine (by 2 doctors and a midwife and a clear ultrasound days before) until I lost my child. A cerclage should solve many problems (if I ever conceive again, which somedays, looks doubtful at best), and p17 shots, restricted activity and close monitoring should solve the rest. Options unavailable to me not that long ago.

I don't yet know what all of this means when put together, not really. I guess that I'm grateful to live now? Even when I'm not? I wonder sometimes what might have been, what is another dimension or plane or timeline in which all of these possibilities are realities. Before, I've only imagined myself holding Gabriel and loving him, watching him grow. But there are other timelines, ever divergent, in which Gabriel is never conceived because that ectopic ended in hysterectomy. Or in which Gabe isn't conceived because I had a d&c after Chickadee and waited the necessary cycle and the ectopic wasn't conceived. Another child was, a girl sometimes, sometimes a different Gabriel. In some branches of this mystical life, Chickadee lived and is beginning the first steps of potty training and toddling after Jonah. Back and back and back and around and around and it has all of it happened and none of it been. Of course, even if life works that way somehow, the one I'm living presently is all that matters.

Perhaps trying to assign meaning to it is laughable; these things simply are as they are. Considering them beyond that is an exercise in futility. I do think though that I'm still processing that pregnancy. It was so long, so abnormal, so filled with angst and then that doctor was so awful to me, and then it was the drama of watching the numbers decrease, and when to try again and then . . . Gabriel. The effects of that pregnancy are far-reaching, and still being fleshed out. I wonder if I'll ever feel that my body hasn't betrayed me.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Today? Not a good one.

Work is killing me.

I keep hoping I'm emotional because of hormones or something. Because seriously, I'm going to lose it soon.

I cannot keep on top of everything. I'd been telling myself for awhile I was doing well, and that by this time next year, I'll have a better handle on things. It will all be ok.

Turns out? I think I'm full of shit. This has been a total fuck-all week.

The feeling I cannot do anything right, ever, is overwhelming. Logically, I know I can do a lot right, that I am doing a lot right, that no one can be perfect, that my job situation is fraught at best. It doesn't matter, as I beat myself up for making mistakes.

It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't have a way of being whoppers or just happening to be the things that get noticed. Why couldn't they be like my predecessor's mistakes? Buried in the sand until someone like me comes in to clean up? Why, why must they be visible for everyone?

I am cranky and tired and angry about the weather closing policy, and yet desperately hoping things go as they were planning and we have to be at work at noon tomorrow. Because then, there's a chance it gets fixed. Otherwise, oh dear. I can't contemplate it. And either way, I'll be working my ass off to get these stupid monthly verifications finished on time.

Funny thing is, when the week started, that was all I had to do. Haven't really touched them yet.

Oh well, weekend is almost here, right? And nobody will die or be seriously injured or even terribly inconvenienced by my errors. Governments will not collapse, people will not go hungry, nobody will have their house foreclosed on or their electricity be shut off because I was late turning in a custodial request. So. We'll all be ok.

Still, I said screw the diet and am consoling myself with cookie dough. Wise? Probably not. Worth it anyway? Hells yeah.

* * * * *

Editing to add the following:

My Spurs beat the mthfr'ing Lakers in LA with a tip in at the buzzer and that is fucking awesome. I love when they win, I love when the Lakers lose, I love most when the Spurs beat the Lakers. Full vindication for .4 or for the non-call on Derek Fisher riding Brent Barry like a horse? Of course not, but damn good none the less. Widen that winning gap there, fellas. Best record in the league. Great year to be a Spurs fan.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Baby, it's cold outside!

This won't be shocking for nearly anyone living in the United States or anyone who owns a television or participates in social media.

There's a bit of a cold spell on.

Seriously though, despite the snowy days in the past two (academic!) years, this is the coldest I can remember it ever getting here, and I've been here for 13 years! I cannot ever remember it dropping below 20F.

And we're having rolling blackouts because the energy companies were SO not ready for this - to the point of having power plants and grids offline for maintenance. Oops! This morning, traffic was bad because power was off in certain areas during rush hour. And schools had to redirect children because the power was out. Quite the mess.

Also - snow and sleet starting tomorrow afternoon, snow overnight! and snow through Friday morning into the afternoon! Also, ice! Former - AWESOME! (sticky! inches of it! Fantastic!) Latter - SUCKY and SCARY!

Work - remember the folks who sent us home way late to prepare for Hurricane Ike and returned us to work a mere three days after the hurricane, when there was no gas or power throughout the city and debris still covered roads? Yeah, them - has made no decision about an early release or a snow day or delayed start on Friday. Because doing it beforehand would be tragic and ensure sunny weather in the 70's, no doubt. Far better to get people out of bed early to watch the news crawl and scour the internet for word. . .

Yes, so I'm not taking Grover out in snowy or icy conditions. Because I like Grover and don't know what the fuck I'm doing in snowy or icy conditions. And neither does anyone I know. And Houstonians are fucking morons who drive 65+ (over the speed-limit, in other words) in pouring rain you can't see through. I'm not feeling particularly suicidal at the moment, so . . . yeah. Not gonna happen.

I'm not alone. There has been general mutiny in our office, and a declaration that we'll all be working from home.

I'm curious to see who caves. 'Myself' is a viable option, given what all I've been doing over the last few days. Every time, without fail, that I think I'm gaining ground on things, I learn the hard way that that is so not true. The only piece of good news relating to work today is that when I was escorted in to the big-boss's office to explain how one of my departments lost a very valuable master key that would open up very expensive equipment to theft, he informed me that my supervisors and directors are very happy with me and my work. The official letter of reprimand I'm receiving this week for something that happened before my tenure (but which I had to clean up, thus putting my name on a request to the company president for an exception to policy, and thus meaning I'm one of the recipients of the official letter of reprimand!) and I are happy to hear it. Oh, so very happy. Because really, the letter of reprimand is a formality and an annoyance and in no way attached to my record, but the job reclassification that is going to be on big-boss's desk in the next week ensuring that I get the higher salary permanently and that I don't have to make good on my threat to walk out of this job benefits from big-boss hearing I'm worth the time/effort and money.

Work. Ugh.

Cold weather. Ugh. Did I mention my poor jasmine was about to bloom? For the first time in three years? :( And my esperanza is frozen, again, as is my lantana. However, they both came back from last year's frozen death, so fingers crossed. We did cover the jasmine, but I expect the flowering is derailed for another few years. . .

But! Let's end on a positive note.

SNOW! ACCUMULATIONS OF SNOW!

Also, some chance (a snowball's chance in hell seems decent odds this week) that my cycle may be normalizing after a two + month hiatus. Let's hope so, because if it is so, we can start considering ttc again soon. Dunno when or if, but it would be nice to have the choice to make.

Also, SNOW. Hee. If it happens, you'll get pictures.