Cotton Socks

And the sun will continue to rise.

2012-02-08T12:33:00.002-06:00

So. Here's the thing.

The baby is fine. The husband, pets, assorted family and friends are all generally fine. I, on the other hand, not so fine.

I hate to say this. I am a blessed individual in so many ways, that it feels like the height of ingratitude or the grossest display of selfishness and indulgence to be not fine. My health is pretty good, all things taken together; this pregnancy has progressed with relative ease (for me) and relatively minimal physical discomfort (apart from the increasing difficulty that comes with both third tri and diminished physical capacity from weeks of near-bedrest). I have a steady job, a house in decent condition, climate control, many things we don't really need, and I have amazing family and friends who love me more than I deserve.

Which makes it hard for me to say what is true: I am depressed. My life currently reads like the questionnaire for a depression medication ad. Work has gone from bad to worse, and the situation is upsetting in the extreme. Most of my stress, but not all of it by any means, stems from work; as things get more grave, I am able to do less and less and I feel more and more incapable of doing any of it. I am not compensated appropriately for what I'm doing and haven't any idea of whether or not appropriate compensation is a) possible or b) forthcoming. That, in turn, is stressing out other things like planning for daycare when the little one arrives and general stresses that many other expectant parents share about how a budget suddenly accommodates a third, quite expensive being.

But I came to the realization this week, following what can only be described as an utter and complete meltdown on Friday, in front of my boss and coworkers (that I could not control at all, which kills me with mortification): I am on the verge on a nervous breakdown. I cannot continue to cope with everything.

-I no longer see a point at which this gets better.
-I no longer see a light at the end of the tunnel.
-I no longer have interest in things I enjoy, and no energy or desire to do things I expressed interest in.
-I find myself unable to write.
-I have no energy or interest in the state of my house.
-I am constantly tired, which after a bad day borders more on sheer, total exhaustion. I know this is probably exaggerated by pregnancy and interrupted sleep.
-I am having more and more viscerally disturbing dreams.
-My appetite is not what could be called desirable.
-I find myself lapsing into escapist daydreams more and more frequently.\
-I am averaging a cry a day, which is really unlike me generally.

The list continues. I am well aware that some of this is normal. Some of this is attributable to circumstances (pregnancy, stressful job). But the sum of it is that it is affecting my life in a negative way. When asked for his opinion my husband said immediately and with no hesitation that yes, I am depressed, and yes, he's noticed. A friend said some time ago that my work situation was untenable, and that something would have to give and I needed to ensure it was not my sanity.

It is my sanity.

So, here's the deal. My next OB appointment is next week. I intend to lay it out for the OB, and express as fervently as I can (while remaining calm) that this is really adversely affecting my life. That reducing stress at work is not an option, that fewer hours aren't really an option, and that I cannot cope any longer. There is a physical toll this is taking. Seek a prescription for Zoloft or a referral to a psych. Go from there.

In one sense, I feel massively relieved for finally stopping the struggle and admitting to myself that this isn't working anymore, that I can't do this. In another sense, I feel like a massive failure at work and at home, and I know that mental health is insidious and awful, so I'm trying not to listen to all of that. Work can't be changed. It's a shitty situation and I'm furious with myself for agreeing to it and putting myself in it. I'm angry that I was overly optimistic about it. I'm angry about the compensation. But I also recognize that it's not changing anytime soon, and if I can't cope with it anymore, then I need to find some other form of support or help.

I've known all along that I would probably need meds at some point in this pregnancy, and I've held off for a good long time. Baby is a good weight right now, and one of the reasons I've hesitated to do anything is because of the risks associated with low birthweight, and how important birthweight is to a preemie. I'm hopeful that I can start meds after 30 weeks, when it will be a little critical, especially given baby's current size.

I just can't go through everyday feeling like this anymore. I honestly don't know if things will get better. It doesn't feel like it right now. I do know though, that it will either get better or it won't. That at least I'm doing what I can do to get some help. And that no matter what the sun will keep on rising.

Or it won't, which will make this pretty moot anyhow. So, really, it's sort of a win-win, right?

I don't think I can do it anymore.

2012-01-31T20:02:00.002-06:00

Work, mostly, I mean. I've spent nearly every day for the past week and a half (which does include the 14 hours I worked this weekend) feeling like I'm being beaten up, run over, and am utterly incapable of doing anything correctly or on time or effectively. Even after finishing the massive report with a scootch of time to spare, there was no sense of accomplishment or relief, only dread about what I'd had to push off and what we'd discovered wasn't done yet or correctly.

The stress is unbelievable. There are things going on that make a lot of things feel less stable. A colleague may be leaving. Two months ago, I'd have jumped at her job and I think I'd have been hired for it. If she does leave now, I'd still apply but I have no confidence that they'd actually hire me.

Full stop. I have no confidence anymore. I feel like every thing I do is a struggle or wrong. I leave every day feeling like a failure.

I don't want to do this anymore. I don't think I can.

I have no choice. The situation may change in the future, but it's not going to change in the short-term, unless my colleague leaves. Or something happens way, way above me.

I'm not seeking advice, there is none to give. I just need to say somewhere that I feel utterly defeated. That I'm tired. That I'm terrified I will continue to feel like this every single day and the thought makes me want to crawl into bed and never leave again. Demoralized. Exhausted. Wiped out. Like a burden.

I'm so tired of it. I used to be good at my job. I miss that feeling.

Update on today's perinatalogist appt

2012-01-26T16:48:00.002-06:00

So I'm at 25w3d today, and this was just a regular follow-up to check growth, to check the cervix and the cerclage and generally to check in with the peri.

In brief: Everything is great! He's very pleased! Very pleased indeed!

(also, pretty bouncy. He reminded me of Tigger today)

He started by saying, with great enthusiasm, that I was the most pregnant I'd been and it was wonderful! And onwards from there. . .

Highlights:

- Baby looks good. He got clear views of all chambers of the heart, the face, feet, hands, stomach, spine, etc. Measurements range from on track to a little ahead. Peri was very pleased by the overall measurements and size.

- Which leads to . . . baby weighs in at 2 lbs, 1 oz. Of course, this is not an exact science, but the peri was pretty assured s/he is hovering around the 2 lb mark, give or take a few ounces. And he was very happy, because a good birthweight is a contributing factor in success in early birth, should that happen. S/he is above average, but not worrisomely so.

- Cervix is at 3.3 cm, which is down from the last check at the OB's office, but well within good/normal standards. The peri complimented himself on the lovely stitch, but then said seriously that it was creating the stable platform for the internal os that we wanted.

- AFI (amniotic fluid index)is over 15, which is good. The numerous worries over whether or not the ridiculously copious amounts of discharge are too copious or too watery are laid to rest. Amniotic fluid levels are fine (and consequently, so is baby's digestive system).

- Baby remains the same sex baby has been. Not that it matters tremendously, but after all the weeks of calling baby 'Oliver' or 'Vivienne' it would be a shock if that changed.

- Baby was breech today, but that doesn't mean anything, since baby was definitely head-down earlier this week. S/He is moving around with no problem - I feel more distinct kicks/thumps when baby is head down - once or twice s/he has moved transverse and it feels weird and baby doesn't seem to care for it much either. I anticipate more flip-flopping over the next few weeks. It's such a cool/weird/stomach-dropping on a roller coaster ride feeling.

So, all in all, peri is quite pleased with the normalcy of the progress. I'm quite pleased that things are well. I stopped in the ridiculous overpriced baby boutique in the building (which houses all manner of women and children's health specialists, a baby boutique and maternity store in addition to a couple of other prenatal things) - I managed to avoid the ridiculous frilly dresses and complicated sailor suits (ha! you thought I'd spill here?) and the overpriced practical clothing (seriously, I don't pay that much for my own clothes and I don't vomit or poop on them regularly), but I was suckered in by the softest (duck or chicken down soft) yellow blankie. I could have bought a bouncer for what I paid for it, but since I will not be making one, I couldn't resist. I love it.

And, for the record, kiddo is pretty good looking. I admit this isn't the best shot ever, as I took it of the picture with my iPod, but still. We love baby - I keep staring at this in both awe and a vague feeling of 'creepy' because these are sort of creepy, really. Also because there is an echo in the picture where you can see what looks like another face and DH is taking great pleasure in pretending it's an evil mirror twin giving baby evil instructions (like 'Kick the bladder harder! hahahahaha!'). But still, seeing baby and tracing baby's features and comparing to Gabriel (I can't get over how different they look - a result, surely, of both Gabriel's gestational age at birth and the fact that he had DH's long, narrow face with higher cheekbones, while baby has inherited my rounder face and chubby cheeks).

Really, in the midst of an awful, shitty week that has had me feeling beaten down and trampled over, this was a good day.

Weird dream

2012-01-24T14:26:00.002-06:00

I frequently have weird dreams and pregnancy has made that worse. Usually I lose part of the plot so they make no sense when I try to share them, but this one was worth sharing, especially when I finally remembered why I wasn't totally freaked out.

I dreamed baby came early, like this week. Which you would think would be scary and awful, but instead everyone was really relieved. I remember telling DH that it was much better this way because now I could go to work without worrying about the stress levels or blood pressure or anything. And I remember DH and I were excited that we got to watch baby develop.

But then I figured out why we weren't upset - we would put the baby back. So it was sort of like daycare - we'd take the baby out and put the baby in NICU for a day or two and then put the baby back inside me for awhile so the baby got the best of both worlds.

So freaking bizarre.

BDSM is really more my thing, plus updates

2012-01-20T16:58:00.003-06:00

Right - over 24 weeks! Yay! Viability! Yay! I meant to update Monday with a new bump picture and yeah, it didn't happen. And then all sorts of shit happened at work and I've had about three meltdowns in which I cried, declared myself a failure, cried some more, wondered what the fuck I'm going to do, etc.

The answer - no fucking clue but persevere, and something will work out or something will break and so long as it isn't my sanity and I continue to have a job, then I'm sort of 'whatever' about it at this point.

As for what the hell the title means, well. The gist of it is this: I write fanfiction, of the Harry Potter variety. I know I've said this before, and it's no secret. I have also explained before that I generally prefer a pairing of Hermione with a twin and really don't dig Ron and Hermione. Frankly, I think it was lazy of JK Rowling, but whatever. She's the author, she's got the money, she doesn't care what I think and I've got fanfiction to correct what I find amiss. But I recently began publishing a story (a canon compliant Ron/Hermione story) that dealt with pregnancy loss and infertility and it was really personal and holy fuck.

Because my profile said I prefer twin/Hermione pairings, and because my teaser hinted George might have a solution to Ron and Hermione's infertility problems, you'd have thought I personally insulted the mother of some of these people. It got significantly worse when I posted chapter 2 and there was a two sentence exchange after George shows Hermione a copy of an ancient ritual he's found that might help them get pregnant, and Hermione realizes a third person has to be present to cast an incantation while the couple are intimate. That's all I said. I didn't say they'd do it - she and Ron agree to consider it. It's very dangerous, potentially illegal, etc. And it was two sentences out of 6500+ words - but it's what people latched onto. I got some really negative responses (reviews and PMs) and it honestly really started to upset me. Like in a bad way. I feel stupid because, dude, there is no universal approval and it's fucking fanfic. But it really was bothering me, especially when I was called perverted. I mean, I write smutty stuff, I write some kink, and not only has it been well received, but this particular piece is one of the least smutty/explicit adult fictions I've written, ever.

So let me state here for the record, set it straight - Incestuous voyeurism is not my preferred kink. As I said above, BDSM is really more my style.

Gah.

Baby seems to be enjoying the music I'm playing right now, and is dancing inside me. Sort of nice, as baby had managed to turn in such a way that I wasn't feeling nearly as much movement. Dance away, little one!

I'm still receiving the shots, things seem good. Baby is definitely growing, and lord do I get sore during these growth spurts as my uterus grows and my abdomen separates to make room. Those are the times I'm glad I'm restricted, because if I were doing this while maintaining a normal activity level, I think I'd want to die. Pregnancy is painful.

I stumbled onto this song on my iPod today, and given the way work has been going, given the way I've been feeling about my writing overall, given a lot of things, but especially the confusing feelings that swirl about my babies - the one inside my belly and the one inside my heart - that I really am not ready to write down and analyze, but hover between joy and fear and pain and love - this song seems appropriate. I've played it several times today, and I think it's my song for my kids. Do you have songs that represent things? I have tons of theme songs, if you will.

This one is (of course) by Noel Gallagher - The Masterplan. I dunno that I believe in a masterplan. I railed against the idea of such a thing after Gabriel died, but sometimes. . . I don't know. I just love this song.

Take the time to make some sense
Of what you want to say
And cast your words away upon the waves
Bring them back with Acquiesce
On a ship of hope today
And as they fall upon the shore
Tell them not to fear no more
Say it loud and sing it proud
And they...

Will dance if they want to dance
Please brother take a chance
You know they're gonna go
Which way they want to go
All we know is that we don't know
What is gonna be
Please brother let it be
Life on the other hand won't let you understand
Why we're all part of the masterplan

I'm not saying right is wrong
It's up to us to make
The best of all things that come our way
And all the things that have been have past
The answer's in the looking glass
There's four and twenty million doors
Down life's endless corridor
Say it loud and sing it proud
And they...

Will dance if they want to dance
Please brother take a chance
You know they're gonna go
Which way they want to go
All we know is that we don't know
What is gonna be
Please brother let it be
Life on the other hand won't let you understand
Why we're all part of the masterplan

22 weeks, a new year and shame

2012-01-02T21:14:00.003-06:00

Today equals 22 weeks. Yay! And also, nail-biting. It is good to be beyond the point I lost Gabriel. And it's scary to think that if anything goes wrong in the next two weeks then I will face the same thing, hear the same words and cradle a body for far too little time. My friend T has been faithfully emailing me each week with a countdown to viability. I admit, hearing 2 more weeks! is lovely, but I just need it to be here already so that I can relax more.

But as little one is very squirmy, I feel some relief. I just hope what I continue to refer to as copious amounts of discharge is really just that and not a slow fluid leak. Er, not that I'm paranoid or anything.

Let's see. A new year started. We celebrated with sparkling grape juice. It was tasty, but not quite the same as champagne. There really isn't much to add. Returning to work was not fun, but at least I'm feeling like there is a possibility that I may not be behind forever. We'll see if that changes tomorrow. I wish things were easier, but it's better not to dwell too much on work, lest I have another breakdown.

Beyond that, if I've made any half-hearted revolution, it's to write more. I've been fairly shut down this pregnancy - between the pregnancy and work, I just don't feel like expressing a lot. I certainly feel a lot, I turn over posts in my mind, start crafting them. I wish to find the right words but when I re-read it later, everything feels repetitive and difficult. Likewise, I have not updated my stories in months. I've re-read them, started working on new chapters and then . . . nothing. I just do not wish to work much on them, and the bit I write feels shallow, rings false. It's frustrating. I know I can do better, but it's not flowing right now and I don't want to post crap for the sake of posting something.

Switching tacks with no warning, we went to BRU (it was hard not to hyperventilate - will these reactions ever stop?), and finished the registry I started. Well, probably still needs some work, but really, for all intents and purposes, it's fine. While there, we bought a teddy bear for the baby. We've bought clothes, but those don't really feel like they are for her, per se. But the teddy - I didn't realize why I was so drawn to it until we got home, but the ribbon around the teddy's neck was the same color that I'm using for the border on the name-letters. It was meant to be, I guess. We spent some time Saturday night going over all the clothes, organizing them by size, taking stock of what we need yet (3-6 month is the short answer - with spring/summer stuff coming out shortly, it should be easy to add in). It felt like a game, more than anything. But it's been several days with nothing bad happening, so it's likely to continue that way. I hope.

I am sleepy now. Being sick last week took a lot of me, and I have to get up early because I have to go talk with the parking department at work. Apparently, the state-issued temporary parking tag is not sufficient to park in handicap parking on my campus. I have to further register with parking and get a secondary decal. Annoying.

Actually the whole disabled parking tag has been a fiasco. It was recommended back in November, and I was told in mid-November that my OB would in fact support the request by signing the forms if I completed them and brought them in. Since I didn't see her until mid-December, I didn't get the necessary paperwork until then. Which was fine, I didn't yet feel I really needed it. Once the paperwork, including a prescription from my doctor, was complete, I had to take it to the county tax office in order to get the state-issued permit. There is a branch near us which is supposedly less busy than our downtown/central branch. It's attached to where we got our marriage license, and where we recently went to get the car registration corrected. I thought then that it was busy because of the near hour-long wait in line the day before Thanksgiving. I was wrong. Early morning on a Friday was worse. The line was wrapped through the building.

I miserably told one person why I was there ("To get a temporary handicap placard" - that will be important later), and was directed through the building, with sympathy, to the back of the line. About an hour later, I was in the main room I needed to be, where another employee was directing traffic between three sets of windows (to give credit to the branch office, they had at least 9 windows open and seemed to move as quickly as possible). To properly assess which line was the correct one for me, she asked my business and I repeated what I said earlier - "I'm here to get a temporary handicap permit." - and was summarily sent into another line.

About twenty minutes later, I remark to Dh that I've been standing for about an hour longer than I should. It starts taking a toll on me. I was getting warm and uncomfortable, and shifting a good deal, and started feeling as if I might faint. I began muttering to DH that I needed this to hurry up and I needed to get out of there. About twenty more minutes elapsed before we finally got to a service window. I lean against the counter with some relief, slide my paperwork through to the lady, who is coincidentally the same one who helped with our car registration. She asks if I am the disabled person seeking the permit, and I confirm that I am. Incidentally, the paperwork didn't indicate whether or not it could be submitted by someone else, which is why I stood in line the whole time; if I had to be there, we didn't want to waste a trip. The nice lady looks up, blinks, and then asks why I went through the entire line.

Apparently, I could have skipped the line and requested special assistance because of my disability. I could have cried. There were no signs posted or instructions; apparently, the little blue universal handicap sign hidden by the front door ought to have been clear enough by itself. The woman sent me to sit down, and said my husband could take care of the rest. They chatted as she confirmed the paperwork was in order, the prescription was valid and the doctor was licensed in Texas. DH told me she got very irate when she found out that two employees had been told my purpose there and didn't bother to ask if I were the disabled, probably because I was ambulatory (at this point she shook her finger at DH and said, "And that is why you have to ask, because you just never know!"), and she was really irate when the license number for my physician confirmed she was an OB/GYN. Apparently, she got her supervisor involved, and they were both horrified. Lovely, but too late. I didn't care though, because sitting down was such a relief.

I did get the permit, and I have guiltily used it a couple of times now. I make it a point not to use it if there is equally decent parking available, and I don't use it if I am not getting out of the car, because that's cheating. But all my scruples are in vain, because I did use it Saturday at the grocery store. Keep in mind, I rarely go into the grocery store, because I am a terrible impulse buyer and we wasted food and money when I did a lot of the shopping. DH by himself is faster and easily $50-100 cheaper than I am, and if we have less variety, we likewise have less waste. Anyway, Saturday isn't a great time for the store anyway, and being NYE afternoon, it was insane. There was little parking available, and I felt no hesitation in taking a handicap spot, since I was planning to go in with DH for at least 15 minutes. Because I have a temporary permit and not tags, it's easy not to see the permit if you are behind the car. Between that, and the fact that I look more elephantine than pregnant if you don't know me, and I am clearly not elderly, we got a lot of nasty, nasty looks when we got out and walked into the store. It was wildly uncomfortable. I wished very much for a sandwich board or a card that said "Hey! High-risk pregnancy here! No really!" and the flip side would say something like, "Dead baby in my history, trying to keep this one alive." Perhaps I'd feel less guilty then?

I know I need this, which is why it was suggested and why my doctor signed off. It's getting harder to walk and the heavier the baby gets, the more pressure that is on my cervix. The longer we can keep pressure off, the better off we are and the more likely we are to a) avoid modified to full bed rest and b) stay pregnant longer. But the restrictions weigh on me. I hate feeling useless or as if I am just being lazy or promoting terrible stereotypes. Logically, I know that's not true, and yet. . .

and yet, baby is well. Moving a good deal. Lots of squirms and stronger thumps when they come. That is where I need to focus, I think.

Bonus for you for sticking through this all (in the most vain possibly way to mean bonus), here is me and baby at 22 weeks:

Bits and bobbles

2011-12-29T14:45:00.002-06:00

Today is 21 weeks and 3 days gestation.

In other words, we made it through The Day. Christmas Eve was busy, I barely noticed. It was a nice holiday though, with my brother and SIL and my mom. We had an unexpected Christmas Day guest though, when my mother left to return home and had a blow-out about fifteen minutes away from our house. Bless her heart, she was so upset because they told her she couldn't make it all the way home on her spare tire. She was afraid of inconveniencing us and upset because my brother and SIL were supposed to stay at her house that evening, which wasn't possible if she were in Houston. It all worked out though, and I was selfishly glad we got more time with her.

Unfortunately, I've not felt up to updating because I finally succumbed to sickness. Since November, I've been cooped up in my ridiculous office with at least once sick coworker. I think they all went out at least twice between November and December, and I managed to avoid illness . . . until I go on vacation. Started as congestion, then became a head cold complete with wicked sore throat, and then worse congestion and then a light cough, followed by a worse cough. I spent most of Monday in bed, Tuesday on the couch, Wednesday moping on the couch because I felt like shit and had planned to go into work and get some stuff caught up, but felt too bad to do it. Then I had a breakdown about 5 am where I cried and cried (and coughed a lot) and told DH I am terrible at my job, I feel like I'm one forgetful day away from total crisis and losing my job, and I can't continue doing this. How much of that was fatigue and how much was finally admitting that I don't want to keep trying anymore, I can't say. I am dreading a return though. I really do loathe my job at this point and I don't know how to fix it or make it better.

Baby seems to be fine, though I've definitely lost weight. I've had no appetite all week long, and haven't eaten enough. Little one seems oblivious - just keeps twisting and turning and kicking in there. I had a moment yesterday where I thought I hadn't felt movement in awhile, and needed a doppler check - literally put the probe down right on top of the heartbeat, which was reassuring. Passing The Day was a relief (though the moments of reflection made me miss Gabriel so intensely I can't put it into words), but I won't really feel better until we are past viability. Of course, that is not a magic cure, but at least there is a chance then, when there isn't yet, even if we are past Gabriel's birth point. I know I just won't completely relax until the living, breathing little one is in my arms, and then it's just a whole new set of worries.

I am beginning to believe that we will see this baby, though. It's disconcerting and not a little frightening. I've bought clothes and baby gear just for this baby and it still seemed like a game. Practical matters like finding daycare if my mom can't move out here (another panic attack related to work when I considered that), finding a pediatrician, etc. . . that all needs to be started and I am utterly uninterested. It's still so hard to believe, that I just don't yet.

I have more to add on so many things, but this headache is getting worse. Ugh. I'm so pissed off about being sick!

Twenty Weeks

2011-12-19T09:31:00.003-06:00

That is today.

According to various online experts (parroting stuff taken from various printed book experts), the baby is about 10.5" inches long and weighs about 13 oz. Baby is gaining weight steadily, adding insulation for birth. Baby is swallowing several ounces of amniotic fluid per day, kidneys are processing it, the digestive system is beginning to produce meconium, and taste buds are forming. The uterus is now level with the belly button (or just above, in my case) and baby should be moving a fair amount, though how much one feels the movement depends on the location of the placenta and where the baby is located.

Many people think of this as the half-way point in pregnancy, and celebrate being half-baked.

I look at this and realize it's the week I've been dreading all along.

Hand me a paper bag?

I'm torn between wanting to be at work, where the avalanche of back-log threatens to topple, and only the business staff are present. There is plenty to choose from, plenty that needs to be done before we go on break for a week. And there are plenty of people with less to do who wish they were on vacation and therefore plenty of conversations to be had. So - distraction aplenty.

But I'd also rather be in the waiting room at my doctor's office, you know, just in case. No, I won't disturb anyone, I'll just watch the fishes and gaze out the window, if that's all right. Maybe go down to the hospital cafeteria for lunch, since it's only three floors from the antepartum unit. Nice and close by, if it's needed.

Half of me is busy trying to finish up Christmas things - all of DH's family's gifts must be wrapped to go with BIL on Wednesday night (which means we need to make a pit-stop for some chocolate and gift-cards for the sisters-in-law). All of my family's gifts need to be wrapped and cards sent to my grandmother and my sister. I haven't purchased one single item for my husband, for his stocking or his gifts, though I've been informed that he's perfectly happy to wait until after Christmas, if it's easier. The house still needs massive cleaning and I've promised to bake banana bread and make fudge for the office, and we've got a happy hour Wednesday night, and did I mention we're hosting my brother and SIL and mother for Christmas Eve, so there is a menu to be fleshed out, shopping to be done and preparations for Christmas dinner to be started?

And all of it leading up to Christmas Eve - which is, incidentally, 20w5d. In case that isn't wholly clear, 20w5d is the gestational day at which I went into labor and delivered Gabriel.

I have never wanted so much for a week to be over.

And this is just one more milestone - granted, it's a big one. The biggest yet. But it's only of small relief to pass it, because we are still four weeks (as of today) from viability. We need more time yet, and I feel wild for it to be here already. The thoughts swirl darkly in the back of my mind that we will pass this weekend - after all, why shouldn't we? - and get to 21 or 22 or 23 weeks only to have something go wrong before that salvation of a day at 24 weeks. And won't that taste be bitter in my mouth?

There is no relaxing, no relief, no lowering of the guard, not yet. No matter how often I repeat the mantra "This is a different pregnancy, this is a different baby. We've done everything we can do to keep baby safe." It rings hollowly. They are only words until this baby is safely in my arms, breathing and alive and with the promise of coming in that same state.

And the knowledge that 24 weeks isn't a magical marker at which all problems vanish is there. I cling to that date, but I am aware of the real statistics. I know the outcomes, and I know that babies still die, that there are still very real and present risks, and longterm complications, and so I am not content with that date either. But at the least, that gives us a chance.

But to get there, we have to first get through here, through this week.

It's going to be a long week, particularly when it's so hard to breathe evenly and not let my heart race away in panic.

And suddenly two weeks passed . . .

2011-12-15T22:20:00.002-06:00

So the anatomy scan went well, but I sort of needed some time to process it. The scan itself went so quickly and with so little explanation as it went that I wasn't convinced for awhile that things really were ok. The perinatalogist said the baby looked good, the cervix looked good and he was quite pleased. But since the scan took about 20 minutes, I asked DH several times whether or not the peri had actually measured everything and whether or not DH thought we needed to be worried about anything.

The answer was consistently yes, and no.

The sex was confirmed, by the way, unmistakably. Since we've suspected it all along, and since it concurred with the bloodwork that was done, it wasn't as climactic or exciting as it was with Gabe. Rather just a sigh of relief that we'd not been calling baby by the wrong name all along. I did cave and tell a few people what we are expecting, but on the whole, I'm keeping it to myself. Only one person at work knows, though it's possible others have guessed by overhearing snippets of our conversation. Our families don't know and I'm not sure whether I'll tell or not. DH leans towards yes, but I enjoy having a secret. My mom really wants to know though, and it seems to have become a game to see if she can get me to slip up and tell. Given that I've purchased some new gender-specific things, it may be hard to hide when she visits for Christmas. I certainly did slip up on a pronoun once and she was all over it, so she at least suspects.

Things seem to be well, but Christmas Eve looms. That is the gestational date at which I went into labor with Gabriel. Everything is different this time and I logically know that. But logic has little to do with fear. I'm trying to be calm and sometimes it works. Other times, I just want it to hurry up and move along.

The 17p is happening each week. The injection isn't bad, but the throbbing/soreness at the injection site is not fun, nor are the killer headaches that follow for two days after. But if it helps, worth it I suppose. I'm just hoping everything goes smoothly tomorrow, which is supposed to be my first visit with the home health nurse for injection. The meds are supposed to arrive earlier in the day via FedEx - the last thing that was supposed to arrive via FedEx was delayed a week when the driver claimed he had no access to the delivery address. I suppose our remote control gate that every other driver can access with ease was just mystifying. But given that we are discussing meds that I have to receive tomorrow, let's cross fingers, shall we?

Work continues on apace, though this hasn't been the best week. I was feeling more optimistic for awhile, but now I'm drowning in what needs to be done before the holiday vacation and concerned it's not going to work out properly. It's obnoxious to share an office with three other full time staff and a rotation of 4 interns. At least we're all getting along now, which was not the case for awhile. Even pleasant, at times, but not a good work environment for me. I've worked an extra eight hours this week in the evenings just to have some peace and quiet to get something done. Of course, it's beneficial when I have to take half a day off to go home and wait for medication to be delivered (ha, in multiple ways). I just wish I felt more settled or more hopeful that things would get better. On the bright side, my doctor signed off on a temporary handicap permit, which will eliminate much of the walking I do.

I don't do much anymore these days. I follow all the restrictions, which is how it should be. It gets tiresome though. I was actually depressed over the weekend when I couldn't do anything to help with Christmas decorations - it was either over 10 lbs or involved step-stools or too much bending and twisting. I can't do much of the housework, and my pubic bones starts aching if I stand too long or walk too much (worse at the end of the week) which makes trips outside the house oh so fun. In short, I feel like an invalid and a burden, and while there are good reasons for these restrictions, it frustrates me to feel that I can't do much. A good motivator for getting into better shape whenever this is over; I can't tell you how much I've taken for granted the ability to move and not get winded walking from the car to the office.

But overall, things are well with us all. The animals are good, and largely sweet. All have been more cuddly than usual. DH spoils me and could not be a better partner in the face of all my restrictions and fears. He remains upbeat and positive, and has done so much to clean the house and decorate for Christmas (things he loathes) and tries hard to make me laugh and keep me going.

I will end here with a picture. The baby and I at 19.5 weeks. God knows I didn't do this enough with Gabriel, to my regret, but I was self-conscious and thought we had time. I have some earlier photos, but they are mostly icky. The quality of this isn't stunning, but it was taken with my iPod, so we'll just blame that.

Oh, Right. Blog. Hi. Um. 17 weeks!

2011-11-28T19:45:00.002-06:00

I've been informed that I am a terrible correspondent (true) and that it's now been officially over a month since I updates (er, also true). Um. Sorry?

I am officially 17 weeks today, and the baby is somewhere between an onion and a mango in length, if you can believe that. I can, in that holy shit am I big and does this kiddo move around and stretch luxuriously. I can't, in that, whaaaaa? How'd that happen?

Slowly, with a lot of trepidation and freakouts and worry, is the answer. The cerclage is still in place (to my knowledge. Not that it would, like, just fall out or anything, but since I can't see it or feel it usually, I have to assume a bit here), and so far as I am able to ascertain (despite numerous frights), my water has not broken. Baby moves around a lot, nearly everyday now. I'm bigger than I was when I delivered Gabriel, with an honest-to-goodness visible bump amongst all the fat. There was a two week period in which an anterior placenta dulled the bits of movement I'd been feeling and wildly interfered with picking up any sort of reliable heart rate on doppler, but it seems those dark days are behind us. I am trying very hard to use the doppler only twice a week as needed, and so far it's going ok. (Tip: Go out of town for five days and leave it behind. That helps with the not using it part, but does tend to ratchet up the anxiety. Six of one, half a dozen of the other)

I should have updated sooner. I intended to, but then I wanted to wait for news. And then I was having freakouts, and God, if I'm tired of living them, not only do I not want to relive them in prose, but I assume everyone else is pretty tired as well. Oh, right, and work. Which . . . is probably best left alone. I can be concise (for once) and say that I do not love my job right now. I can be accurate and say I loathe it, and dread most work days because of whatever the fuck else is possibly going to happen. I dream of winning the lottery, or some windfall in the division that allows us to hire new people so someone could take one of my departments. My boss is great though, encouraging and kind and very sensitive to the difficulties (work and pregnancy) and the restrictions I'm facing, which is great. So, onwards. I guess. Not like there is any other option, anyway.

So yes, things are ok. Thanksgiving was nice, but it was nerve-wracking as well. So much talk about baby and buying of baby things and no doppler (only movement) to reassure and there were some scary times. But all is well. Really, apart from the crippling anxiety and the cerclage and high-risk monitoring, it's been a remarkably easy/textbook sort of pregnancy so far. I mean, I still have a lot of food issues and I'm only now over a week without vomiting, but overall things are ok. No crazy bleeding, no reasonably scary weirdness - just aches and pains and the crippling terror that necessarily attends this fiasco.

DH chooses to be positive, and I've started tentatively talking about what life will be like with baby. It feels a bit like a game, like our lottery game (how will we spend the money? what trips will we take? how many bedrooms in our new house? etc), as I ask whether we'll do arts and crafts with baby, whether we'll take baby to the zoo, whether or not we should register for two car seats or one. It's fun, but there is nothing in it but idle chatter, and a bit of hope or longing. I still cannot wholly shake the countdown in my head that has observed less than four weeks before the point at which Gabriel was born. It feels portentious, heavy on me. I can talk about April, but not with the fervent tones of a believer. More like one who makes plans for Rapture Day (If I'm still here, I suppose I'd be free for dinner. But you know there's a chance I won't be here, right? I'm not like the rest of you people). I think I honestly fear stillbirth more than anything. It's like - we've addressed the obvious problems and concerns (I start 17p this Friday, more on that in a moment), so those things are much less likely to go wrong. That only leaves things outside my control. More than once while at my mom's, I stopped, took a deep breath and reminded myself that this baby seems to be developmentally on track, as Gabriel was, and that given that history, I'm back to the 1-2% chance of things not going well, which are decent odds, altogether. Wish I believed it.

Occasionally, I get a bit lightheaded or dizzy, but I can generally link it back to too much time on my feet or not eating recently enough. I'm trying, but I struggle at work to eat regularly (let alone healthfully) and it's a habit I need to break. I didn't have nearly enough today, but I'm full from the soup I ate, and it's hard to make myself eat more now.

The restrictions are ok at times, necessary at other times, and well, restrictive, at still other times. It's hard because of course, I want to do whatever I can, but I am so invalided and when I feel strong or capable of walking or standing or bending or lifting, I want to do it. There are times it's nice to tease DH about what I can't do, but ultimately, it's terribly humbling to have to ask for assistance with things that should be easy, or to sit down after being on my feet for ten minutes, or to be completely winded at the top of my stairs, because I am losing what teeny bit of fitness I had. . .

But whatever it takes, I guess, and it's not so bad. I try to see it less as restrictive and more as a proactive approach to keeping me off bedrest. I'll let you know when that start working.

Friday is the first detailed anatomy/anomaly scan. It's a bit early at 17 and a half weeks, but that's standard for my perinatologist, apparently (he did schedule it quite specifically). So far I'm not anxious, but I expect I will be later. I feel a bit more strongly (today) that baby is healthy. So far, so good anyhow. My NT test results were fantastic, so I'm hoping for further confirmation things look ok. Also curious to see what the infamous Jack or Jill gender determination test has to say - rather, whether it is correct in its prediction or no. The actual sex doesn't matter. There are reasons I want both sexes and reasons I don't want either sex. But I want to know, to have some more time to spend knowing who this LO is, I guess. Those few days with Gabriel were wonderful - magical. I guess I want a bit of that again, but I'm not yet holding my breath for it all.

Days flow into each other, into nights, and I sleep, often fitfully. I awaken between three and four and have to pee and then run over the list (of all the things left undone and all the ways I suck at my job) until my mind wrests itself away from the negative feelings and I sleep again. Mornings are never long enough, sadness. I love the weekends, when I can sleep in. I dread the weekends when they draw to a close, and I have to go back to work again. I worry over the status of my vaginal discharge, perpetually wondering what watery means. I catch myself holding one-sided conversations in my head with baby, and I smile sometimes.

I rub my hands over my bump, knowing it's not really baby so much as everything baby has pushed aside as my uterus swells (it's nearly up to my belly button), but I rub all the same, perhaps hoping for some luck from the buddha, vaguely guessing I've got it mixed up somehow, but for a moment content all the same. These moments are fewer than I might like, but they do exist. Just in case though, I think I'll start reading aloud soon. I never got to read to Gabriel about what happened to that unfortunate storm cloud that flew near the honeybees. I'd like to imagine him there, listening to me read to his little sibling, approving of the story; flight of fancy or spirit of my son matters not in the imagining - as is true of all great stories, I think.

Sewn up like the Bayeux Tapestry, to quote my friend T

2011-10-27T18:54:00.002-05:00

NT Scan yesterday:

Went well. Nasal bone very prominently and clearly present (looks like this little heffalump* was not as lucky as his/her brother in that department and may have inherited DH's family's more, erm, prominent nose). Nuchal fold measured at 1.6 each time. Brain, heart, stomach all present, no apparent gross open neural tube defects. I left feeling vastly relieved. This kiddo is very obliging, and was in perfect position and holding still for the initial and most important measurements, and then started dancing around for us. Also, hiccuping (interfered with the heart rate, because it would lurch with the hiccups. Cute.).

Actual results will be available in about a week, but given the clear u/s I'm not concerned and was in fact comfortable with proceeding with the cerclage. The tech did not give an official guess because she couldn't at this early stage, and I had the Jack and Jill fetal DNA test done, which would tell us, so . . . (sidenote, the test is offered for free as a courtesy to my OB's patients because she refers all her patients to this place, otherwise we would have declined). However, she did say aloud that she would lean towards a particular sex. Interested to see what comes back on the DNA test and of course on future u/s. We do think we will keep it to ourselves, though.

Cerclage:

No eating after midnight, so I had a glass of milk at 11 and went to bed. Woke up about midnight with terrible diarrhea, but glad that was out of the way yesterday. Never did sleep well again, knowing I'd be up in about 4 hours.

Got up at 4:45 to take a shower. Then got dressed and was ready by 5:15. The cab was picking us up at 5:30, and I needed to be at the surgical center at 6:00. Timing worked out well. I got there about ten til. Too bad it didn't open until 6:00 on the nose - the mosquitos are awful right now.

I was scheduled second of the first five, so I completed my paperwork and paid relatively quickly and was back in prep by 6:30. Got changed, into bed and then they had anesthesia come talk to me (haha, jokes on me, it was under general in the end). The anesthesiologist was quick to reassure me that the drug they used has been used in pregnant patients for over 25 years and was safe for me and baby. That was honestly the first time it had ever crossed my mind to wonder about that. Mom fail?

The anesthetist had a very difficult time placing the IV. Three tries in the end and my left hand, wrist and arm are purple. Turns out they do better when they don't use a tourniquet. Go figure. I was told that I would not be sedated before being wheeled down because the sedation they normally use wasn't safe. Ok, shrug. They did an u/s to check position of the heffalump and I watched him/her roll around and stretch several times. That kiddo is just always, always active. And then DH was brought back and then Dr. K showed up and checked the u/s again (but oddly, I wasn't laying back, so he had trouble and his CRL measurement was a full week back of the first one today and the measurements yesterday . . . heh).

Then DH took my ring and my glasses and they wheeled me down and moved me onto the table and had me taking deep breaths of oxygen, and then they had me taking deep breaths of oxygen only my throat was very, very sore and I was coughing some and I couldn't open my eyes and then they said "Can't find it, um, should I get someone?" Followed by "Oh, sorry, no it's right there. Fetal heart tones look great via u/s." And then I tried to open my eyes and they said I was all done and did I want some juice? And my husband would join me soon.

I got some juice, and my throat hurt a lot. And there was a lot of pressure and I could feel the stitch which was weird. DH arrived and I was pretty in and out of it for awhile. I know I asked him a couple of times about what the doctor told him. My b/p was sort of high, though again at home, it's been ok. It was decreasing by the time I left. Got dressed and called the cab and then we came home.

I went to the bathroom. Mild spotting, nothing big, some cramping, but like light menstrual cramps, nothing scary. Again I could feel the stitch when I went to the bathroom, though now it's not really a big deal. I stretched out on the couch and have taken a few naps. Not the most comfy ever, but not terrible. I'm still feeling lazy and sloth-like. Some cramping that Tylenol has taken care of, spotting seems to be nearly gone.

We tried to get a doppler reading, but the kiddo was moving way to much. We'd catch it then whoosh- moved. If it's moving that much, I think we're good.

So yeah. It's going to be ok, maybe. For the first time I'm thinking there is a possibility of this working out. Never thought I would actually get this far. But here we are - second tri and sewn up tight.

The restrictions - which I've known about for a long time - are a little daunting, but they will become second nature I'm sure. Going to be a long few weeks, but I'm hopeful, I think. Just taking it easy right now - I am not looking at anything work related, just chilling on the couch. All. Weekend. Long.

*heffalump came after the NT scan when one of said jokingly, 'we've got a heffalump that jumps in there.' it's been sticking.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

2011-10-25T20:50:00.002-05:00

Inhale slowly through the nose, exhale slowly through the mouth. Oooooooooooo. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I've been repeating that a lot the last couple of days.

Last night, I woke up and was convinced that there was something in my vagina. It felt a lot like when I would pass a clot, actually. Only, there was no clot. Or anything, though I cried for about twenty minutes. I was finally distracted by horrible, horrible vomiting (to little effect, as I hadn't eaten in hours). I eventually realized that if my water hadn't broken with that vomiting, I was probably fine and tried to ignore the cramping and fell into an uneasy sleep.

This morning was better. But I'm scrambling to get everything done at work that needs to be done before the surgery. I feel constantly behind. The sole consolation is that I felt the same last year so maybe there is hope yet.

I got a call from the surgical center today, and when I gave them my height/weight suddenly they said I was too heavy to have the cerclage placed there. They said the anesthesiologist was uncomfortable giving me anesthesia because they'd have a harder time intubating me at my size, and I should be in hospital. Given that no intubation is required (the anesthesia is a spinal), I was really confused, and then really upset. The nurse at the peri's office straightened it all out though and we are back on for Thursday morning.

I am scheduled for the NT scan tomorrow and getting the first panicky twinges about it. I have no reason to think anything is wrong - baby's hit the milestones and had good heart-tones, movement, etc. Nevertheless - test. Big one. With results coming a week after they stitch me up. Nerve-wracking. Lip biting. Scary. I'm hopeful we see all the markers we are looking for, so I'm reassured. With Gabriel I remember being very concerned about anencephaly, and the presence of a brain was enormously reassuring. Let's keep our fingers crossed that all is equally well with this one.

At least I am not worried about it being dead when we arrive tomorrow - we had a great session with the doppler tonight. It's been very hit or miss, and I limit attempts to no more than every other day and usually stop once we get a heartbeat. Tonight though, it was as clear as it's ever been and the parasite (who clearly dislikes the doppler as much as its older brother did) obligingly stayed in relatively the same area, so we got great sounds. Good enough to make us stop and just listen for awhile. There was a flash of excitement and pride, a breakthrough from the usual detachment I have with this pregnancy.

Which is not to say that it's gone - far from it. The question of Gabriel's sex was a looming one throughout his pregnancy. Of course, I was convinced he was a girl, and quite afraid of having a boy and what on earth I would do. I was legitimately concerned about gender disappointment, having always wanted a girl first, but it didn't matter in the end. I loved him, and was so excited when it was finally official that he was male. I'm curious this time, but there is nothing like the fervor of last time. No long conversations or guesses or musings. Of course, nearly everyone thinks this parasite is a girl, and I sway back and forth. In many ways that would be easier, and bittersweet in others. But then I doubt that it will be any other way when the constant comparison is to my poor lost little boy. Having a baby - should we be so lucky - won't answer the questions we've always had about what our son would have been like and what raising him would be. If anything, they'll become more defined, more crystallized as we see more clearly what we've missed and the foggy dream images take shape into a living reality.

Detachment is the only way for me to cope. Yes, I know if we have another loss I will feel guilty about it. But I have to balance that against surviving each day and the only way for me is for the excitement and hope and joy to be compartmentalized and allowed out only in careful doses. So tonight, it was sweet to listen for a few moments, to send a thought to the baby thanking it for its cooperation, and simply have a normal moment of pregnancy and bonding.

A deep breath in the midst of the panic that seems to supersede the majority of the time, if you will.

I will post sometime after the cerclage is placed, if things have gone well. If you'd keep your fingers crossed or think good thoughts or whatever you send into the universe on Thursday, we would surely appreciate it.

Whoa there, buddy, let's just slow this down a bit here, yeah?

2011-10-21T19:41:00.002-05:00

OMG, two posts within a week?! Did the Rapture happen after all? No. Just updating.

I had another appointment with the regular OB on Monday. To be 100% honest, I was pretty well wrecked going into it. One of the women on the birth month board I've been visiting was a day or two behind me and we both had appointments on Oct 7, both had healthy babies with healthy heart beats, and then suddenly she went back and it was a missed miscarriage. Scared the fuck out of me.

And also, Monday was a huge deadline for a funding request and it's the first one I've done for this special funding that makes up, oh, a quarter of that department's budget and after working on it the previous week and then for 8 solid hours on Sunday, I was still not done and a little panicky.

So when they called me back and we didn't start with the u/s that I was supposed to be getting, I started getting very anxious. Apparently, my blood pressure was through the roof, despite being perfectly normal at every other appointment. The nurse was concerned, and asked if I was stressed out, to which I responded with a terse YES. She said we could try to find the h/b with the doppler and then she'd take it again.

Yeah, she couldn't find the h/b with the doppler. She was definitely not taking the blood pressure again at that point. Now, logically, I know that it was 11 weeks exactly, that it was still early, that it isn't automatically bad news, but I was already so freaked out that there was no way to separate the terror and nod sagely about logic. They wheeled in the old portable u/s machine, which was great, but they insist the doctor do the u/s in case there is bad news. I had to wait, naked from the waist down, staring at the u/s machine (which looked a lot like movie robots from the 80's) for fifteen or twenty minutes, during which I nearly completely lost it and started crying.

Dr. B was calm and reassuring as ever, but I was such a wreck that it didn't matter. She slid the probe in and immediately said, "Oh, see, baby's just fine, dancing away, saying nothing to worry about here Mom." and she turned the monitor so I could watch while she quickly checked the cervical length, heartbeat and placenta. Everything looked fine, and I was (and am) relieved that they immediately did the u/s for reassurance, but that's why I am supposed to have an u/s at every visit to begin with, scheduling person who fucked that up.

Then I learned that Dr. B doesn't actually do cerclage, so the list of questions I had prepared and the dates/schedule I thought I was getting? Nope - had to call the peri back to get it scheduled, which made me sullen and teenagery inside because I want an adult to arrange things for me, damn it.

I am to monitor my blood pressure twice a day (er, not been great about that just yet) and keep a log to take back. So far, it's been low. Go figure. I need to make certain the monitor is calibrated correctly, but it is returning normal figures for DH, so I sort of think it is working ok. I also got referrals to several psychiatrists and need to find one who takes my insurance, because the point at which my blood pressure is rising precipitously like that is the point at which I say I need some fucking anti-anxiety medication, please. Dr. B was quick to get me her referral list, I might add, after I said calmly that I desperately needed help with this. She also gave me a referral to the genetic center she sends patients to for the first tri screen (also known at NT scan), and that is scheduled for next Wednesday morning.

I don't see Dr. B again for nearly a month, but that may have to move up, depending on how things with the cerclage and whether or not I will have a follow-up with the peri.

Ohbytheyway, that (the cerclage) is currently scheduled for next Thursday. They'd have done it sooner, but I said I wanted the NT scan done first. Um. When the nurse called me back today to tell me it had to be next week, I nearly flipped out. I made sure that they know I'll be 12 weeks and change next week and she very impatiently clucked and said yes, yes, she's aware, next week.

I was not prepared for next week. I thought closer to 14 weeks. Certainly sometime after 13 weeks. Like, maybe after the official end of first tri? Also, I wasn't preparing work for next fucking week and OMG, what?

So yeah, Thursday, early in the morning. Wow. It's good. Really. Things are going well (provided the NT scan doesn't identify a hideous anomaly, but we don't have much reason to expect that given what we've seen so far), and the sooner the better, especially given the 'short presentation' of my cervix in the vaginal canal. It took me all day to figure out why I was so surprised and why I felt so steam rolled by this all happening so fast (beyond the work implications). I mean, I've known for 2 years that I would likely have a cerclage, and I learned 2 weeks ago that I definitely would. I know it would be placed before 15 weeks. So . . . what is the issue?

I finally pinpointed it and explained to Dh on the drive home thusly:

"It's like, whoa, there. This is all moving a bit fast, don't you think? It's like we've just met. And we're already getting intimate. But more than that, it's sort of . . . permanent. I mean, obviously not permanent, because it's going to be removed eventually. But it's a pretty big step to take, when I have no idea how this pregnancy is going to go. Which I realize is completely stupid, because the whole point of the cerclage is to help the pregnancy go as far as possible. But it feels like an awfully big commitment, and I don't feel ready to make that commitment. I feel like holding my hands up and telling him to stop thinking about my vagina and maybe back off and see where this thing is going first, you know?"

That's right folks. I'm concerned that the thing designed to prolong my pregnancy is being put in too soon because I'm not convinced I'll still be pregnant in a month. That repetitive sound is the sensible portion of me bashing itself against the wall created by the lunatic portion of me to keep the sensible one out.

Can't talk about work with a fuckload of profanity and foaming at the mouth, but am reminding myself that I was pretty much at the same place a year ago, and we all (me and the departments) survived, so it'll probably work itself out again this time too.

And lastly - in case it's not been made clear - I am half in love with Noel Gallagher, and fully in love with his music. I was crushed when I realized that even though Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds was released on 10-17 in the UK, that it's not available here until fucking November 8. Because I love The Death of You and Me in a wholly unhealthy way, and because If I Had A Gun has jumped onto my top 10 all time favorites list. Seriously, it's one of the most romantic, haunting songs I've ever heard. I got chills when I first listened to it, and still get chills. If you are big into Jesus you may not like chorus line "you're the only god that I will ever need" but if that won't upset you like it upset my intern at work (who audibly thanked the holy father for protecting her ears when I turned it off; I didn't think it was even loud enough for her to overhear), then dear god go listen to it on youtube. Fucking amazing.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day

2011-10-15T10:03:00.003-05:00

Remembering all the beautiful babies that have been lost far too soon, and all the grieving parents wishing they could hold them again. I hold you all in my heart and in my thoughts today.

This is something I've read and re-read lately, because since I got pregnant again, Gabriel has been more firmly on my mind. Reliving his pregnancy, reliving his birth, trying to remember the beautiful moments and not just the scary ones. Now that more people are learning of my pregnancy, people who don't know about Gabriel or understand the dangerous path I'm walking right now, I find myself reading this again and nodding along.

It is of course from my dear Elizabeth McCracken and her memoir An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination and if you have never read it - do. A brilliant writer who carries you into her world of loss and grief in a beautiful, honest, funny way. She captured so brilliantly the things I wanted to explain to other people, and I will never forget buying it about two years ago and opening it while I waited for my to-go order and standing in that line simultaneously laughing and crying out loud because this was a kindred soul.

How she speaks of loss and her Pudding here, this is how I feel about Gabriel today:

"I want it, too, the impossible lighter-side book. I will always be a woman whose first child died, and I won't give up either that grievance or the bad jokes of everyday life. I will hold on to both forever. I want a book that acknowledges that life goes on but that death goes on, too, that a person who is dead is a long, long story. You move on from it, but the death will never disappear from view. Your friends may say, Time heals all wounds. No, it doesn't, but eventually you'll feel better. You'll be yourself again. Your child will still be dead. The frivolous parts of your personality, stubborner than you'd imagined, will grow up through the cracks in your soul. The sad lady at the Florida library meant: the lighter side is not that your child has died -- no lighter side to that -- but that the child lived and died in this human realm, with its breathtaking sadness and dumb punch lines and hungry seagulls. That was the good news. She wasn't going to pretend that he hadn't, no matter how the mention of him made people shift and look away.

A stillborn child is really only ever his death. He didn't live: that's how he's defined. Once he fades from memory, there's little evidence at all, nothing that could turn up, for instance, at a French flea market , or be handed down through family. Eventually we are all only our artifacts. I am writing this before our first child turns into the set of footprints the French midwives made for us at the hospital . . .

. . . I don't want those footprints framed on the wall, but I don't want to hide them beneath the false bottom of a trunk. I don't want to wear my heart on my sleeve or put it away in cold storage. I don't want to fetishize, I don't want to repress, I want his death to be what it is: a fact. Something that people know without me having to explain it. I don't feel the need to tell my story to everyone, but when people ask, Is this your first child? I can't bear any of the possible answers.

I am am not ready for my first child to fade into history."

Love to all of you mothers and all of your children, present with you or not.

Back with another update

2011-10-09T10:16:00.002-05:00

The short version so you can skip the rest of the shit if you like:

Still pregnant with a viable fetus. Saw the perinatologist Dr. K on Friday and my little parasite (the most affectionate name we've come up with) was measuring ahead a bit with a good steady heartrate and good placement. My cervix measured 3 cm, but on manual exam showed a 'short presentation' - based on this and on my history, Dr. K has agreed completely with Dr. B's assessment and I will have a cerclage placed in 3-4 weeks and start 17p shots weekly at 16w. He said that of course there are no guarantees, which I know, but that he felt pleased and thinks I have a good shot at this.

And now the rest of the crap:

I honestly meant to write more between visits. But I found that every time I opened it up and stared at the blank white box, the fear would rise up again and I quietly closed it and went on my way. Or I'd come here and pour out a very long piece which was either a long rant about work and how buried and unhappy I am (which, once redacted to remove identifying details is confused in the extreme) or a long rambling on how convinced I am that the pregnancy is over or will be soon and god, I am tired of thinking it, how boring to read such things over and over and over.

In truth, I'm coping. Probably not very well, and dear lord do I stare longingly at that gorgeous unopened bottle of Mt. Gay Eclipse, but for the most part (long panicky and repetitive emails and chats with my dear T aside, who patiently listens and soothes though she's probably ready to do herself in to get it to stop already), I plod through each day.

Now that I'm nearly 10 weeks (and oh, yes, after measuring ahead, I went back and changed all my tickers back to where they were before the last u/s because I like Monday ticker-change better than Wednesday, because it's two days ahead my precious), and we've seen a good heartbeat, the risks have dropped to under 3%. We've also heard the heartbeat on the home doppler, which may drop us down to 2%. Not that I'm holding my breath over statistics - they've never been kind in the past. It's more like, ok. Maybe the tension can unwind a click now.

The hardest part was the in-between of the u/s. Just around 7 weeks and not another until 9.5, because of scheduling (and yes, I know how 'lucky' I am to get all this monitoring, I've been told on my birth month board, to which I snapped back that I'd much rather have a healthy normal pregnancy and forgo all the extra u/s ...). That particular time was difficult because it was too early to use the doppler (who am I kidding, we started trying at the end of 8 weeks/beginning of 9), far too early to feel movement, my uterus is still pretty far down in my pelvis (I can find it easily now though!) and the prime time for missed miscarriages. Symptoms are changing as well, as we approach the end of first tri, as the placenta moves towards taking over hormone production, etc.

I went from constant boob soreness to mild achiness in the evening. I went from all-day nausea and food aversions to hunger, interest in certain foods (I can eat tomatoes! and onions! and pickles!), and only some really bad near-vomiting after eating and in the evenings. Fatigue - well, hell, I'm so stressed out that ones particularly hard, and frequent urination? I have been drinking water like I'm a camel embarking on a desert journey, so who can say? Take all of that, through in paranoia, and some cramping, and a massive dose of stressed-out crazy and you get, well, me. It was difficult to function. All my free thoughts pulled together to say AFRAID AFRAID AFRAID AFRAID. I had horrible nightmares about the pregnancy ending in gruesome ways, about my family members dying or murdering others, and finally the past week saw me awake every night between 3 and 4, and be unable to return to sleep because of the things running through my head.

And let's not forget that work is a godawful disaster right now that brings its own high stress levels. I can't even get into all of it, but there is no sense that things are getting better or that that will ever get better (though that is a bit dramatic, really). No light at the end of that tunnel, really. I told a couple of people that I thought I would be coping better overall if I only had work to deal with or if I only had the pregnancy to deal with. The combination, instead of distracting me from the pregnancy or increasing my focus at work, has left me one big mess of a person who feels like she is failing at every thing she touches.

The anxiety levels are through the roof, in other words.

Things will get easier though. I hope. At least now, we're into fetus-hood. We're into the point where the doppler is working (and oh, obliging baby, how grateful I am that you are so kind - placed right at the top of the uterus, my parasite moves right near the probe and obligingly swims back and forth at that spot - no real searching or following, not like with Gabe. The technobeat freight train fades in and out and we let out a breath we'd been holding and there it is). We have a plan in place for my treatment. The pregnancy has been so different from Gabriel's - no bleeding, no worries, no scares except in my head. The baby will get bigger, the heartbeat easier to hear and measure. The trimester will end, and a cerclage will be placed. The monitoring every other week will continue, movement will start. As each of these things happens, another click of unwinding, of ability to move or to breathe. Not relax - ever relax? I doubt it. But easier, I hope.

I am able to do a little more - my family has been told now. I think we'd have liked to wait to make any announcements until after the cerclage (that certainly is the general plan for the rest of work or Jason's family, make sure that goes without disaster), but alas, my brother's wedding the week after placement makes it difficult, as everyone else is going and we are not. Everyone seems excited and hopeful though and my brother was really nice about the announcement. I bought canvas to make letters for the name for this one - Oliver or Vivienne (I'm starting with Vivienne, as nearly everyone believes it to be a girl). Cream letters, with sage green trim for Oliver or mauve trim for Vivienne. The colors were so clear. I didn't shake like a leaf this time. I had a few moments of doubt, but not the paralyzing fear of even a week before.

This is as positive as I can be, I fear. I feel an uncomfortable duty to pretend to happiness and delight, to be grateful for the symptoms that were dragging me down, and I can't do it. I feel terribly for those who would love to be in my position, but I can't manufacture emotion. Abstractly, I am happy, and hopeful. Emotionally, I am numb and want it to stay that way. The fear is hard enough when I am numb. Attached and hopeful and stupid? I don't think I could get out of bed again. So we go about every day, breathing in and out, trying to do one day at a time. Some days it works better than others. That, really, is the essence of life, I guess.

Oh, and as an odd post-script? At nearly 10 weeks pregnant, for a lark, I took one of the internet cheapie tests that are still laying around here (can't pass them off on anyone, not just quite yet, not really) - these tests that were the bane of my ttc existence with their faint lines and squinting, that gave me the first unbelievable positive at 9 dpo? 10 weeks pregnant, and the test line is still not darker than the control line. Wow.

Oh, hi!

2011-09-23T21:12:00.002-05:00

Important stuff:

1) Mom's surgery went well. She's been recovering nicely, and the pathology report came back clean, so she doesn't need any chemo follow-up. Her doctors did a great job and her remaining vocal function was preserved. I was glad to be there taking care of her for a few days, but it does make me wish we lived closer together (or that DH and I lived back home).

2) My appointment on Tuesday was good. Monday night was difficult. There was a lot of fear and a lot of preparation for bad news, because I just wasn't convinced that this pregnancy could be viable.

DH was not able to be there for the u/s, because of timing issues, which was nerve-wracking. They were running on time though, and had me back quickly, and within three minutes of entering the room, I was getting intimate with the dildo cam. Right away, an image popped up, but I didn't have a great angle on it. The tech pointed out a blob, and then began pointing out the yolk sac and I couldn't take it and blurted out, "But is there a heartbeat?" and she laughed and pointed it out.

It was cool because with Gabriel, it was a pole or grain of rice with a flashing pixel. The extra week made a real difference because this time it was a blob and I could see the heart expanding and contracting as it beat. Very neat. Measured 6w6d - or spot on for fertilityfriend's chosen ovulation date. That meant that as with Gabe, my hcg levels were really high. No twins, thank god. The heartrate was 134 bpm, which is fantastic for about 7 weeks. It appeared the placement was good.

The relief was overwhelming. And I'm still more relaxed than I was a week ago. Knowing that the horrible, horrible nausea and fatigue and every other physical thing isn't completely in vain makes it a bit more bearable.

But for all of that, I still refer to the pregnancy rather than the baby, still feel detached (and would be happier if I could just ignore it for awhile), and am just feeling grimly that I want to get on with things. Oh, there are moments of excitement and I find myself too easily slipping into thinking about the future as if it might come to be. I can talk about baby names or returning to work, but I shook like a leaf after telling my brother we aren't attending his wedding, because I am pregnant and am likely to have the cerclage the placed about that time. It seemed too much like calling attention to the pregnancy and that's what I want to avoid at all times. There is a primal inner urge to keep my head down and not to draw attention to us and that may be the only way to sneak this through.

I simply cannot forget how it ended last time we got this far. I can still feel as clearly as when it happened how it felt to finally let my guard down with Gabriel and fall in love completely with him. And I still can't quite forget the sense of betrayal I felt when it was snatched away just four days later. Of course I can't escape it. Every day is a comparison, and Gabriel seems to be more firmly present in my mind than he has been in awhile.

But yet again, for all the fear, there is a peace somewhere. No idea how long it might last, but there is a certain pull that is difficult to explain. I would not dare to say I feel optimistic, but the fear is more conscious than deep-seated in my soul. I am not sure if that makes sense. With Chickadee, there was simply a disquiet deep within that I kept trying to overcome with logic - I had symptoms and no spotting, things were probably fine! But I couldn't shake it. Despite everything going wrong that did with Gabe's pregnancy, I continued to try to be optimistic because he was well. But there again, a disquiet in my soul that I tried to talk over. So far, this is the reverse. There is not yet a soul-dread, but there is plenty of logical fear and I talk myself into negatives as if that might protect me. I feel like I need to avoid comfort or settled in or smug, but it's so I'm not tempting fates, not entirely because of a deeply rooted terror.

For now, anyway.

This after-life is complicated. Well, so it is and always has been. I should be used to living as a walking contradiction, but it never has gotten easier to figure out.

Woes

2011-09-11T20:29:00.002-05:00

One of the things I remembered clearly about my pregnancy with Gabriel was how miserable it was. There were moments of joy - I can remember the occasions when we listened to his heartbeat in a reassuring rhythmic lub-dub, and chasing him with the doppler, and feeling him move inside me.

But for the first twelve weeks, I was in complete misery. Overwhelmed by fear, and terribly sick. I can remember how difficult it was to find things to eat that would stay down, I can remember individual vomiting sessions. I remember at least two weeks in which I subsisted on Easy Mac, v8 fusion and smoothies. I can remember that it was dreadful. I can remember how much worse it got when constipation struck, and how incapacitated I was when the bleeding episodes hit. Further on, I can clearly remember the clutch of terror at the feeling of a clot sliding out of me in a gush of warm, red blood.

But the visceral feeling? How it felt to be so ill? What that vomiting felt like. How miserable it was to have nothing I could eat that would not come up again. How sore and aching my muscles would be, how charming the pinpoint hemorrhaging around my eyes was.

I've been very forcibly reminded of these things.

Very little is staying down - Gatorade, very cold Sprite, water are going down and mostly staying down. Food eaten after 7 seems to have a better chance than anything before that, save crackers. I'm quickly remembering survival techniques like eating bland foods, remembering that protein helps, but carbs like mashed potatoes and noodles stay down more easily. Chicken broth is a god-send.

Vomiting doesn't make me feel better, mostly, but is sometimes unavoidable. I don't like feeling like this at all. I should be grateful for the symptoms, but not only was I unable to go into work this weekend, I have no idea how I'll make it tomorrow. The balance of work and this illness is terrifying to me when I need to prove myself and feel so utterly behind and so physically incapable.

Of course, I also have to cynically wonder how large a role the progesterone is playing in this sudden downward spiral into worse than morning sickness. I mean to say that before I had this prescription, I'd experienced inreasingly frequent and strong bouts of nausea. I'd gagged over brushing my teeth a couple of times and I certainly threw up my prenatal quite unexpectedly and violently Tuesday morning. But this all day paralysis of near-vomiting and the degree to which I vomit when it does happen didn't really hit until yesterday, which followed 2 doses of progesterone. Taking it vaginally is supposed to reduce side-effects, because it bypasses metabolization in the liver. I'm not convinced it is poisoning me, to be honest.

I do think this will be a little easier if this pregnancy is viable. The uncertainty right now makes coping with this much more difficult.

Saw my regular OB yesterday

2011-09-09T09:01:00.002-05:00

Ok, let me say this first. I've been wondering in the last couple of weeks why I was still trying to work with Dr. B's office. It was frustrating, felt obstructionist, and the bureaucracy was killing me. Admittedly, I didn't go back for awhile; but the last thing I'd been told was not "You need to come in every year to maintain current patient status, so whatever happens, we'll see you in November!" It was "Call when you get a positive pregnancy test so we can start running labs." I don't blame them for wanting to keep their patients current, given that it is a busy practice and given that it gives them the opportunity to work on helping their patients stay healthy. But the fact that there was no recourse for me was beyond frustrating.

However, the moment she stepped into the exam room, I remembered why I wanted to work with Dr. B. She's awesome. She gets it. In fact, this is how that went down:

Dr B walks in and asked, "Ok, so how are you doing?"

"Um, terrified? That's a good word for it," I responded.

She plopped down on the wheelie stool and said, "Well of course you are! But you're going to be fine." She immediately proceeded to say that she's looked over my labwork and thought the numbers looked fantastic, and that she's not too concerned about the progesterone because the hcg looks so good. Of course, she is giving me a prescription for progesterone suppositories, so if there is a problem, those will take care of it.

Relief, blissful relief. (btw, what I think she meant about not being concerned was not that progesterone was fine, but that the pregnancy seemed otherwise viable at this point. There was nothing concerning in the hcg that suggested progesterone would merely delay a spontaneous miscarriage.)

The rest of the visit was equally reassuring. She talked to me like I was an intelligent woman who knew what she was talking about; at no time was she condescending or patronizing. There was no discussion about my weight (which, thank you. I know I'm morbidly obese, but there isn't much to do about it now, is there? Thank you for treating me, and not scolding me about my size!). She discussed needing to find a high risk doctor to do concurrent care with, and I told her I already have an appointment with Dr. K and she was pleased. She said she'd get my records over to him before then. We talked about a scan (scheduled for 9/20) - she didn't want to try yesterday because of the likelihood we would not see a heartbeat and how worrisome that would be for me. She talked about the likelihood of a prophylactic cerclage and said I should probably prepare myself for some bedrest or at least modified work schedule.

She was just . . . perfect. Understanding, reassuring without being overly positive, talked with me as if I am a partner in this endeavor. Exactly what I needed. It was a relief. When I was wrapping up with the appointment lady, she walked by and gave me a big squeeze and that summed it up. I get the sense that she cares about me and understands why I'm a wreck right now. I wish her practice were less bureaucratic, but I can work with it now that I'm a re-established patient.

I got the prescription filled yesterday (which was it's own adventure as there was a big debate between the pharmacy and the doctor's office about whether or not the standard prometrium were ok to be used vaginally and then about whether I required capsules or tablets and it all ended with a sheepish call from the nurse explaining that capsules were actually just fine and sorry for all the confusion). First dose last night and at first I thought I was fine. Then I tried to go upstairs and I was extremely sleepy and very dizzy. I slept very, very well last night and woke up feeling groggy and a little out of it. Hey, whatever, as long as it works and gives this pregnancy a chance to succeed.

Good News/Bad News - Blood draw 3

2011-09-07T13:23:00.002-05:00

Good news: Beta, drawn at 135 hours past previous between 20 and 22 dpo came in at 7273, which is a doubling rate of 34 hours.

Bad news: Progesterone has dropped from 11 (low end of normal) to 8.4 (below normal).

Verdict: I am officially freaking the fuck out.

I called my doc's office - she's back from vacation. Her office will still do nothing until I see her, but the nurse is squeezing me into the first appointment of the day at 8:30. Hopefully I can then get a progesterone supplement.

The question is whether or not it will be too late tomorrow morning for progesterone supplementation to work. Google produces a lot of anecdotal high-fives and success stories and a number of 'too late' stories when HCG was normal or better. The fact that hcg is increasing so well, and that I have no spotting or cramping is hopeful. The fact that pregnancy symptoms are disappearing is concerning.

I am, frankly, terrified. Everything but this has been so good. I don't know if this will work out. And I did everything I could to try and get a prescription for supplementation, to no avail. I feel like I'm going to cry, I'm so stressed out and worried and scared.

Update 5 - Not what we planned

2011-09-03T20:36:00.002-05:00

Given everything with work, with how tired I am, with how much I need to focus on my health and really lose some weight, and given a promise I made my boss that I would not have a baby during a time that would have me out during the summer (for as far as I could prevent it), we decided after work started seriously discussing me taking over Dept 3 that it was time for the long break from trying to conceive we'd talked about.

After all, last year, when I had just taken over Dept 1, my cycles went insane from the stress and I only had one clear ovulation in the fall and a couple of weak ovulations in the winter. I felt like the best thing we could do was take a break. I planned to call my OB and schedule an annual appointment and discuss our options, get serious about dropping some of this weight, and continue paying down our debt - we've started to get serious about house renovations. And frankly, I could use a break from ttc, from the rollercoaster of emotions it produced, from the faint lines and the hope and the terror. I know that I'm not done with trying, but I was accepting that I was ready for a break. Dh was supportive. Of course, that all happened in the days after ovulation.

Are you getting a sense of where this is going?

Well, I'm not one to completely ruin the suspense.

Seven days past ovulation was Gabriel's birthday. I hadn't felt anything, really, not even sore breasts. Nothing was different that day. I did take one of the stupid online cheapie tests that continued to give us faint lines and that DH had asked me to throw away after last cycle. It was completely 100% clear - snow white in the test area, which was nice to see. I knew it wouldn't be positive, but at least the tests were capable of giving me clear negatives.

Eight and nine days past ovulation were relatively the same, save for testing. My mom was coming into town to visit for the weekend, so on a whim, at nine days past ovulation (last Friday), I took a test. I figured it would be negative, as I wasn't overwhelmed with pregnancy symptoms and we both felt pretty convinced that despite good timing, this wasn't likely to be our cycle. Please take a moment to imagine my utter shock when I looked down at the test about 3 minutes in and realized there was a faint but distinctly pink line on the test that already looked darker than the faint lines we'd had to that point. DH agreed that it looked like something. I was even able to get a picture of it, and my friend T agreed she could see it too. A second, and third test agreed that the first was not a fluke. There was a faint line.

Oh, shit.

The next morning, Saturday, was weird. We needed to get the place cleaned up for my mom, but well, we were preoccupied. The first thing in the morning, I peed in a cup and took out the last FR I had in the house. My hands were shaking, and I was convinced it would be negative, but I did it anyway. Within a minute, the line was there, but so what? I'd seen it before with these 'new and improved, more sensitive' FR. An evap line appears, but never turns pink, it's just the test strip becoming more visible. Only, before two minutes have expired, that line is pink. There is no doubt, no twisting and turning and squinting. Not as dark as the control line, but definitely a clear, pink line.

When DH came into the room, I handed him the test with a frown on my face. He took it with an air of long-suffering, and brought it up towards his face, expecting to do the usual stare-down, only to get it about half-way up, see the clear line and shout "FUCK!" and throw the test back at me in surprise. Then he stood there shaking his head and saying, "There is no mistaking that. That's a positive."

It was. In fact, the digital popped up 'Pregnant' in less than a minute and I collapsed into a fit of nervous giggles. The other few hundred tests I've taken have been equally positive, if not more so. Anecdotal though it may be, the tests have continued to get darker and darker, even the stupid internet cheapies are as dark as the control line a week later.

I'll spare you details of the past week, though it's been quite frustrating. A call to the OB's office revealed a patient policy I was unaware of; because I've not seen her in over a year, I have been reverted to 'new patient' status and they will not order labs, order prescriptions or give a referral until I see her. The problem? I need the beta series and the doctor is out of town. And no one else in the practice will see me because I'm not considered an 'established' patient. In the end, I had to go to a private clinic and pay exhorbitant amounts.

The betas came back well so far though, draw one was 188.24, draw two (exactly 48 hours later) was 475.69, which is a doubling time of 35.8 hours. The individual numbers are quite high for a singleton pregnancy at what I thought was 12 and 14 dpo, so there is that. There is a slim possibility ovulation was really two days before, in which case the numbers are above average, but less crazy high.

The big concern was the progesterone. I'd never had progesterone drawn before, and rather wish I'd not now because it's been difficult to stop worrying about it. It came back on the first draw at 11. The normal range is 9-47. So in the range, but on the low end. And everything I've ever heard is that it should be over 15. Oof. Scary. My doctor was out of the picture, so I begged and pleaded and favors were called in and there was drama, but I saw another doctor. I wanted a progesterone supplement.

He was very nice, but unintentionally condescending. He would not give me a prescription, insisting that it was in the normal range and in the absence of any spotting, I needed primarily to relax and let the pregnancy take its course. Sigh. There was one good thing. He's going to try to get me in with a sensitive, good perinatologist - one who's been recommended to me several times. If that comes through, it will have been worth the mortification of that visit.

Really, I'm still worried about it. I decided not to have it drawn with the second beta, and I delayed the third beta on the idea that I will have it drawn again. And since I'm on my own this weekend, and since it's a holiday, and since there is nothing I can do, I decided to wait until Monday to have it drawn. At least then my OB will be back in town and able to squeeze me in if possible and get me progesterone if needed.

Overall, I vacillate between fear and hope. Things have gone pretty well. I couldn't ask for better beta levels at this point. I have symptoms every day - fatigue, large and very tender breasts, queasiness and nausea that come and go, bloating. . . things seem to be as they should be. I passed the point my period should have arrived, and there has been no sign of spotting. The cramping that comes and goes occasionally is disconcerting, but not too worrisome. I try to remember what is normal, but honestly, I've no sense of it for myself. I know what the texts say, but believing it for myself is different.

I am currently going with the earlier possible ovulation date, because it makes more sense to me in terms of numbers, but also because I won't know much before the u/s, if we get that far. So at the moment, about 4w5d (or 4w3d by FF's calculations).

Crazy. Despite the fact that we intentionally had unprotected sex around ovulation time, we can't help feeling like this was unplanned. The timing is not what we would have chosen. And yet, there is so much hope right now. It feels good. You know, in between the moments of pure terror (like every time I go to the bathroom, because I'm afraid spotting will have started).

Honestly, I have been through just about everything at this point. I know I can handle whatever will happen. I know I'll live and be ok, whatever happens. What's killing me is the waiting to see what that is going to be. The uncertainty and lack of control is unsettling at best. But I suppose, really, that's life, isn't it?

Update 4 - Gabriel's Birthday

2011-09-03T19:11:00.003-05:00

I honestly don't know what to say about this. Wednesday, the 24, was two years. I took the day off work, and it was good. I wrote out his birth story again, on Glow, and it was awful. I cried. And cried some more. And then I slept and that was largely that. DH and I went to dinner, and we didn't talk much about it until last weekend. Most of my emotion about it was spent two weeks before when I was more tense than can be imagined, when my temper was beyond frayed and my patience gone and I snapped at someone that if that goddamned department called me one more time I was going to strangle someone . . . and then from nowhere, I said aloud, "I miss him. I miss Gabriel. And I wish he was here." Ah, yes, I knew then.

It's something I felt oddly about. Most days, I feel at peace with it. Which is not to say I am ok with it or that I don't still feel all the things I felt two years ago - anger, sadness, terror, regret, guilt, love. I still miss him, who he would have been, who DH and I would have been, the life we would have had. I still see him out of the corner of my eye, and wish I could catch a fuller glimpse and drink in his features.

But I can't. And I think I've began to resolve that within myself. The things I felt two years ago are still there, but are more measured. They are a background noise, familiar and comfortable. I know that a fear I had early on that I was unable to articulate is that I would forget him. That I would cease to love him because he wasn't here to be loved, that he would become less important to me, and if he did, then he would cease to matter.

And something I've learned, two years later, is that the fear I felt then was unfounded. Gabe is my son, my darling little boy. How can I ever forget him? How could I ever stop loving him? I can't. And more than that - he won't be forgotten. He is remembered and equally loved by many people. Will that carry forward beyond our lives? Not with his name or mine, no, but then little will. The love that he inspired, the kindnesses that have happened in his memory, the acts of compassion, the children who were hugged a little tighter or loved a little more because their parents suddenly understood how fragile and tenuous it all is . . . those resonances are Gabriel's legacy. Those resonances will spread outwards further and further, reaching beyond our sight, beyond our lives, like water rings from a fallen stone. Who can predict that?

I have changed in two years, and so has DH. And I like to think we've changed for the better. Less judgmental, more compassionate, more aware of humanity and what it means. Kinder to each other, better sense of perspective, of awareness. I think, and this took me a long time to reconcile, that I like who I am now better than who I was. And I think that's ok. It's not that I don't want Gabriel back, in a heartbeat of course. But I do think that I understand he won't come back, not in that way. I won't hold him in my arms again, or finish the story I'd started to read to him. I can continue to commune with his spirit, to appreciate him as he is now. To be grateful for all that he has given me and taught me.

Do you know, Chris on Glow wrote a piece about a year ago (Simple), that said things so perfectly, so beautifully . . . he was two years out from losing his son Silas at that point in time. He wrote that missing Silas was something he did every day, that it was just a part of who he was at that point. I identified with that, with the need to laugh and enjoy life, with the perpendicular lines of reconciliation. With the small smile and admission, with the impenetrable nugget. . .

That is how it is. I think we would have liked to have done more, but we didn't know what to do. Gabe is so commonplace to us, but his death still so painful, that celebrating didn't feel quite right. We haven't hit on quite right yet, but we're getting there. Maybe next year I'll bake a cake.

~~~~~

I did want to note that I have some of the most wonderful friends in the world. They were checking on me that week, that day. A number of people emailed or checked in to let us know they were thinking of him, and of us - and I can't thank you enough for that. I need still to go back and thank you individually, and I hope to soon.

But my friends. Oh, my friends. They did some of the nicest things for Gabriel. There were balloon releases, with his name and birthday tied to the balloons. There were plants and flowers, his name feeding an orchid, his name with candles. And a wonderful story that filled my heart in a way that I can't quite explain. I'm repeating this entirely without permission, but I hope you don't mind T, because it was so wonderful it gave me goosebumps.

"We made him a paper boat, because two year old boys love paper boats,
and took it down to the creek so it could sail to the river and then
to the sea. The SS Gabriel had different ideas, however, and shot
straight across the current and towards the far shore where he was
lost from sight.

I think when you finally reach the far shore, you'll find him there
with sandy feet and a curling smile, wondering what took you so long
when he sped across so easily."

Somehow, I think she's right.

Update 3 - My mom

2011-09-03T11:43:00.002-05:00

I found out last weekend that my mom is having her thyroid removed in the middle of September, because of an inconclusive biopsy.

She's been having voice problems; her voice has weakened and she constantly sounds like she's at the end of a bad cold - weak and raspy. She's been seeing a specialist, but it's been hard to pin down. More than just growing old, but nothing clear or obvious. So she's had numerous scans and things, and in an early CATscan, they found nodules on her thyroid. Now that, in itself, is not uncommon and they were not concerned at the time.

They thought they'd isolated the problem and treated it, but it apparently didn't have the success they hoped for, so in preparation for a different type of treatment, they repeated the scans and this time there was something concerning with these nodules. So it was time for a biopsy. That was inconclusive and they've decided that removal is the best option. The actual chance of cancer is low, but nevertheless . . . we want her to be safe and healthy.

So, that's happening. I'm taking time off work to go be with her. She was worried that I would be too overwhelmed when I got back. Clearly, I need to stop complaining about work, because fuck that. My mama's the important thing here. For three or four days, they should be able to deal.

Update 2 - the car accident

2011-09-03T11:28:00.003-05:00

First and most important after a title like that, we are fine.

So, there was a light on in the car, related to the electronic stability control. We noted it, but the car seemed to be driving fine, so we decided to wait until September, when things were calmer at work (hahahahahaha) and we were planning to take it in for the 50,000 mile fluid flush/check up anyway.

You may have heard that Texas was experiencing record heats and excessive droughts. I'm used to droughts from New Braunfels. They exist over an aquifer and aquifer levels were always important during summer. And of course, the ability to tube the rivers is a big part of the city income, so I'm used to water restrictions of some kind, but all my time in Houston, this year was the first I could remember such things here.

The problem here in Houston is that the city isn't built for it. We've had a number of water main breaks, which, as you can imagine, isn't good.

In this case, a water main break, a right turn, and the electronic stability control being less than 100% functioning combined to cause the car to fishtail, overcorrect and I had absolutely no control of the car at all. It was one of the scariest moments of my life, particularly when the car did a full 360. We ended up on a curb-height median. It was maybe 10 seconds, but I truly thought for a moment that we were going to end up in on-coming traffic.

In the end, the damage was minor - the splash plate under the car that protects it from debris flying into the engine had to be replaced. There was a bad sensor in the right rear wheel well that caused the erratic reactions by the electronic stability control. That was covered by warranty and they cut us a deal on the rest because the accident was related to that. The part was no cost, we paid labor.

In the end, the rental car cost as much as the repairs. About $800 I didn't anticipate spending, but we are ok, and that is the important thing. I was a hysterical mess immediately after, and DH didn't quite understand why, since we were ok. Once I explained that I had had no control of the car at all, he was a lot more sympathetic. But I'll tell you something - never, ever again. This only clarifies why I will never live in or drive in a state with winter weather. Utterly terrifying.

Update 1 - Work.

2011-09-03T09:51:00.002-05:00

Right. So, I never actually posted again. Oops? There's been quite a bit that has happened, so I'm going to break it down into a few posts.

Up first, work.

So, a big part of the reason I haven't posted is that because so much has been happening that I really couldn't (and can't) talk about. Partially because it requires so much backstory, partially because I know about some things I can't talk about, and partially because I've been so fucking exhausted that I didn't much feel like it.

Most of the summer saw me working late everyday and coming in at least once a weekend. My departments, special snowflakes that they are, are doing well. Mostly, I was helping out the division office. I used to work for the division office; I was the division office's department administrator. A year and a half ago it was decided that due to budget cuts, departments would no longer each have their own business administrator, and instead, some would be cut and the rest would be centralized and responsible for multiple departments.

Right, here's the thing. We have some small departments where there is no business or support staff apart from the administrator and some large departments that have (and require) several support and business staff. In other words, vastly different needs. It's a lot to try and piece together. As people left (retired, resigned), we did not replace them, but instead pulled those programs into a pilot program. A year ago, one of the biggest departments went vacant and I was given that department, but I didn't move out of the division offices, because we were centralizing business staff. In another shift, a department that is closely tied to mine was also given to me.

The departments I inherited were both in not good shape, financially or procedurally. I think we've come a long way in a year and we've gotten to a much better place. I've gotten one of my directors to understand budgeting and why it's so important, which is great. We're putting a realistic budget in place in my other department as well. And we do things mostly on time, people get paid on time, and we haven't asked for exceptions to policy, which is good.

However, because of the shifts the office I used to be administrator for, we went from having 4 staff members to 1.5 for months. It became a disaster. My supervisor was doing 3 jobs, including acting as the department administrator for a department that is in bad shape. It was awful. So I offered to help, again and again, and back in May, I started redoing parts of my old job and supporting my supervisor by assisting with paperwork in the department.

Lots of late nights and weekends. I felt it would pay off in the long run, as I was making my case to be one of the top tier of centralized administrators (the plan was to have groups of similar departments each supported by 2 administrators, one at a higher level, one at a lower level). And I liked my coworkers and wanted to help. It got tiresome, but I stuck with it.

Around the beginning of August, we finally got a new person to replace my supervisor's old position. He's great, he stepped in and is doing a fantastic job and is a delight to have in the office. Things were looking up, but it was becoming clear that the department in dire straits was even worse off than we realized because of a bad confluence of events - my supervisor doing three jobs, the office coordinator in the department being unreliable, and a bad budgetary situation. Then the coordinator left, leaving no receptionist and no one to do daily financial/HR documents or workflow.

And then my supervisor took a week's vacation. Here's the thing: our fiscal year runs from Sept 1 to Aug 31. We are still wrapping up fiscal year closeout. Taking a day or two is pushing it, depending on deadlines and a full week is unheard of. And the way in which she did it wasn't the most professional. So I offered/was asked to oversee them for that week. I did. It was awful. Hectic, frazzling, and they latched onto me because I actually responded to their questions and visited everyday to see what was needed (it's located right next to my departments, so I was out there anyway). It was hard. And then the dept asked if I could be their administrator. It was so awkward, because I knew that their situation wasn't working, but that's not my decision.

After a long series of talks with my boss, who was pissed at my supervisor, we decided that I would take it over, with additional help to clear the daily processes. My biggest role would be budget oversight, and spending that time necessary at the departments - meeting with people, meeting with the chairs, overseeing staff (hard to do from a different office) and making sure that bills are paid, people are paid, and monthly business processes are completed on time.

That was the plan for a week, but it was only announced on Monday. The new department is happy and I'm glad in one sense because I pushed for it. If I can turn them around, well, I am well placed in my job. And I have a background in this area, so I understand them more than other administrators have. At the same time, I did this already with two other departments and it's hard and takes months of time. A year later, we're doing better, but we're still not 100%. And now I'm doing it again, only, it isn't the only thing I do. I still have my other departments to see to as well. I essentially just doubled my workload.

And I'm not getting anything for it right now. I can't receive additional pay because no one else has received it for taking on a new department. I can and should be reclassed to a higher position . . . but I'm not eligible for another six months, because you can't be reclassified in a career ladder move until you've been in your new position for a full year. Since I was reclassed in March, I am not eligible until then - unless we finish the centralization process. Because in that case, there will be other avenues to pursue. It will happen. I know that.

But for now, I'm still behind from the week my supervisor was out, still have final clean-up to do, and overwhelmed by what lies ahead. So much of my time has been focused on meeting with people and walking back and forth between my office and my departments that I feel like I don't get anything done.

The old departments love me, and the new department is thrilled, and that is very gratifying. But it also feels like a lot of pressure. I think I can do it, but there are times I questions how well it will actually work. The funny thing is that we are setting up a small version of the groups we intend to have so at least we'll have a month or two to get a good look at how (whether this can work). Because this isn't even a full group yet. To be fair, these departments are probably also amongst the worst off (and biggest), so the rest should be smoother than this.

But, uh, I'm tired, y'all.

Ramblings

2011-06-12T22:20:00.002-05:00

It's quite late Sunday night. We watched the Mavs win a championship, we watched Mary Shannon discover an unplanned pregnancy on In Plain Sight. We watched hours of Leverage this weekend, gearing up for the season 4 premiere.

I gave myself a facial today; something I've started doing on a weekly basis, along with manicures and pedicures. My skin is looking better. Still a few breakouts, but I notice them less when the rest is looking luminous rather than dull and blotchy. One of my colleagues noticed my painted nails and said in great surprise, "You look like a girl!" earlier in the week. Ouch.

Another week passed, still busy. I meant to go in this weekend, just for a few hours, but I let me talk myself out of it when I realized I could access it all from home. The problem, of course, is that I never got round to actually working. I'm feeling a bit worn out at present; tired of all the work I've been doing, tired of the pressures of centralization looming, tired of being one of 3 busy people in an office with more than 3 staff. My office-mate sneered about my workload, because I have staff to assist me (the statement being that I didn't need to worry about Tuesday's deadline because my staff is doing the work for me), and I was nearly foaming at the mouth. My staff does prepare the documents she has to prepare herself, and we have 4 times as many as she does, which all require review in workflow, because I don't prepare them personally. Bah. I know, and my supervisors know, what I do.

I've found myself quite irritable in the past week, another sign of low patience and deteriorating interest in overtime. It seems the limits have been reached, as every little thing seemed to ignite another fire of indignation. There was plenty of ranting behind the scenes, and plenty of bitching about how much easier things would be for us all if they would all just give me what I ask for when and how I ask for it. Truly though, if group A had given me the figures I requested, I could have given them a budget by now, instead of having to answer multiple emails and have a face-to-face meeting because someone read an old report incorrectly. Annoying.

Anyway, I need to let that pass. Last week and soon we start a new week, sure to be full of fresh annoyances. Like annoyance at myself for not having completed my damn work this weekend so I'd not be so pressured tomorrow and Tuesday with deadlines.

Ah, well. I don't regret the time away, to be honest.

I'm back in a place I frequently find myself: wondering if I could be pregnant and whether or not we've been at all wise about how we've gone about this if I am. I'd wonder if the relief I feel when I'm not pregnant is a sign of something, were it not for the fact that the relief comes only after a day or two of intense sadness. In the midst of it, trying feels right. It's only in the waiting - until time to test, until time to try - that I think we're best off just stopping for a bit. That draws nearer though; if this cycle was a bust, we've got one, maybe two more, before our break. I honestly sort of look forward to a break, but not whole-heartedly. The one bright piece of news was that I ovulated within 'normal' time frames on cd 21. The hormones seem to be all in line, with a nice post-o jump and early onset of sore boobs, so we'll see how it goes, I suppose (like there's any choice at this point. snort).

Other news? I've been greatly enjoying Stephen Fry's audiobook readings of Harry Potter. I was lucky enough to get my hands on them and they are wonderful. Fry is an excellent reader and the British versions of the books are simply delightful. All leading up, of course, to next month's premiere of the final movie. I'm terribly excited, and dreading it. JKR kills of one of my favorite characters, and I'm still a bit annoyed (or a lot - hence why I correct her egregious error in fanfiction). Still, the Phelps twins are among the favorite people I follow on Twitter, and I really do think they've got some talent, so I'm eager to see it play out on screen. But. . . Fred dies, and then the movies are just . . . over. Forever! Sadness.

DH is well, I suppose. This past week was a bit rough. He wasn't sleeping well, and consequently wasn't feeling well, which often coincides with a general malaise and dissatisfaction with his life. Add to that other things like difficulty in his hobbies, and it isn't always a pleasant place to be. Not his fault - he makes serious efforts to curtail his moods and not direct them at me, but there is no way for me to escape his unhappiness in this house. It eats at me and leaves me feeling anxious and apologetic, no matter how pleasant he tries to be. I'm trying to figure out a better way to deal with it, because frankly, he puts up with a fuck of a lot of ups and downs with me. . .

I've just finished catching up on some fiction that was lost in queue. The two most recent Val McDermid books in the Hill/Jordan series. She is fantastic thriller writer, but the books have morphed since the earlier ones, and as she's moved a bit further away from sexual serial offenders to the last two books, they've gotten better and better. Always strong and compelling, these last two have a bit less sensationalism in them, and they are utterly fantastic. Her stand-alone books are also fantastic, particularly as many of her characters make delightful cameos, and I'm on the lookout for a book released earlier in the year in paperback that hasn't yet made it's way to iBooks.

My own writing has stalled a bit. I need to work on the pieces that are half-published, but one is so light and fluffy that I just feel meh about it (though it's been very popular). The other is a grief-study, and it's at a sensitive point. I just killed off Hermione's father in a terribly guilt-inducing way. Several people commented that it was lovely, an accurate portrait of grief, and one person said it was terribly out of character and she whined too much. I laughed at that, and sighed, because my very first reaction was "Oh, you are so lucky never to have experienced real grief" and my second thought was "For goodness' sake, she's known this for all of a few hours. Give her a day or two, please!" What can I say, I expect I've done a bit of projecting and probing in this project. But it's good. And I feel it when I read it. It's good. Not perfect, by any stretch, certainly not. But I'm still proud of it. That doesn't stop me from wanting to work on other pieces that are a bit more interesting to me right now. Ah, well. I'll get back into it soon, no doubt.

The cat and dog have been sweet lately, which is sort of oddly reassuring and affirming. DH came home early from work one day, and he reported that the dog did what he always does when I'm home and DH is not - that is to say, he huffed, and whined a bit. Frequently begged to go out to see if I was outside. Looked accusingly at the dog parent left at home, sighed, curled into a ball, with ears pointed alertly towards the door for any sign that the missing dog parent might soon return. Nice to know he loves me too, I suppose.

That's about it. It's late and I need to go to bed and avoid last week's habit of late bedtimes - wonder if that had to do with the irritability, come to think of it. The weather looks to be dreadfully hot. No surprise - summer in Texas - but my least favorite part of living here, no question. It could be worse, of course. It could be Not Texas. . . though I admit my fantasies of visiting jolly old England are more frequent this time of year.

June what?!

2011-06-01T17:23:00.002-05:00

Oh,hi.

It's June.

Apparently.

Time flies when you are hiring new people and understaffed and get sucked into FY12 budget development and work late every night and at least once each weekend, doesn't it?

For those who inquired, the last cycle was truly gorgeous, with temps that mimicked Gabriel's pregnancy cycle, but alas, ended on time. I'm currently at cd 14 with what seems to be the beginning of a fertile period (temp dropped a wee bit, cm is thinning out, becoming wetter). If I'm lucky, ovulation will be in the next 10 days or so. One more cycle after this, and a break period if nothing works out.

Work is going. There is plenty to say on the subject, but little that is of interest. All signs point to the initial timeline being correct - a year ago, we were told that the business operations would be centralized and that about half of us would be RIF'd, and that this would take place when space was identified to house all the retained/centralized staff, roughly 12-18 months. Apparently, they are trying to identify space and looking towards the new fiscal year. I'm putting it out of my mind for now, because while I believe I'll have a job, I'm not looking forward to any of it.

Beyond that - well, there hasn't been much beyond work of late. That tends to happen when you work so much. Home has been buried in writing or mindless television and then sleep. That's it.

I can say I've had a few things on my mind. Of course, August marks the second passing of Gabriel's birth/death date. Never did it ever occur to me then that I would not have a living child by now. However, I'm learning to put aside the timelines and mental math about when this or that would happen. I'm beginning to believe I may not achieve a viable pregnancy again. I'm beginning to wonder not if I can live with this being the shape or sum of my life, but how to do so.

It honestly makes me angry to dwell on it. This is not the life I wanted, nor the life I thought I had. For as much time and energy and honest care I put into work, I still catch myself asking what the bloody hell I am doing. I never had a desire to do this line of work, and while it is at times fulfilling and while I love my coworkers, there is no deep yearning or calling here. It's a job that I fell into and have tried to make the most of. It's not something I worked for or studied for or feel drawn to. It's something I don't suck at that pays the bills.

I have a good, decent life. I have many blessings. I wonder if I am greedy to seek more, to beg for more, to be dissatisfied.

DH told me last night that I can change this if I want to. That I can make things different, and it made me sad. Because I don't really see how. The things I'd like to change - it's not just my weight or my hair or my hobbies. It's bigger things, more subtle things. At this point, given our dependence on my income, I can't simply switch jobs. I'm not properly trained for much, really. I never pursued my MA. I've just a list of things I'm good at and no real idea how that would morph into something I really want to do. I've never identified my passion.

Well, I had, actually - women, pregnancy, birth. Only that's one of the things that died with Gabriel. Nothing else has taken its place.

Children . . . right. Well, that's been covered, hasn't it? Adoption and surrogacy are currently out of equation for us, but maybe at some point. Trying for another pregnancy is not going well and there is a point at which we have to ask ourselves - given the high risk nature of things - how worthwhile it is to pursue this avenue.

And then. . . beyond that. . . I don't know. There is a restlessness, a vague depression that is lingering. I can't quite identify it, but I know that loneliness plays a role.

I dropped out of a lot after I lost Gabe. I had to, to preserve any semblance of sanity. The friends who could cope with that are still friends. The ones who couldn't fell by the wayside. I don't blame them, and I don't blame me. We are all of us victims of a shit situation. In reality, some of them deserve some blame, no doubt, and unquestionably I do in some cases, but what's the point now? Nearly two years gone, and there are few individuals I miss. It's more the community and the sense of belonging, a group of people I could identify with and whose company I enjoyed that I miss. Glow is wonderful, but it's also achingly sad and sometimes depressing. The babylost are the most supportive community I've ever found, especially the niche I've discovered who are content with allowing one to explore one's grief as it comes, in all it's ugliness. Nevertheless, I never really wanted to join that club.

Do you know, in two years, I still haven't figured out how to respond to people?

A non-sequiter, I'm sure, but this is being written piece-meal, and oh well. It took about a year, but eventually I could answer the question 'Do you have children?' with relative calm and ease. "No, no living children."

Easy peasey.

But almost a full year after that, and I've still not worked out how to respond when their response comes. "I'm so, so sorry." and I generally believe they genuinely are sorry. But what do you say?

Thank you? Me too? Yeah? Life sucks? Say nothing?

Haven't gotten it down. Apparently, I am as uncomfortable with bringing the spectre of death into the room as I always feel people must be when I do it.

And it's things like that. I think about them a fair amount. Nearly two years and my grief is very different than it was. I recently re-read the early things, looking for something to send to a newly bereaved mother. And the raw pain that was spilling out here took my breath away. I can remember it, vaguely. Thinking back to that immediate aftermath is always a foggy, cloudy perspective. I remember certain things clearly - we watched hours upon hours of Cash Cab and HGTV. Mindless chunks of half-hour numbness that had no babies. I remember boxes of Ding-dongs. I didn't touch alcohol, but by god, I ate ding-dongs. I remember getting my haircut and that awful moment when my stumbling words made my husband think I wanted a divorce. I remember that I hurt and that I felt blind, but I have no emotional memory of it. I can't feel that pain - and thank god, because who could bear it forever? But re-reading it was like opening a window to it and catching a glimpse of it. Oh yes, that feeling, it was like a hundred small knife wounds. Yes.

I still miss Gabriel, but it's less urgent now. Less demanding. More like an old friend. Or a piece of jewelry that I wear all the time. Familiar. The sharp longing is duller now, though it occasionally flares up into an active yearning for a few minutes to know what it would be like to be a mother to that son. To know what he'd have looked like as a wobbling toddler shouting new words. To know what his favorite lovey would have been. To hold him in my arms.

It all fades, of course, because it must. Life insists on being lived, and your options are to end it or to be swept away by it. I think, sometimes, that still bothers me. That the world didn't end, that my world didn't end. There are, even yet, moments in which I feel guilt for that, that I'm betraying him or his spirit or his memory by enjoying a new book or laughing at a dumb joke. But what other choice is there?

Do you know, this is our fourth year of trying to conceive? First started trying with the late May into June cycle in 2008, after that year's delay. God, how I've changed since then. How much has changed since then. I used to have hope, and now I despise it and cling to it simultaneously. I thought things were simple, straightforward then - that you had sex at the right time, got pregnant, and mostly had a baby. Now I know, in my primal being, that pregnancies don't last and babies don't live. Not for me, anyway. That if I ever do manage a viable pregnancy again, that if - I can't even picture it now - I ever have a living child, it will be because the universe wasn't watching closely enough, that I'll feel as if I've snuck one by. . . And still, angry as I get with it, I find so much beauty in the fragile world.

Probably the greatest gift Gabriel gave me. The ability to see and admire beauty even in the bleakest time. And it's hard to regret his life when I have that.

Public Service Announcement (and friendly note to self):

2011-05-09T21:11:00.002-05:00

After spending some time admiring my chart today (lovely temps and a clearly strong progesterone response, which is indicative of a strong ovulation), I started feeling a wee bit antsy. I mean, I know that 4 dpo is too early for symptoms, for implantation, for much of anything. But I have such a strongly positive feeling (which I've probably just jinxed) that I wanted to do something. Something other than over-analyze the soreness of my boobs and compare symptoms with previous cycles as if there were some sort of discernible pattern there.

I admit it. I went web surfing.

I reaped what I sowed. It was painful, galling, puzzling, laughable and head-shake/eye-roll worthy.

So. In the interests of clearing up some confusion (and firmly reminding myself of things I already know), allow me to go over some basics.

Implantation
This occurs when the blastocyst attaches to the endometrial lining. This is often a long process. Typically it occurs between 6 and 10 dpo, on rare occasions, possibly as early as 5 dpo or as late as 12 dpo. There is some theory that earlier or later implantations are linked to a higher rate of early miscarriage, though whether that is because the embryo was slow due to developmental problems and therefore abnormal to begin with or whether it is due to a less hospitable environment (by 12 dpo, many women no longer have the progesterone support they need and the uterine lining is beginning to break down) is unclear.

Things to note about implantation:

-You will not experience pregnancy symptoms before implantation occurs (more below).

-Some women experience spotting or bleeding when implantation occurs - but most don't. Spotting or bleeding can happen for a variety of reasons, and is generally unrelated to implantation. Hormonal shifts, abrupt decrease in progesterone or estrogen, a more sensitive cervix being bumped . . . lots of reasons. Don't worry if you don't see implantation bleeding, don't get overly excited (or concerned) if you do.

-Ditto implantation dips. This is when your temperature dips .3 or more and then rises to higher luteal phase levels, typically seen between 7 and 10 dpo. While dips of this nature are seen a bit more often in pregnancy charts, they are not exactly uncommon in ovulatory only charts. In fact, I have an absolutely gorgeous example of an 'implantation' dip in one of my decidedly non-pregnant charts. Likewise, many women do not ever see such a dip and are definitely pregnant. So if it's not there, don't fret, and if it is there, don't do what I did and spend a lot of time cooing over it - it may or may not be real.

-Implantation cramping is not likely something you will feel. Not only does the process take hours into days (and frankly, is ongoing weeks into your pregnancy), but we're talking about something that is microscopic in size attaching to a thick, nerveless bit of tissue. Cramps happen through the luteal phase for a variety of reasons; I often think we simply notice them more because we are looking for signs. And yes, yes I did in fact write my husband twice today to tell him I felt crampy. What?

Symptoms - and their causes

Many people, myself included, spend a lot of time overanalyzing their bodily functions in search of determining what symptoms they are feeling and attempting to ascribe meaning to it. Sadly, one quick google search for your symptom du jour will undoubtedly inform you that it is normal/usual/found in both pregnant and non-pregnant women.

Here's are the important things to note:
-Symptoms caused by pregnancy will not be caused before implantation begins; this is because the chemicals causing these symptoms are not produced before then, or at least not produced in sufficient enough quantities before then, to cause symptoms. So whatever you think you are feeling at 4 dpo is a happy coincidence if you happen to be pregnant. Don't believe me? Well, go take a look at FF charts and compare charts for the same person. You'll find the same symptoms cropping up over time.

-Many early pregnancy symptoms are indistinguishable from non-pregnant/PMS symptoms. That's because of the above, but also because the symptoms are both caused by the same hormone: Progesterone. Progesterone is the dominant hormone in the luteal phase; it is responsible for the temperature increase that marks ovulation and for making the uterine lining spongy and receptive to an implanting blastocyst. The following are especially linked to progesterone:
*Sore/tender breasts
*Increased size/mass of breasts
*Fatigue/lethargy/tiredness
*Digestive problems (including constipation, feelings of fullness, and sometimes heartburn - this is because of the relaxant effect progesterone has on muscles)
*Emotional turmoil (manifesting differently for everyone, and sometimes merely a byproduct of fluctuating hormones generally)

Hmmmmm. Do you see a pattern there? I do too - those are all common early pregnancy symptoms. Now the reason for this is that if you are pregnant, then the hormone hcg (the pregnancy hormone) kicks in after implantation and tells the corpus luteam to continue producing progesterone. Progesterone will increase during pregnancy, produced by the corpus luteam, until the placenta is developed enough to begin producing progesterone itself. When that happens, the levels tend to stabilize rather than continue to increase and pregnancy seems more stable at that point for many women. There is some speculation that the higher levels of progesterone mid-luteal phase (when progesterone peaks in a non-pregnant cycle) and again in pregnancy can affect some women by causing nausea. Just a note. . .

- I'm sure you, like me, have noted your symptoms and have some fail-safe notes to compare to. For instance, I tend to start having sore boobs around 4 dpo (when progesterone is fully established) and they tend to fade by 9/10 dpo in a non-pregnant cycle, or get worse in a pregnant cycle. One of the obvious signs of the last chemical pregnancy was going from 'dear GOD do not TOUCH them' to 'huh, achey.' That's cool and all - clearly I do it too - but remember to take it all with a grain of salt. Not only is every cycle unique, but your hormone profile can always be affected by something, making a symptom more than it is.

Ovulation, OPKs and DPO

Look, charting isn't for everyone and not everyone is inclined (or can afford) to use OPK's (especially my pricey preferred brand). I get that. I'm cool with that. But if you don't know when you ovulated by some means other than a website calendar, I'm going to be sceptical. And likely suggest you wait until you are past your longest cycle length to test - for a few good reasons. Unless you were charting or using opk's (or are familiar enough with your body to know what EWCM is and what your typical luteal phase is), you have no idea when or if you ovulated. Your symptoms don't mean much and it can cause a lot of heartache and aggravation to waste tests by testing a week too early, or conversely, being 'late' and getting negatives.

Additional notes on ovulation day, OPKs, and dpo:

-Ovulation cramps are useful for identifying a general timeframe for ovulation, but not a specific one. This is because ovulation cramps can take place anytime before, during and after ovulation. They can be caused by developing follicles competing for space in your ovaries, by the oocyte bursting through the follicle, by fluid build up in your ovaries, by fluid being released around your ovaries and irritating your abdominal cavity, and by the corpus luteam cyst that is left behind. A general guide to help you time sex (provided you consistently note ovulatory pain in advance of or in conjunction with + OPKs and charted temp shifts), sure. An accurate pinpointing of ovulation - meh.

-OPKs can be hard to read. Which is why I like the digitals (even though I still read the lines even though they say not to - I'm practiced at it after 3 years though). If digitals aren't your thing, then please remember that an OPK has to display a test line that is equal to or darker than the control line to be positive. Close enough isn't positive. Equal to or darker than. Additionally, luteinizing hormone (lh - the hormone that is being tested) synthesizes in your body in the morning; thus, you will get the most accurate reading in the afternoon. But you do need concentrated urine. If you can't hold your urine for 3-4 hours, then use them first thing in the morning. But if you aren't getting accurate readings or seeing a positive, consider testing twice a day. Some women experience long surges, some don't. I generally only see 2 day surges if I test multiple times per day and happen to catch the beginning of the surge and test through to the end.

-OPKs are a snapshot of lh. Surges can last anywhere from 12 to 48 hours. Please note: Getting a + OPK doesn't mean you are ovulating that day. You could be - as I said, if you catch a surge on the tail end, it's possible you will ovulate later that day. But typically, ovulation occurs 24-36 hours after the surge (the published times, given that you don't often know what part of the surge you capture is ovulation occurring 12-48 hours after a + OPK). FF assumes ovulation the day after a + OPK or Peak on CBEFM - that's a generally safe assumption.

-DPO, or days past ovulation. Ok, sigh. I read a thing today somewhere or other where the woman wrote out her 2ww symptoms, and started by informing the reader that she had + OPKs and ovulatory pain 2 dpo. The thing is. . . if you haven't ovulation, you can't be any days past ovulation. So. . . yeah. Sigh.

-DPO can be important. A day or two off (technically, charting is only accurate to +/- 3 days!) isn't necessarily a big deal unless you are an early tester. If you are - and god knows I am - then be realistic. No matter what you see on the internets, you will not get a positive hpt at 4 dpo. Or 5 dpo. Or, really, 6 or 7 dpo most likely. Frankly, the odds are really low on seeing them before 10 dpo, not that that has ever stopped me (and frankly, given that my most successful pregnancies have all tested positive by 10 dpo, I'm a bit superstitious about this in a completely illogical and freely admitted way). The thing is - implantation normally happens between 6 (six) and 10 (ten) dpo. And once implantation occurs, hcg begins to be produced. While hcg increases rapidly in early pregnancy (expected to double once every 48 hours or so), it takes some time to be produced in sufficient enough quantities to be detectable via bloodstream (earliest) and urine (a bit later). Early pregnancy tests are good for picking up low levels of hcg, but it can't pick up what isn't there, and even if you implant on 6 dpo, the odds of there being enough detectable hcg to register visibly on a pregnancy test are low. Does it happen? Yeah! Is it likely? No! Does it stop me? No! I'm just saying, don't expect a positive hpt at 8 dpo - it's unrealistic.

Early Pregnancy Testing
I'm the queen. I can go on at length, but I'll spare you. I'm a big fan of early testing because I would rather know as soon as possible. Healthy or wise? Meh. Probably not. But, that's me. I'm not really bothered by BFN's at this point, though faint lines drive me a little (or a lot) insane. It's an individual choice and there isn't a right or wrong answer.

However:

-Get early pregnancy tests if you are going to test. Digitals have come a long way since I started ttc, but they are still a bit less sensitive. I wouldn't use these before 10 dpo, personally. FR are generally a good choice, but there are some reports of evaps out there. Cheapies are often a good choice for early testing because your chances of positives are lower and it feels less wasteful. However, it's worth noting that internet cheapies and $tree are frequently dinged for producing evap lines and for only providing faint lines even after clear positives are found on other brands. Caveat Emptor here, folks.

-OPKs as HPTs - yeah. It can be done. I've done it. But generally speaking, you'll already have clear positives and a digital before it shows up, so I wouldn't use this as anything other than kind of a cool thing. The reason for this is that OPKs are testing for a threshold level of lh/hcg - it doesn't turn positive until you have at least X amount of the hormone. So you could get some wonky results and if it's just stressing you out - take a pregnancy test.

-Line comparison. Again, something I do. I've found that typically tests will get darker the further into pregnancy you get into pregnancy and the higher hcg gets. However, there are a lot of factors that go into the line darkness including: amount of urine used, the concentration of the urine, the amount of dye in the test, the manufacture date of the test, etc. I've taken tests from different boxes and gotten clear positives and super faint lines. I've taken tests of different brands from the same cup of urine and had a line as dark as a control line and a really faint line. Try not to compare - I know, I do it too - but try not to. If you have reason to need to know, call your doc for a beta. Lately, I've not made it to beta; and if you get consistently fading tests, well, that can be a bad sign. But it's not conclusive. Only a quantative beta is.

-Evap Lines/Lines after time limit. Right, so my experience is that it is rare for an evap line to appear during the testing time frame. It's happened before, but close examination generally reveals it to be an indentation, rather than a real evap. Don't go back to a test. Call the test during the testing timeframe and stick with it. Even if it's got a clearly visible line fifteen minutes or an hour later. It's still negative. Certainly sometimes those faint lines you call negative will develop in a day or two into clear positives. That doesn't make the old tests positive. A line can show up later for a lot of reasons, and it usually isn't because of pregnancy. The hormones being tested for dissolve really quickly - that's why pregnancy tests are called rapid assay tests and have time limits to begin with. After that, the strip where the antibodies were can attract dye or the indentation from where the antibody strip was (or the area on either side) can collect dye and give the appearance of a positive. Likewise, disturbing the test by removing the casing can cause the test to dry oddly and create the appearance of a line that isn't a true positive.

I . . . think that covers everything I saw today. I know it's long. I know I'm guilty of falling prey to several of these things. And ultimately - go do your thing. No one need answer to me. But man . . . I needed to get that off my chest! If it helps, well, there is the benefit of approaching year 4 of ttc and extensive study before hand. Cheers.

Happy Mother's Day, I guess

2011-05-08T11:57:00.004-05:00

It's not that I don't wish for people to have a happy day. I only just sort of remembered myself. We always sort of said that we wouldn't celebrate Mother's/Father's Day, beyond maybe a nice card or something, and now, well. I'm good, thanks.

Actually, this year isn't so bad. I've been busy - I know, I say that every post now. Still, it's the sort of business that makes me wonder just what in the hell I was doing before when I thought I was busy. Spring has passed very quickly - blink of eye fast - and I have a feeling the summer will be the same. But because of events and bustle, despite the frequent reminders from tv, I kind of forgot that Mother's Day was approaching.

Sorry, Mom. I'm sending flowers, I swear. And calling, once I get the phone recharged.

Last year was bad. Last year I was wallowing, and it was made worse when my brother decided brilliantly to set up a conference call with my mom. It made her happy, but interrupted a crying jag, and I was sullen and surly because I just wanted to be left alone. Then I felt horribly guilty. Not a fun day.

So indifference is fine my me. I'm hopeful that there will be enough people celebrating that we will find the grocery store a bit more empty than usual. Beyond that, I intend to bask in the glory of the remaining weekend, because work next week is going to suck - budget development is open for fiscal year 12. I helped last year, but I've never been fully responsible for budget development of a unit. Let alone budget development of 2 units, one of which is fucking massive. And naturally, I cleared my calendar so that I can assist with other units in the division as needed.

Anyway - work is work. Things are a lot better for me than they were six months ago. I'm more settled, and I'm getting things on track with my departments. It's a struggle some days, believe me, but I'm feeling a lot more confident about work than I was a few months ago. Of course, my two close colleagues (one my supervisor) have both been promoted since my old boss left, and we're still short staffed, but it's been better for me. I work more naturally with them, and it's a relief, if you will; doesn't feel like the constant struggle and inability to do the right thing it did with my old boss.

I didn't apply for my supervisor's old job though - we had a long conversation about it, and everyone seemed to assume I would. I suppose in some ways it made sense, and we certainly hoped that other DBAs would (since we're the ones losing our jobs in centralization . . .) but no one did. Several people approached me after the fact and asked why I didn't apply, but it was simple. I approached both my new bosses and said "What do you think? Here's what I think. It's not a good time." I laid out my reasons - we'd have to find someone to cover my departments and they'd go through another year of turbulence. I was only just finding my feet, and I thought I served these special departments well and like what I'm doing. I'd only been in a department for a few months, and I thought it would be better if someone who'd been in a department for awhile took the job. I thought it would be better for another DBA to apply since it would mean one less position to RIF (though that didn't happen). And I didn't want it to look like my boss was just promoting her friends. Of course there would be an open search and everything, but there is always a sort of lingering doubt when that happens. We talked it over and we all felt comfortable with me not applying. Instead, I joined the search committee.

Let me just say - I learned something about myself during this stretch. I learned I do not like reading job applications, cover letters or resumes. And I have high standards and make fun of people who cannot fill these things out correctly. Seriously - if you can't proofread your job application, you can't work with me. Blog posts, message board posts, tweets - yeah, typos happen, poor grammar crops up. But a formal cover letter? I'll give just one example: don't tell me you are excellent in oral and written communication, then proceed to write an entire paragraph of incomplete sentences.

Oy.

In the end though, I think we found a good applicant. It was an odd experience, because this person will be in a higher position than me, but realistically, I've been pulled into a lot of plans and know a whole lot about what is going to be happening. It'll be a bit odd, really, but I knew this person would be a good fit when she cracked a joke during her interview. Hopefully she'll be here around the beginning of June, and then we'll really get things going.

What else? Well, the March for Babies walk happened last weekend. I didn't write much going in or just after. It was really because, well, I didn't want to do it. I was feeling - and still am feeling - a whole lot of ambivalence about it. It's not that it's not a good cause (though I trust that less than I did when I started, thanks to the entire Makena debacle), it's just that I wasn't sure how I felt going into it. And I talked myself into doing it and hoped it would be a good thing, and it didn't work out for me that way, in the end. If you'd like to read more about that, I've got a post up on Glow in the Woods on the main page that details the struggle I had. I debated about posting it for awhile, given that I'd not even talked about it here. But in the end, well, it didn't feel good to me, or happy, or healing. And that's ok. It didn't necessarily have to. For all of that, I will probably do it again next year. Only I will take a much more realistic view of it and not look to get anything more out of it than I think it can give.

In other news - this having become some sort of round up post, apparently - I'm currently 3 dpo. This cycle was actually sort of good. No multiple fertile patches, hormones seeming to be right on track doing what they are supposed to (even estrogen, if my CBEFM sticks are to be believed). Our timing worked out fairly well, and now it's wait time. I feel actually pretty good about it right now. Naturally we'll see what happens in a few days, but hey, for the moment, it's good.

Well. All of that said, I'll try and get back to this more this month. Between my (fan) fiction and life, I don't have as much time. But also . . . things are good right now. All things considered anyway. It's boring. I'm ok with that though. I can do with a bit less drama.

March For Babies

2011-04-18T11:09:00.004-05:00

So . . .

I mentioned awhile ago that I will be walking this year, and am very lazily chairing the 'campaign' for my division. I've done a frankly awful job, as things simply grew too crazy for me to devote any time to this, especially amongst the ghosts this raised for me, unexpectedly.

And yet, it's still happening, and I'm still walking, and time is running out. My goal was to raise $500; I've reached a little over 3/5 of that goal. A couple of people have privately asked about donating, which is so generous and so appreciated.

After giving it some careful thought, I decided to put this out here as well. On my birthday, I tweeted a bunch of people to solicit help in publicizing my walk. Some really awesome people retweeted my link and some really, really awesome people donated as well.

Below is what I wrote about our experience when this first started; ultimately, we didn't use this because what they were looking for was something this piece was not and a way in which I could not use Gabriel or our pain. But this piece is important, and I wanted to share it. At the bottom is a link to my personal page, if you wish to donate in honor of Gabriel or in honor of the premature baby in your life, living or deceased.

This place has been many things to me over the years I've written here, and the support in the aftermath of Gabe's birth and death is something I can never forget. Thank you all for helping me find a place in the world for my little lost son, and helping me remember that he *is* important, and that he *does* matter and that in his short life, he's touched so many people and helped to bring about more good and love in the world than I could ever have believed before.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I am a mother, but have no children. My son is a shadow, a spirit, a scent on the breeze, a wistful longing in my heart.

The day classes began in the fall of 2009 is the day my world stopped and shattered. I was 21 weeks into a complicated pregnancy; four days prior we had received word that our son was well and healthy and the problems that had plagued the pregnancy to that point were finally gone. We lived through four days of perfect happiness, content in knowing things were well with Gabriel.

But that particular August day was uncomfortable, then painful. I finally left to consult my midwife, who looked grave and called the doctor. I went home to rest, hoping the contractions would fade. Four hours later I was in the hospital. Three hours after that, I was in shock, watching my husband hold our child as he died, a victim of a previously undiagnosed incompetent cervix and a partial placental abruption.

Gabe was born too soon, too prematurely; three weeks before viability and life-saving measures could have given him any chance at survival. Our world crashed down around us. It felt as if life had splintered into variant paths and somehow I’d been stuck by mistake in this nightmare of a life, racked with grief and loss.

In the eighteen months that have passed since that day, I’ve changed. I am both more compassionate and less patient; more aware of the beauty of life, and the fragility of it. I go through everyday attempting to reconcile the fact of my son’s death with the rest of a life that insists on being lived.

It is impossible to state concisely yet clearly how the death of a child, your child, affects you; it’s not just a baby that dies, it’s your family, your hopes, your innocence, your future. Simple conversation makes me freeze, because I do not know the answer to the question ‘Do you have any children?’

The answer, of course, is ‘Yes. A son. Gabriel Ross. He died shortly after his premature birth.’ Some days I say those words and share Gabe’s story, some days I smile and say ‘No’ because I cannot bear to be an object of pity and the hurt is too great.

It is a dilemma I hope no one else ever faces, a pain I wish to see eradicated, a thing of which I think many people are unaware. So many advances have been made, so many modern miracles that people forget that prematurity remains the highest killer of newborns and infants. March of Dimes fights against prematurity every day in a variety of ways – through funding research that saves even 23 and 24 week babies, through education about healthy pregnancies and risks to the same, to aiding women locally in seeking prenatal care and providing untold support to families whose children are in NICU.

I will be walking with March for Babies this May 1, 2011 to support the efforts of March of Dimes; to help ensure that fewer women join the ranks of the baby-lost, to remember and honor my Gabriel. If you wish to support my efforts, please visit my personal page here.

Friday Friday Friday Friday

2011-04-15T09:41:00.002-05:00

If I repeat it enough, maybe it'll help make better the fact that I am so far behind and so frazzled and so . . . gnnnghausghahghahhw that my inclination is to rock back and forth and hum tunelessly and stare sightlessly, only there is no time for nonsense like that. And what am I doing even writing this? God, my monthly deadlines are TODAY and I stayed for an extra 3 hours last night and got a bunch done, but I'm not finished and TODAY and shit and reports and I'm trying, dear God, I'm trying but I can't watch them every second when I work 25 hours per week in a separate office and when I'm not watching they DO things like buy food and other forbidden items and we have NO MONEY and why don't they GET that and now my financial coordinator is interviewing for new jobs and and and and . . .

Breathe.

The good thing about things being in such crisis mode is that there is no time for brooding. Silver lining somewhere, right? The usual day of batshit crazy emotional-ness was prolonged and made worse by the chemical pregnancy, but now I'm past that and hormones are cleared from my system and damn! what a difference that makes.

I can't say I'm thrilled with everything, but at least at some distance and without hormone-goggles, I can shrug it off a bit more easily. I can more easily say - hey, at least things are working again, after a good six months of 'not so much with the working' and that's a good thing. I can more easily say that I'm willing to try a bit longer, that we're not done yet.

At least I can as long as the marshmallow eggs are still available. Once those comforting squishy mounds of chocolatey-marshmallow goodness are gone, all bets are off.

And now, if I don't get back to it, I'm going to end up rocking in a corner despite my best efforts. At least it's Friday, right?

Not what I expected

2011-04-12T21:12:00.002-05:00

I've been quiet for awhile. Work and other things, naturally.

And then, well, something happened. And I made a conscious decision not to discuss it here, not yet. Which makes this sound melodramatic and makes me feel a little stupid. But . . . I can't keep this and everything bottled up, because there is a lot attached to this.

Last Thursday evening, I got a faintly positive pregnancy test. Faint faint faint. On an internet cheap test. Which I only sort of trust, because it was so faint. I decided then that I would not count it positive - evap line, maybe. Friday morning, the test was the same. A line appeared within the five minute testing window, but was very, very light. Whether or not it was pink was questionable.

On the way home Friday, we were rear-ended. Just worth noting, because it's a giant hassle and pain in my ass.

I tested with a FR Friday night (10 dpo). It was negative. The faint line on the cheapie remained.

Saturday morning (11 dpo), I got a faint, faint colorless line on FR. DH didn't see it. Continue to get the same light line on the cheapie. Given that it is showing up so quickly, within 3 minutes, and is visible to both of us, we tentatively decide that well, it's positive. Right. Ok.

Sunday morning (12 dpo), I get a darker line on FR. But it is quite pale, I'm not sure about it, but again, it appears pale pink and both of us see the line. After a trip to get more FR, and some digitals, and go grocery shopping, I take another test and this one . . . it's a beautiful positive. A clear, though light, but definitely pink line appears in about a minute.

It was positive.

I was pregnant.

Symptoms were present this entire time, fatigue and sore boobs, primarily. Nausea wasn't there much, which worried me some, since I've always been so ill from the beginning with the other pregnancies. But every pregnancy is different, right?

I took another test yesterday morning, expecting the line to be even darker, as I prepared to call the doc for betas.

It wasn't darker. It was barely there.

Another fucking chemical pregnancy.

I cried all the way into work. Not because I was attached to that baby - I wasn't. That may sound callous, but let's be honest. With the multitude of ways in which a pregnancy can go wrong, I remain shocked that anyone is ever born. After all of two days, I'm not attached. But I am angry. I am hurt. I am tired. I don't know how much longer I can ride this rollercoaster, but the other options are not palatable.

As of this afternoon, the tests were still faintly positive, and my period had not yet arrived. Infuriating. I would be concerned were it not for the fact that I have at least finally started spotting.

To go into everything I felt all weekend . . . I was practically batshit crazy. I am not convinced I can go through another pregnancy. I wonder somewhat if I would be any less worried if the circumstances were different, if the positives showed up quickly and darkly, if they weren't late or unclear, if my temperatures were more steady. Dunno.

It was an emotionally wringing weekend, and I was terrified for much of it, though I tried to simply breathe through it. To make it through and end up with yet another failure has simply left me feeling raw.

I don't actually feel like writing any more about this right now. I've hashed it over with a friend. I'm bitter. And I've got work to do. And an insurance claim to work on. So dwelling yet again isn't the best choice. But I wanted to put it out there, because I'm feeling a lot of different things about this.

It's so tiresome. We're into our fourth year of actively trying. We should be trying for Gabriel's sibling. And instead, it's still - all these years later - just us and the pets, only now there is also a box of ashes. This is not how it was supposed to be. It's how it is. And I don't think there is a single thing I can do to change it. Things would be so much easier if I could see what happened in the future, whether or not it is worth it to keep going. Right now, it sure doesn't feel that way.

cough cough

2011-03-12T11:53:00.002-06:00

Feel sorry for my poor beleaguered husband.

I am sick.

And not just "I'm not feeling 100% today" sick; more like I had a bad feeling when I woke up yesterday and my chest felt . . . mmmm, sticky? and I felt more fatigued than anytime except pregnancy. Then as I pushed through the slog of the day, I got to the last hour and a half, which ought to have been enough time to make good headway on The Thing Which Absolutely Must Be Completed By 10:00 AM Monday Morning Or The World As We Know It Will End (which, incidentally, is the same thing as what ought to've been completed by Thursday evening, but which got pushed aside in favor of working on the new budget reduction numbers). Yeah, I just got lost in my own overly complicated run-on sentence. Sorry.

The point is that I sat at my desk and started shivering violently, which is really unusual for me, barring sub-forty weather outdoors. So I pulled on a wrap I keep at the offices for just such emergencies, and was instantly boiling. I felt dizzy, so I gave in, called DH and said I was going home, and I'd sure like him to come with me. He came. I was still smiling and joking, so I'm not sure my bosses knew exactly how bad I was feeling, but meh, I don't care.

It was a long walk to the car and far longer drive home. Fucking Rodeo. Fucking me for forgetting my usual route has rodeo traffic and that Lady Antebellum were playing last night (which I know because we were offered free tickets which I turned down because of not feeling well). It took twice as long as usual to get home, and three times as long as it ought to have taken on the Friday before most of the city went on Spring Break before 5:00.

We stopped to load up on Dayquil and Nyquil, because frankly, by that point, I was a walking commercial for them. I felt really wretched by this point in time and very whiny. All of this, I might add, was made worse by yet another return of red spotting in no logical sense. My cycle is so fucked up, y'all.

Poor, sweet Dh has taken excellent care of me, but I am a giant baby when I am well into what I call "Mommy, I don't feel good" territory. A fever and the shakes and the resultness achiness and ouchy coughing of alarmingly yellow-green stuff definitely qualifies, by the way.

So all I have to say is thank God for my husband, and for Advil and Dayquil and Nyquil and holy shit, body, you suck. The weekend? Really? After the shit week I had? I hate you.

Also, still have to go into work to finish this damned report. Wah.

Fairness.

2011-02-28T20:44:00.002-06:00

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.

Aha.

2011-02-27T13:36:00.002-06:00

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.

Sweet Relief

2011-02-24T20:41:00.002-06:00

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.

Conflict of interests

2011-02-20T11:40:00.002-06:00

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.

All you need is love

2011-02-14T22:44:00.003-06:00

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.

Unlocking the Secrets

2011-02-10T21:16:00.002-06:00

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.

Something to think about for Superbowl Sunday.

2011-02-06T11:37:00.002-06:00

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.

Looking back.

2011-02-05T12:09:00.003-06:00

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.

Today? Not a good one.

2011-02-03T21:33:00.003-06:00

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.

Baby, it's cold outside!

2011-02-02T21:56:00.002-06:00

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.

Adulthood and Waiting on Universal Approval

2011-01-29T23:41:00.004-06:00

When I was little, like most other people I expect, I thought growing up was the best possible thing. I thought that being an adult had to be great, because there were no bedtimes and nobody telling you what you could or could not do, you got to eat whatever you wanted and do whatever you wanted, and you knew all the answers.

Right. Obviously, as I got older, I realized that growing up is painful and confusing and that you often don't feel like you've got a clue what is happening or should be. That you can do what you want, but you have to be the one to bear the consequences for your decisions and actions. That no one comes along to tell you what the best decision is, and worse, much of the time there is no single right decision or answer. I don't have a bedtime, but I do have people to tell me what I have to wear, and frankly a lot of people telling me what I can and can't do. I certainly don't have all the answers, and I can't eat whatever I want because I know about things like clogged arteries and sugar crashes and caffeine addiction and diabetes.

Being an adult isn't easy. I don't much like it most days. I remember my mother telling me that, naturally. To enjoy the freedom I had. There are plenty of days when I'd love to go back to, say, my senior year of high school. No real bills, a car to drive (for which I only had to cover my gas), my own room, enough money to cover many of my wants . . . I wish I'd understand how nice that bit was! But of course, I didn't. Do we ever?

Not that life is so bad. It's not, actually. Things are pretty decent for the moment. I'm thinking about adulthood today, because we did adult things today. Our annual meeting with the financial planner was this morning. Compared to our meeting with him last year and our initial meeting with him, it's pretty neat how far we've come. At the first meeting, we went over the numbers we'd sent him and he tried not to look horrified. Last year, there was some small difference, but it was minor and we still had a long way to go.

This year, we left looking smug and patting ourselves on the shoulder for our responsible adult status. We have growing cash reserves and are about halfway to our goal. We have life insurance for both of us to cover the big costs should something happen to either of us. Our debt on record will be paid off this year. We don't have much by way of investments yet, but the single investment we do have is performing at maximum capacity, which is fantastic. Having that is reserve is a really comforting thing. We still need to bring some balance to everything by starting some secure retirement savings in a 403b or a Roth IRA (haha, I know what those words mean!), which we anticipate doing later this year, after the debt decreases. (Our company doesn't match them, and we're paying into our matched retirement plans already, which is why we don't have one at present.)

We felt pretty good.

* * * * *

I suppose I'm in a rambling sort of mood. Hmm.

This is unrelated to the above, really, but on my mind. I think the people often only want to hear good things. I am certainly guilty of it. I'm on this train of thought because I updated one of my stories tonight. I'm ahead of the posting by 8-10 chapters at any given time. This chapter is slow, and doesn't advance the plot much, and honestly pretty smutty. I get nervous about posting chapters like that, because I fear losing the audience. It's one thing if you're in a book or completed story to read a bridging chapter. It's another if you are in a work in progress, because you begin to wonder if you are ever going to get anywhere. And smut is such a delicate thing.

I personally like smut. I think I write it well - better than a lot, anyhow. I try not to make repetitive or boring (though, in the end, only so many primary erogenous zones and only so many orifices, you know?), to make it as much about what the characters are feeling and experiencing than simple physical mechanics; that, of course, is what makes sex great to me anyway. I make an effort to make sure the smut is 'earning its time on the page' and not unnecessarily gratuitous.

But a lot of other people don't like smut, so I get nervous. I have not received any negative reviews. Well, I got one that mentioned some minor grammar mistakes, but the overall review was positive. And while I do my best to edit (because I loathe putting out written pieces in any format that contain errors), I don't have a beta or an editor reviewing the work. To produce the most polished pieces, an editor is necessary, simply because as the author, your mind tends to supplement what you meant to say for what you've actually written. So a missing word here or there, or an oddly turned sentence is easy to overlook because you know what you are trying to say.

The reality of course is that I write my stories for my own pleasure and amusement, and universal approval is unlikely to be forthcoming. I take it seriously enough, though, that I want my work to be of high quality. I want to ensure that whether or not it's liked, that it at least is well-written. I eagerly anticipate new reviews when I post.

However, I tend not to leave as many reviews as I should, unless they are glowing. And I won't leave a glowing review if I don't mean it. There have been many pieces I read through and rolled my eyes over and closed out of. Sometimes I put up with poor grammar and spelling or leaps of logic because there is something interesting there. But I don't leave a lot of constructive criticism. I should. I know how much I treasure reviews and anticipate them and feel frustrated when something I feel particularly proud of gets little concrete notice. Of course, there are stats. I know how many hits I've received and how many visitors I've had, but that is no indication of how they felt about it. If someone opens it and leaves in a disgusted huff after a chapter, I don't know. There are a handful of trusted people with whom I've discussed the stories and it's been fascinating; talking it out, getting feedback, re-evaluating or seeing what is or isn't coming through. Invigorating in some respects.

So I know I ought to offer that up to other authors. Honestly assess what is and isn't working, tell them what I enjoyed and didn't, ask probing questions, engage in that invigorating discussion.

But I don't. There have been plenty of times I started to write a review of constructive criticism - find something to praise while I pick at something that needs work - only to shut the window without submitting the review. Partly, my own guilty conscience interferes. I remember the last chapter's typo, or how annoyed I was to get that review referencing small grammar errors. I remind myself no one is perfect. Or I'm afraid I'm being too harsh, or I can't actually find much complimentary about it and question why I'm bothering.

Tonight, I read a story and I recognized the author as someone who had had my stories on alert, maybe left a review or two. The story started off well; a few minor issues in the first chapter, but an interesting premise. It dropped off sharply though. Quality was questionable, there were a multitude of spelling and grammar issues which made reading the story a chore. There were lots of run on sentences (and I can be guilty of those, but at least mine have punctuation!) and some sentences with such convoluted structure as to be incoherent. The scenes were choppy and jumped around in such a way that it was clear the author knew what he/she was thinking and thought they'd conveyed it to the reader, while in reality, it felt jumbled and skipped over. Long descriptions devoted to a room or a person, but little by way of explanation for what the character/s were experiencing. Additionally, it shifted between first and third person narratives and between present and past tense. Basically, if the premise hadn't held some promise, and I hadn't recognized the name, I'd have clicked out. It simply wasn't good and very nearly wasn't readable.

I was feeling charitable though, and really did believe the person could make something good with a good editor or beta reader. On looking, I realized they had a beta reader. I was shocked. If this was the polished version, then they have the worst beta ever! Ok, ok, some beta readers don't really do editing, but still. I wrote a review, praising the concept, and pointing out the flaws. I listed the issues I had, but a lot more nicely than I did above, and said I normally wouldn't leave a review with so many negatives, were it not for the fact I thought the story had promise. I apologized for being harsh in the review (though, seriously, it was far nicer than anything I'd have said in a different format), and gently suggested they consider a second beta reader. What I wanted to say was "Look, this is practically unreadable and very nearly a pile of shit. And whatever your beta is doing, she isn't making this better. Unless she is, in which case, just quit now. Your command of the English language and rules of grammar is sketchy, and until you fix that, this is not going to be worth your effort. Get a new beta and give it another go."

But I didn't. I thought it would be rude. Apparently though, I still insulted her. Because I inadvertently stumbled across her bitching about my review in an open forum I visit occasionally but do not actively participate in. Oops? Another poster said that my review was harsh but that it was clear I was trying to provide constructive criticism rather than being rude. Still, I noticed this author no longer subscribes to my stories and that I'm still waiting for more reviews to soothe my nerves about my own story.

The experience though is pushing me back into my mantra in this review area - if I can't say only nice things, I won't review. This author begged for reviews and for feedback, going so far as to threaten not to post additional chapters until a certain number of reviews were achieved (which, frankly, is so tacky and rude. I despise that and generally refuse to review on principle). What they ought to have said, and what I often feel like saying is "Positive feedback to stroke my ego and inflate my low self-confidence welcome. Otherwise, bugger off."

Oh, hi.

2011-01-13T22:13:00.002-06:00

*tap tap* Is this thing on?

Oh, good, it's working.

Um, Hi. How're you?

So . . . yeah. It's been awhile. Over two month, by my quick calculations.

Uh. Sorry?

Let me say quickly - I'm fine. Nothing really sort of awful happened, nothing amazing happened. Work was getting progressively worse and I wasn't coping particularly well. Mmmm, that may be unfair. I think more accurate would be to say I had nothing left over after coping with work and wanted nothing more than to escape into my fictional works and bury myself so that I could recuperate from feeling as if I'd been beaten about the head all day. I didn't have much to say that wasn't going to be a repetition of what I was trying to get away from. I was unbearably tired of the whinging and the sound of my voice and my situation.

So I didn't post for awhile.

And then work got more unbearable and I hit a point where I had to flat out let some shit go because I was in a no-win situation. And then the holidays were underway, and I didn't want to write about the mood swings and the ever-present searching for glimpses of my son in that time. And then my friend had a baby and I was busy writing, writing, writing and feeling pretty good about it.

And I didn't post for awhile.

And then the holidays were here and I was baking and baking and traveling and wrapping and eating and traveling and sleeping and writing. And then I went back to work and the world flipped upside down and my supervisor's boss quit for another job in another division of the company and we've all spent the last two weeks freaking out and being relieved and plotting and planning and biting our fingernails and wondering what the hell we were going to do without our safety net, no matter how much the safety net pissed us off and made life unbearable for much of November and December. And now my colleague has been named as the interim in that position with plans to apply for it and there is a general sense of relief and then my friend emailed me and said "Um, what's up with the blog?" and I came here to write the longest run -on sentence I possibly could. How'd I do?

Honestly, the holidays were nice, better than I expected. I took some time just for us and that made a world of difference. I rested a lot, which I needed badly.

I've lost about 10 pounds or so, depending on the day. My face is definitely less puffy.

I was so freaking lucky to get to meet up with fudgebudget while she was in town, which was the awesomest way possible to end the year. I've been pouting ever since because she doesn't live here for me to harass more often.

The Spurs have been fucking amazing - best record in the league, and signs of improvement in areas they've struggled in. Fun time to be a Spurs fan, bad time to decide to forgo League Pass!

Work is gradually getting better, or maybe it's just I feel I have my feet under me more. Though how things play out now is up in the air. I feel oddly optimistic; I think my colleague will do a terrific job, and we can work together. Of course it could all go to shit, but I'm the calm one at present.

We are not currently ttc, though it's really hard, to be honest. A few more pounds, my position being settled and seeing where this crucial position at work goes, and maybe then. That said, we're not preventing, so who knows. My cycle has been messed up since November, but I attribute that to the emotional upheaval and stress and the diet.

DH is doing well, about to start class again soon. Dog is well and cats are well. If I am not all well, and I'm not all the time, I am at least more peaceful than a few weeks ago.

My exercises in fanfiction go well; I'm really pleased by the reception I'm getting, though I can get anxious about it. I've got a second story I'm posting as I write it that I am sort of in love with. In fact, it's calling my name now, begging me to return to it.

So, off I toddle. I hope you are all well, that the New Year has been kind to this point and that you are each finding your own peaceful moments.

A Crime Has Been Committed.

2010-11-10T17:12:00.002-06:00

No, really.

My credit card, an expired bank card, my Borders Rewards card, my driver's license, and potentially my insurance card were stolen straight out of my wallet sometime yesterday.

I found out this morning when my credit card company called me to inform me my card was on a fraud hold due to suspicious activity. I was asked to verify the last three charges. When I listened to them, I frowned because I didn't remember hitting up a Shell station recently. So I asked to speak with a fraud specialist, who was very kind and soothing.

She informed me that it's not atypical for a particular pump to be acting up and ask for card information more than once, but on the third try, it triggers a fraud alert and the card goes on fraud hold, because it's one way that credit card thieves attempt to discern whether a card is active or not. She then asked if I'd had any trouble getting gas that morning.

To which I replied that I most certainly had not stopped for gas this morning, a sense of panic growing in me.

She asked me to verify that the card was in my possession.

*** Flashback to Tuesday Morning, the ride into work ***

Me: DH, do you still have my credit card? (having handed it to him over the weekend to keep with his cards when I felt lazy and didn't want to haul my purse around)
DH: Yep.
Me: Do you mind putting it back in my wallet? (thinking I would get coffee on my way to my second office, but later deciding not to do so, because DH brought me coffee)
DH: Sure thing.

DH pulls wallet from purse. DH puts card into correct slot in wallet. DH puts wallet back into purse.

*** End Flashback ***

The card is not in my wallet.

What I didn't notice at that moment is that receipts fell out of my wallet that were tucked into a pocket and my driver's license and old expired debit card (belonging to account I only use for depositing small amounts of money into every then in a vain attempt to save money) are missing as well. I clued in about 10 minutes later.

Meanwhile, I call DH to verify that the above flashback didn't take place only inside my head (it didn't) and that the card is gone (it is).

So, nice lady immediately begins the card cancellation procedure and starts the fraud investigation, reassuring me I was not responsible for those charges, and that they will take care of this, etc.

Short version is my new card will arrive on Friday. To work, because someone has to sign for it, and I told our secretary and she's very upset about this and will personally take charge of signing for it and locking it up until I take possession. Bless her heart.

About this time, it starts sinking in that my credit card was stolen directly from my wallet. And with a sinking feeling, I realize that due to my having known with certainty when the last time I personally saw the card was, it could only have been stolen from two places. Work or our home.

My stomach sinks further as I remember that my purse was left in my original office in a locked desk drawer, though the key was in the lock (as it is with ALL of our desks). And when I returned from my second office, that key had been messed with. It was bent in the lock. The locking mechanism still worked, but the key couldn't be removed, because of the angle. I thought little of it yesterday, assuming I'd done that damage in my haste to get out the door, thinking my bag had caught on it or something.

But it's suspicious (now, anyway). The problem here is that I share my office, and my officemate was around all day, as well as an intern in the afternoon. Given our office set-up, it's patently absurd to think that anyone unknown could have made their way back into our office, past reception and multiple other offices and snuck in without my officemate seeing or hearing them, knowing where my purse was (or rummaging without alerting my officemate), finding my purse and rifling through my wallet, taking these items, but leaving behind the iPod Touch, the cell phone, and both cameras in my purse.

It seems likewise absurd to think that it could be someone in our office who actually works there. While it's no secret I'm gone half the day and a smart or observant person could know where I keep my purse or be able to figure it out (there aren't many places if it's out of sight), it's a real stretch.

Unfortunately, so is the other option. I did leave my purse in my car last night. I frequently do. I know it's a bad habit, but the complex is gated, the car is in our carport, which, while accessible, would generally require noise to open. The purse is usually behind the seat or under the dash. The pricey electronic equipment came inside last night, which would explain why it wasn't taken. But. . . the car was locked last night, and it was locked this morning. There are no signs of damage or entry. The purse was pretty much where it was left, according to DH, who checked for it when I asked if it was there. Also, there is no indication the car was rifled for anything else and nothing is missing that we are aware of. The two pairs of earrings I left that might have some value are still there.

It's a real stretch for me to believe that someone quietly entered our car with no damage or evidence of it, rifled through my purse to take only likely looking cards and my drivers license, but left the electronic equipment and replaced my wallet in my purse and my purse in the same location it was in.

It's easier to think that someone in an office setting where they might be discovered tried to see if they could grab some quick cash rifled my wallet, and in a rush grabbed all the likely cards and bam! Threw everything back in and didn't have time to notice the iPod or cell phone. That could be done in about 30 seconds. And while my officemate says she was in all-day, I'm quite certain that there would have been one point where she stepped out or a point at which someone could have slipped in without her knowledge.

But what a terribly disturbing thought that is.

Regardless of how, it happened. I went to DMV to get a new license today (my picture makes me look like a fat man in drag. joy) and the new card is on the way. I had my bank accounts notated, on the off chance that someone attempts to get a new debit card for that account or there was something else stolen I don't realize. And after some debate, I did go ahead and call to file a police report. If there is surveillance footage, then perhaps we can see who did it, though I doubt it gets taken that far. Mostly, I'm concerned with having it on file, should there be any additional problems or someone tries to use my license (they said at DMV that if that happened, I could get a new number. Why I couldn't just have one is beyond me, but whatever).

Still. A bit angry, a bit shaken, a lot amused in a twisted sort of way. A bigger pain in the ass than anything, but still. . . People suck.

I hate to complain, but...

2010-11-08T20:34:00.002-06:00

I'm so tired. It feels bone deep right now. I'm tired of my job, and I'm struggling a lot.

The thing is - I'm very lucky to have a job, and I'm very lucky to have fallen into my current job. It's not all luck - I've worked quite hard in the past year and that's what is showing through now. There are people who would gladly do my job.

But I didn't actually ask for this job. I was told I was going to do it. I looked at it as a good opportunity (it is) and went ahead, because well, I need a job and there was no option. I wasn't working for this job, I freaked out when they gave it to me and if you'd offered it to me, I'd have thought really, really hard about declining it. I certainly wasn't consulted about the changes after the initial change. Again, I was told I would switch jobs and would be participating in this program. There was no discussion, no option, no choice. Which, to some extent, is fine. If the choice is between job or no job, hell yes, I'll participate. I'll wear a clown nose or a Rockets jersey while doing so. However, on reflection, I'm feeling a bit resentful that I was thrust into this situation and simply told to make it work and am not receiving the support I think I need to do it.

The thing is - I wasn't really prepared for it. Granted, I was always going to have to jump into the deep end with a fair number of things that I simply did not do in my previous job. But these two departments are more than the deep end. It's not even a pool, it's a freaking lake. A Great Lake, even. I like to think that while I've been panicking and shouting in the water about how scared I am, I've also been treading water, and sometimes even swimming.

But it's more work than 1 person can do in a 40 hour week. Or a 50 hour week. I'm constantly behind and I feel like I work from the second I get there until I leave. I stopped bringing work home only because I was so close to burning out. Even as I type, I'm thinking over the documents that need approval, and sighing because I have to do them tonight.

The problem is that I'm not unique here. All three of us - and our two supervisors - are in the same boat. But that's not comforting. If anything, it's more demoralizing.

And I feel like I've been yanked around some. I'm told one thing, and set off in that direction to be yanked back and told something else. I set off in that direction and again, get pulled back. And the problem isn't me not listening - it's that their minds keep changing. First I'm going to spend half-days in the department. Then I'm not. Then I can - it's up to me. Then today they tell me that I'm spending too much time (physically) in the other building and need to begin weaning those departments (both of mine are in a separate building from my home office) because we are centralizing! Can't do this forever! They have to get used to it!

But . . . I thought this was my decision. I already feel completely flustered because I feel like I can't get anything done with this split. But it's so necessary for me to be there. There are a lot of issues that get compacted into my 3-4 hours a day. On top of that - I'm now supervising 4 full time staff members. Hard enough when I do not see them everyday to give adequate and accurate feedback - how am I supposed to supervise them from a different building altogether? It's ridiculous.

I'm tired from trying so hard to catch up and keep up. I'm tired of feeling like the best I can give is not up to my standards (it's not - they deserve better. Not that they're used to that, mind, but I know what they should be getting. And I'm tired of feeling caught in the middle. There seems to be some resent that I stick up for the department in the division. But . . . that's my job, I thought. I defend the division to them, and I defend them to the division. I act as go-between. But right now, it's tiresome.

Just . . . outline my job already, yeah? Stop telling me that the time I spend physically in the department is at my discretion if it's not. Stop telling me that our goal is customer service and making everyone feel supported and heard if that's not true. And be upfront that you simply want me to be a puppet, and not their administrator.

I am approaching burnout. I can and should take better care of myself (including going to bed earlier), but really I feel sort of over the whole thing. And that makes me guilty, because this is a huge opportunity for me. It's flattering and people seem to be pleased at the moment. But I'm exhausted. I don't know how long I can continue this pace or this uncertainty. And I don't know how to convey that without sounding like I'm whining or being unreasonable or not paying attention to the fact that we're all in similar situations. Which is the last thing the team needs. Morale is low and we've all complained about the complainers and whiners and prima donnas. I don't want to add to that, but I don't know what to do.

Which is, I suppose, why I am writing this post now. Without knowing more of the situations and all of the backstory - none of which I'm posting - no one can really offer advice. I guess I just need to say it somewhere.

I'm tired of the bullshit in my job. I'm tired of doing 2 people's work for 1 person's pay (and that is only guaranteed for 4 more months, and what then? Don't think that's not on my mind). I'm tired of being told three different things and of trying to do the best I can and knowing it should be better. I'm fucking tired, end of story.

Breaking News

2010-10-30T20:40:00.002-05:00

I adore my FSIL. She's awesome. Gorgeous, funny, warm, not intimidated by the crazy of our family. And my brother is totally head over heels in love with her.

Happy, happy sighs.

Oh, and I had the best, best, best dinner ever last night. Crab bisque so good I wanted to drink it by the gallon.

And the Spurs are playing right now, as I type. And since we're home, we get local coverage.

Lovely, despite being sick.

So it's been awhile.

2010-10-28T21:05:00.002-05:00

I'm busy.

I've been ill.

I'm busy.

There was a horrible fright at work, which I am assured is nowhere near as drastic or grave as I thought it was. Otherwise, things proceed apace. I'm settling in, and looking around a bit in wonder at how on earth I managed to fall into this job. Much as I complain and am fearful about it . . . I started this line of work not even three years ago with zero experience or training, and now I've fallen into my current position and it's astonishing. I guess I'm doing all right after all. Never would have predicted this five years ago, but that can be said about much of my life, really.

I'm busy.

I'm tired.

Illness takes a lot of me. I perhaps ought have taken another day off, but the two I took nearly did me in - I'm piled under work and deadlines, but hanging in.

There's not much to say, really. I'm doing fine. I've lost a couple of pounds (the scale says 6-7, actually, but I know I've not been getting enough to drink the last couple of days, so I think that's not so accurate).

There was a fugitive hunt through my townhome complex - dogs searched our patio and there were police officers with guns drawn right outside my window as helicopters circled overhead. Don't know if they caught the guy or not.

We thought Barney got out of the house, but a frantic, tear-filled search turned him up nonchalantly resting under the bed, annoyed at the fuss.

The NBA season started for the Spurs yesterday, and it was a fun, entertaining game.

I went to the opera, and learned that I am really more of a football and beer sort of person.

I've started two or three thoughtful sort of exploratory posts and haven't had the energy to finish them. Maybe soon.

I'm going home this weekend to see my brother, who has returned from Iraq. He's bringing his fiancee, and I'm so excited to see him and meet her. I don't know quite when it happened (when I wasn't looking, I expect), but my brother has become such an awesome person. I just adore him.

DH is well. I'm well. That is well.

I could use a few more hours in the day though. Mostly for sleep.

Hope you are also well, wherever you are.

A Conversation

2010-10-17T21:53:00.002-05:00

Just held in my house.

Scene: We are flipping channels, between football, baseball playoffs and a re-run of The Unit. I comment on how that was a good show that would have been much better without all the army wife/family B plot. We agree. Make joke about house flipping, the topic of discussion by army wives in B plot. I riff on the show, and jab at one woman in particular.

Him: To be fair, I always hated Tiffy and Mac. But Molly got kidnapped! And it was all a Unit plot!

Me: Ugh, whatever. You would think that after all her patronizing scolding of other, lesser Unit wives, she could suck up a tiny kidnapping where she wasn't even hurt.

Him: How would you feel if you were held captive and your husband refused to walk away after that? Hmmmm?

Me: Whatever, the whole thing was lame.

Him: Well, I for one would walk away from *Place of Employment* if you were ever taken hostage as a result of something *Place of Employment* did. So there.

Me: That's sweet and all, but dude, you'd walk away from your job for a cheeseburger. Don't act like it's a sacrifice.

Him: Who has cheeseburgers?! I want a cheeseburger. Don't make such tempting offers if you aren't going to follow up.

* * * *

And scene.

I love my husband. A whole bundle's worth.

Love you, baby.

2010-10-15T07:37:00.003-05:00

All my lost little chickies - the hope and promise, and yes, love.

* * * *

Love you and miss you, Gabe.

Today. And every day.

National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day - October 15th

2010-10-14T11:14:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow is a day set aside for Pregnancy and Infant Loss. There are a lot of statistics I could throw out about the number of pregnancy losses today, and the number of infant losses, even in this era of medical marvels and miracles.

They don't mean much though. Pregnancy loss is common early on - but no less painful or tragic if you've experienced it. The loss of hope and joy that attends an early pregnancy loss is acute and painful. The innocence and peace of which a woman is robbed hurts. Pregnancy loss later on . . . well, you've seen the results of that if you've ever read my blog before. And infant loss is still so sadly common, even today, even in our nation with all the advances and options. . .

If you've lost your baby, tomorrow is a day to remember it. If you are an activist, tomorrow is a day to think about how we can encourage more research into pregnancy loss and especially stillbirths, to think about how legislation can support that, to honor programs like the March of Dimes and their efforts to encourage healthy pregnancies and reduce the number of premature births through an enormous variety of methods. If you know someone who has experienced a loss, contact them tomorrow - let them know you think of them and of their babies.

And tomorrow, at 7 pm in your timezone - light a candle in remembrance. There will be a wave of light through the world as we babylost and our friends, families and loved ones light candles in honor of our lost ones, in acknowledgement of the light they've brought into our lives.

The art of candy making

2010-10-13T23:17:00.002-05:00

Ever made candy? Like fudge, toffee or peanut brittle? I mean the old fashioned way, where you need a candy thermometer and a glass of cold water to test the stages of the candy?

Making candy this way generally involves a lot of constant stirring and monitoring the temperature very carefully. If it gets too high for too long, it's easy to ruin the candy. The mixture gets more and more brittle the longer it's over high heat. I can tell you, for instance, that when I make English Toffee, it requires boiling for 13 minutes at a particular temperature and constant stirring. If you do it right, it's wonderful. If you don't, it's awful.

Anyway, the point is that today was a day in which I realized how delicate a balance I'm trying to maintain right now. I'm very stressed out this week. Multiple deadlines have hit at the same time, and if I could just have some time I could get caught up and get this stuff done. But there is no time. I've been hither and yon and it's exceptionally frustrating to balance the crisis of the day with the regular work that needs be done. Even more so when I am balancing what used to done by 2 people on a full-time basis, and even more yet when I am learning as I go.

Every day is an improvement, and I mean that seriously. I feel far better than when I started. Less like I'm going to fuck it all up. But I likewise know this isn't my best work. Oh, don't get me wrong, I can look myself in the mirror and tell myself honestly that I've done the best I could, but it's definitely the best I could in these circumstances, and not the best I'm capable of doing. Because, well, I'm only one person and there are only so many hours in the week. If I were performing in this way and that one department was all I was doing, it would not be good enough. Since it's not all I'm doing, I'm doing the best I can.

But I want it to be the best possible. It's terribly draining. More draining is that we're all in this boat. I'm in no way unique in my unit or hell, in the world. Do more with less. Make it work. You know? So I'm trying, we're all trying, and we're all feeling frazzled, defensive and acutely aware that nothing is quite turning out as we'd wish.

Too much time spent over heat that's too high, too much (or not enough) stirring, who knows? All I can say is that the pressure is getting to be too much.

I got 'yelled' at today - oh, not literally. This person doesn't raise their voice. But called out, taken to task, whatever. In front of others. And you know what? It wasn't totally uncalled for. It mostly was - another department fucked up. And I can't control that. And I ought to have followed up more quickly than I did. But I didn't. Because I'm swamped. And it was all I could do not to cry. I mean, tears in my eyes, burning throat and everything.

I took a moment to gather myself and to blink, and I wrote to Dh that "I felt like I was going to snap, I was stretched so thin and felt so brittle." And I've been close all week.

The balance is off. I have thought since Monday that if I could only just get more time to work at night/at home, I could get caught up and be ok. But last night, I was locked out. I tried to connect remotely, but it didn't work because my computer went into sleep mode and locked down. How that happened, when I was able to remote in all weekend is beyond me. DH told me to take it as a sign that I needed a break - something echoed by my supervisor today when I apologized for not getting more done.

And again tonight - I brought everything home to work, only to find that the internet was out for us. A problem with our broadband connection. This time, instead of fretting for three hours, and alternating between stress and relief and frustration, I shrugged and hopped on Aunt Beast. 20 minutes. Awesome. It's shameful how hard that is, but I did it.

And of course, right before I get ready to go to bed after a bit of fluffy writing, I see that the internet connection appears to be restored. And so it is.

You think it's a sign that I need to work harder at the balance? I'm both amused and exasperated, but either way I'm taking the hint. Off to bed for me, and a massive push tomorrow.

Cheers.

For the record

2010-10-12T09:57:00.001-05:00

I lost a full two pounds overnight.

That is why I traditionally weigh myself in the morning.

Also, that means it's slightly more palatable.

Sophistry has it's uses, my friends.

Things so rarely go as planned.

2010-10-11T22:35:00.004-05:00

The new elliptical?

Broke. A mere 20 hours after that picture was taken.

I was seriously frustrated and wanted little more than to be 3 years old and able to throw (physically) the temper tantrum raging in my head. Also, I wanted an adult to fix my toy and make it all better.

Once it sunk in that I was the adult here, I sniffled a bit, called my mom and wailed about the injustices of being the adult here and why didn't she warn me this is what it was all about? Oh, wait. . .. Then my husband stepped up and offered to handle it for me.

Which he did, the following day. We'd discovered a crack and a piece of non-integral plastic appeared to have fallen into a very integral part of the machinery. Well, that's why we paid more - to have a warranty, right? We took pictures and everything.

Didn't need them though - this store believes in good customer service, and the first person DH spoke with was nice enough, taking the details and arranging for their service specialist to come take a look and determine whether it could be fixed in home or not.

Less than an hour later, the store manager - who incidentally sold us the machine - called personally to double check the details, apologized profusely, assured DH that a) this was unacceptable and that b) there is nothing we could have done in the span of 36 hours to break the machine. He immediately offered to replace the unit with another exactly like it, at no charge to us.

Done.

The new and improved version (in that it's working) arrived today. Seemed already to be smoother than the other, confirming that there was something wrong with the other machine. Except this one was weirdly not recording any information and kept pausing. I was getting ready to throw an actual temper tantrum, when it occurred to me that maybe unplugging it and replugging it might reset it.

It worked.

So did I.

But I was a little scared the entire time that it would break. We heard a little noise - later confirmed to be the sound that is natural when reaching the longest stride - but generally ok. But I was nervous. Because after AB1 had broken, I had to confront my fear that I might actually be over the weight limit for this machine.

I confided my fear to DH. He suggested we go buy a scale to know for sure.

I didn't like that idea at all. He suggested this would bug me until I knew. I gave in. We bought a new scale. It's quite fancy - tells you all sorts of things, provided you stand on it the right way, for an appropriate length of time and touch your nose with your left ring finger or something equally complicated.

The good news: I do not exceed the weight limit of the machine.

The bad news: Even though I knew it already, I cannot avoid the fact that I am at my highest recorded weight ever.

Depressing.

But! We are working to change that, and Aunt Beast (2) is going to help me with that. This week's short-term goal is to get on every day. Try to do 20 minutes. Do at least 10. Soon I should be up to a consistent 20. Once I hit that goal, we try to add short increments until I'm consistently doing 30 minutes a day. Then we add 5 minutes until I'm at 45 minutes a day. Then an hour. My Tier 1 goal is 1 hour, four times a week. If I could do that - coupled with 20-30 minutes on 'off' days, I think I'll be doing really well. I have no firm timeline placed on that, but I have a tentative goal for that. Depending on how life works.

You know how rarely things go to plan though, so as I'm learning with my job, flexibility is key here.

I call it Aunt Beast.

2010-10-06T22:25:00.004-05:00

My new toy arrived.

I call her Aunt Beast, for lo, she is sort of huge and monstrous. And can kick my ass.

But I sort of love her.

(note for anyone interested: it's a Nautilus EV718. we got a super-sweet deal because it was a floor-model. not brand new, but still came with full warranty.)

The Little Things

2010-10-05T18:50:00.002-05:00

They moved my mailbox at work.

Allow me to explain.

It's been in the same place since I started. Bottom left hand corner. In three years, I've developed a habit of quick-scanning it to see what's in it and might need attention.

Perhaps it's worth interjecting that I've moved offices. Again. I tried to diagram all the moves for someone today and it fairly well resembles a weird star shape. This is my 4th or 5th space since I started. Surprisingly, for sharing an office, as I will be doing starting next week, the space feels about as it did in my last office, down to where our assistant is going to be placed. Kind of funny, really. So yeah, that's been going on. The only real downside is that my back is to the door (HATE) and my monitor's are wide open and in plain sight. Not that I'm looking at porn at work or anything! Just a bit annoying. Still, it could be worse.

But back to the mailbox.

Yeah, I went to my other department, as I do everyday and when I returned to my new office, I gave my box a glance. There was weird stuff in it. I set my things down and walked back and frowned. It took a moment, but I did eventually realize the problem was that my box is not where it used to be. It's been moved to the fake-box area where it used to be shelving and doesn't have dividers.

The person who is taking over the responsibilities I used to have (as I've been moved to bigger/better? responsibilities) has my old box.

I started to bitch about the change on twitter . . .

. . . and then I paused.

Because I realized that if the thing I most have to bitch about is my mailbox being moved? Things are going pretty well for me right now.

And you know what? Things are going pretty well for me right now. I'm happy (finally) with the direction at work. My new chair is very happy with me, my supervisors are happy with me, I'm catching up on my learning curve, things are settling down.

Home life isn't perfect (is it ever?), but it too is pretty good. I got past a block on some writing. We're slowly getting the house cleaned up. The animals are doing ok - though Jonah is dealing with allergies, poor thing. And I've got a new toy coming soon (more on that later).

We've reached a place of peace with trying to conceive - we're not. Not for a couple of cycles, anyway. And it's a decision - that while hard when I'm actually fertile, even excruciating because we keep thinking 'What if is this is our last/only chance? Oh, dear god' - that we are pretty comfortable with right now. Part of this is hoping to avoid being heavily pregnant/potentially on bedrest/out on leave during the busiest time of the fiscal year. I am also setting a serious goal about a weight I'd like to be at before ttc again. I am hopeful we can start ttc again in December, but we'll see when we get there.

I feel good with this decision for now. There is a bit of relief in there at a break. On the whole - well, my mailbox got moved at work today. And that's just about the biggest complaint in my life. Which means I've got a pretty nice life right now.

I hope the same is true for all of you. Cheers!

Five Years Ago

2010-10-01T11:18:00.003-05:00

It was a warm day, and despite my best efforts, very little seemed to be going according to plan. Everyone expected had arrived and the chairs and tables and decorations were being set up and we were rushing through a rehearsal without the musicians and 2 members of the bridal party. My bridesmaid and her husband (the musician) would arrive in another 2 hours, having driven from Dallas after playing a wedding the night before. The other member of the bridal party - the best man - would not show up. His attendance had always been an uncertainty, which had faded to a dim hope following Hurricane Katrina - his unit was stationed in New Orleans to provide disaster relief and his request for a 2 day pass was denied.

But it was ok. We got through a quick rehearsal, we went and ate the rehearsal lunch. My bridesmaids and I went to get our hair done, and again my plans didn't go well. I ended up going last and being about an hour and a half late and very frazzled. Fortunately, our clever friends and my darling husband managed to figure out how to set up the table decorations without my guidance, and the cake lady graciously left the cake and agreed to accept payment the next day when my mother was not at the site in time to give her the check.

The afternoon was boiling hot, and our wedding pictures were done in shade and hurriedly (both because of shortened time caused by my delay and because of the heat). I wish I'd managed to get more/better pictures, but alas.

I remember the dress and how rushed I felt and how warm. It did eventually cool off as the sun set, and a breeze picked up. Such a breeze in fact that our floral arrangements at the alter blew over (being dried flowers in keeping with the autumnal 'theme' and not very weighty), and our tapers for the unity candle wouldn't light. They were supposed to have been symbolically lit at the beginning of the ceremony, but we finally gave up and tried again during the point in the ceremony at which the unity candle was lit. A groomsman trying to help by shielding the candle from wind with his hand nearly got a bad burn and while we got the unity candle lit, it lasted for about 10 seconds. The preacher, my friend J, made a joke about the presence of the Spirit of God.

I remember that I didn't notice the music being off until I watched the video later. I remember the relief when we got started, and how nervous I was until that moment. Not about getting married - we'd lived together for four months by then and had surpassed what we thought was the biggest test ever after DH's depression spilled over into a suicide attempt, his family tried to separate us (blaming me for the depression), and we spent five and a half months apart from each other. After that, we knew what we wanted and it was to be together, so we were. I just didn't know if his family might show up after all, and if so, whether they'd cause a scene. (They did not appear. And five years later, that is all water under the bridge. We're fine now, and I think they believe we love each other. And I think there is regret about not being at their son's/brother's wedding).

I remember that I couldn't keep the smile off my face when I saw DH. And that I was in such a rush, I handed off my bouquet and we held hands way too early and so had to stand there holding hands while J gave the sermon. I remember the soft smile on his face and the look of relief and happiness in his eyes. I remember the commotion when I saw the groomsmen stiffen up and frantically try to subtly get someone's attention - I later found out that the Spirt of God wind had blown a tablecloth up and over a centerpiece (a glass bowl with a votive candle inside) and the tablecloth caught fire. The wedding party was the only group that could see it, but their actions caught the attention of someone in the back who resolved the issue before there was a major disaster. I still have the tablecloth somewhere, with my bouquet, veil and the leftover programs.

I remember saying 'Yes' and 'No' and 'I do' in the right places, as we solemnly agreed that we were there to be married, that there was no impediment to our legal union (unless they objected to a Canadian marrying us - but no one ever has in five years, so . . .) and that we did agree to take each other for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, etc and finally getting to say our vows, which we had written together (his were the same, save for switching the names and taking me to be his wife).

"I, EAS, take you, DH, to be my husband and partner in all things. I promise to give you all that I am and accept all that you are. I promise to laugh with you and cry with you; to share your joy and ease your burdens. I promise my constant friendship and my utmost patience. I promise to turn to you first above all others. I promise to seek all the beauty you possess and strive to realize the potential you see in me. I promise to honor you with my faithfulness, to cherish you and to respect you, and to build everyday on a foundation of love. I promise before God and those here to fulfill these vows with love and devotion as long as we both shall live."

I remember that we both bobbled them a little, getting them slightly out of order, and we both laughed. I remember the aura of love and joy, glowing golden around everything, tinging my memory of the event with light. There was a great deal of laughter that night, and smiles. I remember wearing a chicken glove on my hand as DH wore a chicken on his head and we all danced the chicken dance. I remember my step-sister catching the bouquet and skipping away with it in one hand, and $5 in the other that my BIL offered her if she could get it. I remember laughing until my sides hurt as the DH and the groomsmen serenaded me with "My Girl" and the groomsmen dressing up to perform "YMCA."

The food was amazing - my dad catered. People still ask about that brisket - he smoked it himself in the backyard, and it was divine. I remember that he added green peppers to the chicken salad and even more inexplicably to the potato salad, so I could eat neither, though I spent most of dinner visiting tables and chatting and trying not to spill barbecue sauce on myself. The cake - I may never have eaten it's equal. SO wonderfully good - chocolate with cherry filling and homemade icing that must have required about 5 pounds of confectioner's sugar.

I remember my BIL driving us to the hotel we stayed at for our 'honeymoon' and how he had a hell of a time getting back to my dad's house, after he drove off without my sister following him, and how the bridal party had decorated the car - filling it with balloons and rosepetals and covering it with inappropriate writing and tying empty Lonestar cans to the bumper.

It was a beautiful day. I remember it so fondly.

But you know what? For all the preparation and planning, for all that we felt the wedding was a hugely important day (and not just for the party - the ceremony was our focus). . . we had no real idea why. I'm only seeing it now. We made these starry eyed promises to each other, and felt a bit smug because our relationship had already been tested. We'd been together long enough and through enough that we were there for each other, not for a fancy dress and cake. We thought we knew what bad was and could get through it easily enough.

We were wrong, of course.

We didn't have the first year pains that many others seem to have. I do think that we were better prepared for early marriage. We'd lived together already and had no pie-in-the-sky expectations about our relationship or what marriage should be (I will never forget that our couples counselors looked at each other in bafflement and actually asked at the end of the first session why we were there, lol).

But we were in no way prepared for the direction our lives would take and the tragedies that lurked outside our field of vision. I'm proud that we have survived intact, that we weathered the storms together, that we didn't let each other drown. But it's only now that I can see the gravity of the promises we made and the real leap of faith we took when we made them. I'm glad that he is my husband. I'm glad to be his wife.

Five years ago, I had no idea what I was agreeing to, and five years later, I'm ok with that, and with where we are. I still love this man, even more than I did then. I'm proud to have had our son with him. I'm interested to see what comes next.

Well, what comes after lunch, anyhow.

New Toys! I love new toys!

2010-09-29T22:14:00.002-05:00

For our impending 5 year anniversary, DH bought me an iPod touch, which I really, really wanted.

It arrived tonight (squeeeeee) and I've been playing with it ever since.

You know what I did right away?

Downloaded iBook and started trawling through the free books to stock up on favorites like Jane Austen and Shakespeare.

Bliss.

Holy Mother of FUCK

2010-09-27T18:09:00.003-05:00

Right.

Not so much pregnant as FERTILE.

Mother of god.

I was having a lot of fluid and some cramping throughout the day, so for most of it I kept thinking - ok, period is coming, period is coming, ok then. That's that.

Until I got home and had to pee and had gobs of stretchy ewcm going on. In a bit of disbelief I checked my cervix, and it is high/soft/gaping open.

Body, you can go fuck right off, as far as I'm concerned. I don't think we're on speaking terms any longer. I know I've been causing you no small amount of stress, and I'm sorry, I really, really am, but this is UNACCEPTABLE.

So for the moment, I'm sitting here in relief mixed with outrage mixed with disappointment mixed with the urge to grab my husband and insist he inseminate me immediately mixed with reminders of just how bad I felt yesterday.

Also, splitting headache. Fertile. Ugh. Work it out, reproductive organs. I'm not joking. You cause me far more trouble than you are worth, and you're not cute enough to make it worthwhile.

Uncertainty.

2010-09-26T23:48:00.002-05:00

I hate it.

And I know that much of life is uncertain - unpredictable anyway. But after a month or so of shifting sands under my feet and instability and uncertainty, I've been in a good mood since Wednesday or so, when I was finally let in on the plans for the immediate future and the outline of plans to come at work.

And from that, we sat down and worked out something of a plan in regards to ttc and I felt comfortable for the first time in awhile.

And then, because my cycle was fucked up by all the stress and I'm not clear if I ovulated or not, but FF says so and further says that I should be having my period at any moment now, I took a pregnancy test.

And like so many tests I've taken, there is something there. Now, I grant I am a master at spotting the slight indentation and shadow that indicate where the line of hormones are - the line that ought to turn pink. So good in fact, that I have marked both test lines before wetting the stick and been 100% correct. It's like the lamest super-power ever.

Consequently, I don't trust many brands of tests, or my ability to read them. I could probably see a line on anything at this point. So I don't assume a faint line means much anymore, even when both of us see it in the time limit. Unless it's a lovely pink color, nothing doing. Too many chemical pregnancies and dashed hopes for that.

So I haven't seen anything I'd call positive. But I saw enough to make me bite my bottom lip, feel a frown crease my forehead and turn to DH and say, "Shit. Now what?"

Because, honestly, I don't think I want to be pregnant.

And of course, I do, oh I do, with all my heart.

But not right now. Because I just won some stability and pregnancy for us is so enormous and huge and consuming and frightening and such a very long time filled with uncertainty. And it's expensive and we have no money and we're working so hard on paying off debt and how the fuck am I supposed to find time for appointments twice a week and oh GOD, I cannot take another miscarriage right now, let alone another dead baby, please for the love of every thing precious on this earth, I don't think I can do it again.

I mean, maybe I can, at some point, but I don't feel that point is now. And if you look at my chart, it's fairly clear we weren't really trying so much this month. From the moment things went wonky and uncertain we backed off. So the odds are . . . not good at all! So I shouldn't even be at this place of wondering again, not after 10 cycles of beautifully timed sex with clear ovulation. And that I am makes me feel guilty.

That I feel conflicted at all over the possible outcome, when a few months ago it's all I wanted, makes me feel guilty. That I am in bad shape and have forgotten my vitamins a lot over the past few weeks (but hell, I've also forgotten lunch and snacks and sleep) and have so much debt also makes me feel guilty.

I want a child. I want a living baby. I want a pregnancy to progress far enough for me to feel my child moving within me and pinpoint what is poking me. I want to see my husband change a diaper and watch his face light with love as it does on the rare occasions he speaks of our son.

But I don't want all the uncertainty that accompanies that. I don't feel mentally or emotionally prepared for it, and in fact, I wonder some that I thought I could handle it a few months ago when I was still so overcome by grief. Really I'm grateful to have gotten to a place where I feel more at peace with the events surrounding our son.

I doubt, honestly, that the faint line turns into anything darker or more present. I expect, really, that in a day or two, I'll start spotting again, and this time it will lead to a new period and I'll start taking Vitex again and we'll go ahead and buy the elliptical we keep talking about and our plans will fall into place. The speck of doubt though is making me fear the outcome. And I am ashamed of that fear.

Wii would like to fuck with you.

2010-09-24T23:48:00.004-05:00

Worth noting:

I suck at Wii baseball (and even more at the real thing. There was an incident in which my father, who coached baseball, tried to play with us, and I shrieked and ducked when he threw the ball because I was upset he was throwing it at me. He was saddened and disappointed in the sports skills of his progeny and refused to do it ever again).

That is worth noting because anytime I take their stupid fitness test and there are baseball sections I fuck it up.

I went from my best 48 to 80 tonight.

I chalked it up to 2 baseball tests that I performed abysmally on.

So then I decide to make myself feel better by doing the Power Throw Bowling training. I like making the rows fall down.

Only no matter what I did, the ball kept hooking left (irritatingly like real life). DH confirmed that my arm and wrist were straight, so I started getting upset and demanded he fix it.

Turns out SOMEONE (who wasn't me) moved the effing television. So the stupid little bar thing the Wii uses for the motion sensor wasn't straight and was skewing everything.

I am NOT 80 years old. But I'm still pissed because in my growing frustration, I think I threw out my shoulder.

Not a bad day, really.

2010-09-21T18:18:00.002-05:00

All things considered, not bad.

Which makes for a pleasant change. Feeling moderately better about things, at least for now.

Left 'on time' today - it feels early. But since I've brought a fair amount of work home with me, that's fine, I suppose. Got good feedback from my supervisor, from her supervisor and from the chair of my new gig, which, really, is all I can ask for at this point.

We'll see how things progress, but I'll take any good I can find right now.

Issues

2010-09-20T16:05:00.002-05:00

I am beginning to dread work in a serious way and it's casting a pall over everything. The worst of it is that insofar as I can know about my position and stability, things are fine. I'm working hard, and I've been told I'm safe and that my superiors will fight hard to keep me if it ever comes to that. But with the situation seeming to change every week, I'm a little terrified that my personal situation will change too. And that makes me a lot terrified about everything else. What if I get pregnant? Will that alter my situation? I'll have to miss work, and then be out, and will that unconsciously shift my position downward and make someone else more seem more valuable? What about our debt and our house, which seems to need more and more repairs? What about our savings (hahahahaha) and our car, which still has over 3 years left on payments?

I'm biting my nails and grinding my teeth and no answers are forthcoming. I should have faith in what I'm being told, but my mind isn't shutting off there. It's an utterly nerve-wracking sort of experience. This is precisely why I stayed in the field I was in - because I thought it was more secure than your average pick-i-nick basket job.

I realize in all of this is that recurring tendency towards fretting and my old friend loathing for not being in control of an outcome. You would think, hard as that lesson has been driven home, I'd embrace it. And I do try . . . but I'm not good at it. I've listened to my meditation things, I've done deep breathing, and will consider yoga, should my back ever cooperate (when I feel down in the elevator last week, I think I did some damage). But when I'm alone, my mind starts spinning and spinning and spinning and you can see from the above where it goes.

Throw in a massive headache and a digestive system that seems to be protesting all the ways my current assignment has me abusing my body, and I simply couldn't do it today. I stayed home, practically whimpering with exhaustion. I wish I were braver, or able to trust more easily, or that I had an off switch.

Yeah, an off switch would be quite handy right about now.

The Event

2010-09-17T16:06:00.002-05:00

I think it is fair to say that Gabriel's death is one of the top five Defining Events in my life.

Getting married was one of them. My mother's suicide attempt was one, I think; my not-yet-husband's was too. Gabriel of course. I'm not even sure what precisely else, but you get the drift.

Defining events - those big things (well, perhaps it could be a small thing that had a huge, reaching impact on you) that shape who you are as a person, that delineate the time of your life between into a clear Before and After. Those things that impact us in unprecedented and unanticipated ways, that alter who we are as people.

Certainly, the death of your child is one of those things. No way around that.

But I begin to wonder, as the pain is less acute and it has become mostly another fact about me, as central to me as being married to my husband or having long hair: is that becoming all it was?

Eric, on Glow, talks about 'it' as an event, and points out that there is no it, it's really them - him, in my case. He points out that it is an absence and a not-knowing, because our children were not long in the world and not cognizant enough to have a preference - at least none we were aware of. All the personality that they (he) displayed were mostly provided by our own flights of fancy. Elizabeth McCracken mentions that as well, that the personality is drawn by the parents and based on potential rather than reality.

It is in idea and a hope that we loved, and certainly, we loved our little boy, the realization of those hopes and dreams in the flesh, and now in a box of ashes and a photographic image. But that is so fragile. It often seems that what Gabriel really was is somehow less of a person - though he was that, yes - and more of an event that occurred.

As if the death of our son eclipses the personhood of our son.

But the personhood is such a small bit, he lived for such little time, and so much of it is conjecture, that maybe it's natural that the event take precedence as the thing which lingers on and continues to haunt us.

I don't like it though. It feels disloyal, unfair. It feels like a criticism, it feels selfish - as if it is the whispers of everyone who views us and thinks - Move On Already.

These days I'm feeling ok. I don't mean to say that Gabe is any less loved or missed, just that it is the normal ache, barely noticed any longer. The hole in my heart is still there, as open as ever, but I've learned to function with that, and I do. There is guilt that overshadows it though. I looked at the box of Gabe's ashes and wondered for the first time what to do with them. Is it morbid for them to be in their little box, sitting on the mantle? We don't think so, I can't even necessarily say I notice it that often. That's simply where Gabriel's remains are, much as the placement of the couch or the lamp - yet another simple fact. I wonder though if it's morbid, if perhaps I should move them. I feel no more emotional attachment to that spot for them. Rather like the tattoo I have planned. Originally meant to be Gabriel's footprints, I have shied away from that. Struck by a lyric in a song that spoke to me about enduration (the event again, rather than the person?), I recalled a previous idea and now plan something more symbolic and esoteric. I still think of it as Gabriel's tattoo, but it's not as transparently so as his footprints would have been.

And then I feel guilt. I have no desire to hide away the fact of my son's existence. I do not want to imply that I am ashamed or pretend he did not and does not exist. So moving his ashes feels wrong, and I won't do that; changing the tattoo feels right, and I will go ahead with the new design. But what is right and wrong? I know now that balance will change with time, that while the pain is less acute now, it may wash over me in full force again tomorrow. That as we age and as our family changes - however that occurs - we will have to re-evaluate Gabe's place and presence in our lives. He is fact, that doesn't change; how we balance his presence and absence does.

I get tired of it sometimes. I wish for a day away from being the mother of a dead child; perhaps that is one area in which my motherhood is universal - a momentary longing for time away, freedom from the mantel of responsibility that we wear as mothers. And yet, I do not wish it so, if it means wishing he never was. I only wish for the impossible, for him whole and healthy and alive - that which cannot be.

One of the biggest events of my life, perhaps the biggest to date. A painful one. Shocking how such a tiny, tiny little boy, known for such a short period of time, could have so large an impact.

Cheers

2010-09-14T20:39:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure I know what day it is. Time is morphing in a weird way. Never enough of it for everything, and simultaneously flying and dragging.

Work is . . . well. I think I'm getting my feet under me and making concrete progress in things. Which is good for my self-esteem and whatnot. At the same time, everything's going to be changing again and I've no idea what it will look like in 4 weeks, 6 weeks, 8 weeks, three months from now. And that level of uncertainty combined with the underwater feeling and the horrid feeling of not helping and slowing everyone else down . . . well. It's not fun. There have been some positive developments over what was proposed to me on Thursday, and I'm doing my best to try to be positive and simply do the best I can.

This past weekend went a long way. My husband did indeed attend the football game and saw many folks and it was apparently a great game. I, on the other hand, got a new book and drove myself to Benihana's. I sat at the end of a table filled with lovely Asian people (I apologize, but I never did catch where they were from) who seemed to enjoy talking with the chef. I had beef sashimi (a favorite), sushi that I love and DH doesn't (so no compromising or sharing), and the best meal I've eaten there in a long time. Seriously, everything was perfectly cooked. The scallops were to die for - perfect caramelization. The filet was the epitome of medium rare. Simply beautiful. All washed down with a Sapporo.

It was fantastic.

Then I slept, and slept, and slept, and slept.

Had a nice lunch with a friend on Saturday. Browsed a bookstore. Bought pie. Bought a nice heffewiezen. Drank too many Saturday night. Slept and slept and slept.

I'd intended to go into work for 3 hours on Sunday, but I slept until noon. And when I got up, Texans were playing the Colts and since those are the football teams I support, I had to watch. And not only was it a fantastically fun to watch game, the Texans WON. Talk about a shocker. Looks like it could be a great season for them.

And of course, the Dallas game was a divinely entertaining bit of schadenfraude, so *snicker* to that.

And then . . . sadly . . . back to work.

Oh, and to make it all fun? All the stress pushed off ovulation, though I was on the very brink of it. I've been spotting for 6 days. Terribly annoying. And now, ewcm makes a return. Because why not? I cannot believe an egg could still be good, but if it will put a stop to the unnerving spotting (so eerily similar to the ectopic pregnancy that I've taken 3 pregnancy tests just to be sure), then why the hell not?

For the most part, I feel like I'm doing ok. I've been off the anti-depressants for a couple of weeks now. The downside is that without that pill every night, I seem to be forgetting to take my vitamins. Guess I need to start that in the morning again. I think that one of the biggest factors in last week's bad feelings was the lack of sleep I was getting, which I think may have been attributable to the anti-depressants. I can only hope this continues to get better - I'm in no way opposed to anti-depressants, and wouldn't mind continuing. I'm just sick to death of fighting the OB's office to get the prescription and I haven't gotten a new PCP and I don't know when I will.

So. . . that's the update. I'm trudging along, trying hard not to get snippy with my husband, as if only I am allowed bad days or to be stressed. I'm trying hard to focus on one thing at a time and to be kind to myself. I'm looking forward to a time when I can sit and breathe for a bit.

Oh. And today, I fell down in the elevator. I have no idea how it happened, as I was standing still at the time. Just thought I'd share.

I'm not happy right now.

2010-09-09T20:35:00.002-05:00

I started typing it all out and without going into specifics, it makes little sense is only whinging.

But I just want to cry. I want to, and I'm too tired to do so. Work is simply miserable right now. Just when I felt like I was getting a balance and starting to build trust, the entire plan has changed again and I'm not happy with the direction of the changes. It's just depressing.

I feel depressed. Tired, tired, tired. Uninterested in anything. Defeated.

I'm tired of being unhappy and overworked and maybe the newest changes will help that, but it will be at the expense of career development and potential advancement and I just want to cry about it all. What my job is becoming is not at all what I want to do. And I'm so very, very tired of being told to be grateful I have a job.

I am. Really. We'd be in a lot more trouble if that were not the case. But the gratitude doesn't erase the fact that this is not the job I signed up for and I don't particularly want to do it.

I just . . . fuck. I'm not happy. And I don't really see a way towards becoming happy. Only stress and drudgery and unhappiness.

Yeah, I'm going to just hide a wee bit longer, thanks.

2010-09-07T22:31:00.003-05:00

I'm completely buried under work and doing things like trying to tease out a thread in the cobwebby-back-door of a FileMaker database and figure out how the HELL anyone could work in that mess and where the internal logic is and why the FUCK I can't do data entry in that relational table when I have admin access and that is where the look-up is directed and OMFG I will be bald from ripping my hair out before this is said and done.

Right.

How YOU doin'?

Anyway, this is just a pop in to say that given the above, when I received a request via FB to join some old college pals at the game this weekend, I seriously considered it for a bit. I knew it would mean seeing the newest baby, but I feel ready for that.

The other stuff I saw from the invitation list and ensuing discussion have effectively insured that I will be staying far, far away.

Of the 6 couples invited:

- two have infants under a year old.
- one has an infant under 3 months old.
- two are currently quite heavily pregnant
- one is us.

We were the first ones married, the first to start trying to conceive and the only one with any difficulties.

I'm not terribly close with most of this group - obviously, or it wouldn't have been a shock to see all the pregnant women and babies - but this is the time of year we generally get together and catch up. Last year, I missed the gathering at a baseball game because of the bleeding and bedrest and skipped the football games because of a burning desire to hide in bed.

I think I'll skip again. That is too many children, and too much pain. Whether it really is this way for others, I feel like an outsider, like a bad omen, like a reminder of all the bad things that can happen. I feel like I make others uncomfortable - probably because I feel so. I mean. . . can I talk about when I was pregnant (uh, any of the times?) or how my son looked, or about a registry I started and baby products I never used and am a full year behind the times in researching?

It is perhaps cowardly to hide. And no doubt, someone will say it's ridiculous to hide from pregnant women and babies a year after losing Gabriel.

Meh.

I've learned self-preservation, if done nicely and neatly, is not a bad thing. I just wish I had a way to see into the future. I begin to believe that I could live a generally decent life without children, but I would have to resign myself to that. And the thought of a painful struggle to resignation over the course of, say, a decade is just so depressing. It would be easier to bear it all in the short term if I knew what awaited us.

But that is the dilemma of all time-travel, no? Alas.

An oddity.

2010-09-03T22:44:00.002-05:00

I talked yesterday with a co-worker about The Room. I think many people have a catch all room where shit gets thrown as guests come over and the door is closed. Coworker said that she'd just added shelves and was excited it was starting to get organized. I laughed and said I hadn't touched it since we just didn't know what to do with it. She asked why and I said, "Well, all the baby stuff is in there. We aren't ready yet to make it a guest room, but well, all the baby stuff is in there."

She nodded, and then offered up a daybed if we are interested in a semi-permanent solution. I'm quite tempted, actually. We're not putting ttc on hold - not officially - but neither are we trying right now. In fact, we've not had sex in over a week due to one thing or another.

I feel so conflicted about that. Not for the reasons I think a lot of people might/do - it doesn't bother me that there is baby stuff in there. I don't actively avoid it, though it's rare for me to go in there. I simply have no reason to - DH changes the cat litter, and there isn't anything in there I need. Most of the baby stuff was purchased well before I was pregnant with Gabe, so it's not attached to him, specifically (thank God).

I haven't really looked at baby stuff in the past year, because doing so was acutely painful.

And yet . . . on a whim, I looked up something on CL tonight. I was there for something else, but I found myself doing a search for a co-sleeper, an item we wanted but never wanted to pay full price for. And then emailing to inquire about one. Maybe because there is no baby on the horizon? Maybe it just feels safe? I ... don't know. Can't quite analyze it. I also looked at the bathtub I wanted and saw an ad for a used PNP in the style we wanted (now discontinued . . . it's so odd that the stuff I looked at gleefully when we'd started ttc and it was all easy and going to happen soon and babies never died - it's almost all discontinued now.)

I also recently looked at cloth diapers of all things.

It feels pang-y. Like returning to a place that used to be familiar, and feeling nostalgia. Not pain, exactly, but looking around with a sad smile at a place that used to be something and isn't the same anymore.

I don't know what I'm doing. Looking for baby items and discussing daybeds. Caught in the middle. I don't feel angst-y about it, I'm not torn up over our decision to ease up on the ttc (in fact, I've been looking ahead to the progress that will be made on the credit card debt with the additional comp I'm getting for the new dept, and hoping it will be extended beyond the initial agreement, because of the possibility of paying off the debt entirely). It's just that . . . we're still in between, a year later. I never expected this. I would have thought we'd be well into a pregnancy now.

But life, well, life's plans have always been different than mine. Maybe I shouldn't examine this too closely. Maybe it simply is. There is a contradiction, and there will always be a contradiction for us, won't there? We're parents without a living child. Maybe this is just the urges that can't be fulfilled running up against the practicality of moving on. A daybed isn't a big investment - and yet.

A year later, and so much has changed. But the complications haven't faded. I've just become used to living them, I suppose. A fractured existence, but one that feels natural to me now. Odd to think this isn't how everyone lives. Or maybe they do, and it's just hidden away. These days, I don't know.

Cue Hysterical Laughter, with a Dash of Mania For Good Measure

2010-09-02T19:46:00.002-05:00

As if things weren't crazy enough - as if there weren't enough happening at work . . .

(oh, how I long to go into detail about what my division is doing and thus explain everything fully!)

. . . as if we weren't already stretched beyond the limit . . .

Today, someone resigned. Which is fine.

Except . . .

we can't replace that position.

It took me three hours to figure that out, because I was so caught up in everything I was doing when I heard the news. I can't even conceive of how this could possibly work. It's absolutely, awfully, comical. If by comical you mean 'laugh because crying and drinking aren't options right now.'

I don't feel bad for me. I feel bad for my coworkers. I'm dealing with a massive beast and massive clean up efforts that will take months, so I won't be available to ease much of this burden. It's like a bad joke, really.

But hey. Job security, right? That's not as comforting as one might hope, but it'll do for now.

It's September, Vomit, and that Weird Dream from Last Night.

2010-09-01T09:15:00.002-05:00

1) The shittiest month of the year is over, thank the good God. Allow me to officially say - Fuck you August!

September brings a welcomed paycheck, a new fiscal year and I hope the start of something better than previous things.

August didn't leave without a fuck you to me though!

2) Spent yesterday at home resting after being awoken to vomit throughout the early morning. It was like being pregnant again. Ah, terrible, terrible memories. Fortunately, there were no eggs involved and I didn't have to resort to chicken broth for breakfast. While I still feel sick today, I think it's solely associated with my job and how overwhelmed I am. I'm still sticking to smoothies.

3) Said job is enormously stressful. The basics I have to go back to with my new department are shocking and not a little frightening. I'm currently gearing up for a talk with my business staff about some stuff and the words "Never do this again or I will begin progressive discipline and write you up" will have to pass my lips. I'm terrified.

And I'm still unsure how I can possibly do 2 jobs in the space of 1 work week.

The good news - because I'm trying this new thing where I look for the good in things, though the cynic in me is doubled over with laughter - the director is totally on board with the changes I've proposed. It may or may not be a result of my completely unsubtle attempt to scare the shit out of him by cheerfully explaining all the ways in which their situation could be so much worse than having me around only half-time.

It worked.

But all of this working late has led to not working out and exhaustion and fuck, I'm tired.

Which has led to the weird dream from last night - and others, I just remember this one quite vividly.

4) I was at a Harry Potter . . . thing. Most of the actors were there, and I guess I won something to be there? Whatever. Unimportant. Everyone's mingling around, starstruck but me. And of course, DH is with me. Standing in a corner - which is what I tend to do at gatherings of more than 4 people anyway, stand back and observe.

So, I really want to talk to these actors, but I'm shy, and thinking - Good Lord! You are 30 years old! WTH? It would be totally embarrassing to be all fangirl about this. So I just watch. DH asks why I don't go meet them and I finally explain that while this is neat, what I'd really like is to get to know them as them - not as that guy/gal who played X in Harry Potter. So I didn't want my memory of meeting them to be a pleasant smile and handshake and me geeking out over that.

Which is about when one of them (don't remember who, only that it wasn't a twin or Daniel Radcliffe - Matt Lewis, maybe? does it matter? not at all) comes over and shakes my hand and proceeds to ask the same question my husband just did. I give an abbreviated version of how I wish I could get to know them as, like, people, and he says that a group of them are going for beers after if I would like to join them.

Naturally, I jump at the chance. Because I would kill to have a beer and actual conversation with some of those guys. DH, however, is bored and would rather go back to the hotel. So he does.

I arrive at the bar - isn't dream time travel fun? - and nurse a beer (even in my dreams I avoid alcohol now) and engage in a real conversation. I'm having a blast when James Phelps (who plays Fred Weasley - one of my favorite characters in the series) sits down next to me and introduces himself. I got really, really excited and blurted out the following (which DH found HI-LARIOUS today):

"Oh my god! This is awesome. I was really hoping to meet you because I was hoping you could do something for me that my husband has never been able to do!"

Naturally, James Phelps looks HORRIFIED because he thinks this dumpy, 30-year old (MARRIED) American woman is propositioning him.

Then I realize how that sounds and quickly expand on my statement in a flurry of embarrassment - "Oh, god. No, he gives me plenty of orgasms. Really, our sex life is great. I was hoping you could explain soccer to me."

Smooth, dream me, really smooth.

I go on to explain that I started to like football once he finally explained it to me, and I love basketball, but still find soccer terribly boring and I was hoping I might like it better if he explained it.

He graciously did, but I don't remember the explanation, so it will remain a mystery, I guess. Thanks, dream James Phelps!

Even in my dreams, I embarrass myself.

Cheers all - I hope that things slow down some for me soon. I wanted to write and started about 10 posts over the last week; unfortunately, there is too much I want to say and not quite enough energy.

Overall, hanging in there.

New Discussion Topics up on Glow

2010-08-26T12:10:00.003-05:00

On For One and All, we're discussing the concept of healing and how it looks and feels.

Join us here: http://www.glowinthewoods.com/discussion/post/1216379

On TTC/Pregnancy/Birth After Loss, we're discussing the shift in perceptions about ttc/pregnancy after a loss.

Join us here: http://www.glowinthewoods.com/ttc-pregnancy-birth/post/1216383

And this weekend will feature a new discussion post specifically for friends and family of the bereaved, so come by on Saturday if you'd like to take part.

Love and peace to all.

Once upon a time

2010-08-23T21:52:00.003-05:00

"I'm tired."

"Do you want to go to bed?"

I shake my head. Because there is no escape from what I'm tired of; tears, regrets, guilt, sadness, longing unfulfilled.

"I wish I could do something," he says, fretfully.

"Me too," I say with a watery smile.

My eyes are burning - disuse? I haven't cried in a long while, not like this. My head aches. Everything is exacerbated by a bad day filled with setbacks, disruptions and frustrations. Until a late dinner, all I'd consumed all day was a venti mocha, a v8 fusion, a cup of water and a bite-sized Snickers. Certainly the intersection of dates and calendars and memory and this current incarnation of life is enough to produce this reaction without the anniversary weighing oppressively on me.

I don't understand it, not really. Gabriel will be no more dead in three hours - his official birthday arrived - than he was a week ago or than he will be a week from now. Why it should produce this tidal wave of emotion that embarrasses me (haven't I gotten past this yet? Will I never move beyond it?) . . . I don't know. I don't like it, because I can see how sad J is and I feel that I am making it worse.

I feel both self-indulgent (for taking a day off work when I can ill afford to do so) and ungenerous to myself (I'm going in tomorrow morning anyway, a crisis having arisen after business hours). It's only a day, a marker, yes, but a single day. Why should I mourn this day any more than any other in which Gabe is loved and missed?

And yet, all night, the tears have fallen, and I've been left whimpering as we opened the mail to find so many kind notes and remembrances and acknowledgments I am overwhelmed with gratitude and feelings of undeservedness.

Gabriel's name in stars.

A Library of Congress call number that is Gabriel's name and the year of his birth.

A letter filled with love.

A donation to March of Dimes in his name.

And a plush stuffed sage green kangaroo, with a soft creamy corduroy belly, because he had such long limbs and large feet.

Happy birthday wishes from all over, acknowledging the birth of a loved little boy a year ago.

Tears fall down and J asks again if I want to go to bed.

"No. I want to go far, far away."

"To where?"

"Some place where once upon a time still has a happy ending."

Given that any mention of his birth must be followed shortly by acknowledgment of his death, these token are treasured, and bittersweet. Like Gabe himself, I wouldn't trade them for anything.

Still, I'm sad. Perhaps it started when I re-read the blog entry from August 20, 2009. The beginning of once upon a time, the fairy tale I thought was unfolding. So much love and optimism and hope there that it physically hurt me to read. Because I know what happens next, what monster lurks at the end of that particular book. And I want so badly to reach through time and stop it there in that moment of happiness, in those four days of perfection with Gabriel before he was born. Or speed up time again until I am back where I was two weeks ago, sad, but calm; his death as close to integrated as I think is likely to happen.

There is no chance for either, though. I struggle with the notion that if I had a choice or a chance, I might do something differently. Bargains in fairy tales rarely work out the way one might wish. And while I'm changed and different, I can't say that I am all bad. There are things about me that I think I like better, even. There are things in my life that I know with certainty would not be here if Gabriel were instead.

And yet. . . for an hour more with him. . .

Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Gabriel, who had large feet and a vibrant personality, and his parents loved him very much.

Maybe, as fairy tales go, it's not so bad.

Breathing

2010-08-19T19:20:00.002-05:00

This week has been awful. And not for the reasons I might have predicted six months ago.

I started my new job - the one I'm doing in addition to my current job - and I feel like I'm drowning. The learning curve is steep, I'm present only half-time, there are only so many hours in the day, and I've quickly learned why the problems exist in that department. Everything is a goddamned crisis oh my god I need this now put out this fire (ignore the fact I set the fire) this wasn't done falling through cracks sky is falling auuuuuggggghhhhh!

There's no time for regular work because one is always putting out fires.

Additionally, everyone has their hands in the money jar. And no one has a budget. For a variety of reasons, not assisted by not being available and present full-time, people are going directly to the financial assistant for payment and assistance. That has to stop. Making that happen though . . . sigh.

I do think I can do it. Truly, I do. My attitude is one of grim determination. Certainly, I can't make it worse.

But this adjustment period is killing me. This shuffling back and forth adds about a mile a day to my walk (seriously). In the current heat, it's killer. I haven't jogged in a week (though J is encouraging me to do so tonight). I have stayed late every single night this week - by hours. I haven't eaten lunch in the last three days, because there's not been time. Hell, today, I didn't even go to the bathroom.

I come home exhausted, and terrified I've forgotten something - after a mere few days, I'm already feeling infected with crisis-mode thinking, feeling flustered and behind and the fact I am behind the curve and scrambling to figure out really important things (the predecessor's notes were . . . lacking) is unnerving. I have good support, but figuring out how to best utilize it whilst still doing the job myself is a balance I've not mastered.

Add in to all of this the fact that Tuesday is what it is . . . sometimes over the past week it's flared up and hung over me and I've gasped.

The oddest thing . . . they don't know this about me. This thing that is such a huge part of my life and my identity. They had no idea that a year ago, I was finding out my baby was a boy and cautiously beginning to look ahead because we felt we were out of the woods. They had no idea that four perfect days were upon us and then our world was shattered.

At such a time, with everything else, it's such a jarring sensation and sense of unreality.

So I'm doing what a did nearly a year ago. Breathing, and trying to emotionally understand what I logically know. It won't feel like this forever. I'll get used to splitting time between two offices and I'll get used to organizing and prioritizing my time. I'll work out better systems to get things in the department on track and get things running more smoothly. I'll learn their budgets and funding sources and become conversant in their issues and know their staff.

That's one of the side-benefits of a dead baby; you learn you can survive just about anything, if you breathe and keep plodding on.

Some of the best people in the world

2010-08-17T19:45:00.002-05:00

are my friends.

I have been blessed over and over throughout the past year by the kindness, gentleness and understanding of some of my friends. The things they have done to try and make it easier for me are nearly too numerous to mention - and many are recorded here in more real time.

The thing that has been hammered home though is that they loved Gabriel too. They may not have known him, but they loved Gabe because he was my son. They mourn his loss too, and they miss him.

Coming out of the dark waters of my own grief, I've been gratified by theirs. They have helped me see that he was - and is - real. A real little boy, loved and wanted and missed. Not just a figment of my imagination.

They have been amazing and wonderful and perfect. Gabriel's impact on this world is so much bigger than his time here was, and they let me know about all the little ways my little boy has touched their lives and changed them. About how often they think of him and wish him well, the prayers they've prayed for them, the departed friends and family they've asked to look out for him. They've listened to me, in all my moods and have been there.

Awhile back, on a particularly bad day, I asked my friends to please send me images of his name, because I needed to see it. And they did. Pages and pages of Gabriel's name all over the place.

My friend D just sent me a lovely photo in which she wrote Gabe's name with a sparkler and captured the image.

My friend Kate (of the kangaroo feet) wrote a lovely letter to him and sent it to us.

Those are just recent things, lovely examples of the countless things my friends have done.

But I have to tell this story, because it's touched me so deeply. My wonderful, amazing, inspiring friend Stephanie (stephaniesnowe.blogspot.com)has two of the awesomest kids ever. And she's a pretty kick-ass mom. And one day she was sad, thinking of Gabriel and me. And her daughter asked why, and Steph explained it to them. And they left for awhile. And then her son came and asked to borrow the camera. And they took a picture of what they'd created, which was Gabe's name written out in stones and surrounded by flowers. Because Steph told them how much I loved seeing his name.

That photograph arrived last night. The story arrived this morning. And all I can do is touch my heart - that poor, wounded, battered, pieced together with glue and scotch tape thing that continues to beat in my chest - and blink the tears from my eyes.

Because I love seeing his name. And two pretty fantastic kids made his name for me.

Some of the best people in the world are my friends.

Really fantastic post on Glow

2010-08-12T12:32:00.002-05:00

Chris posted this today on Glow:

http://www.glowinthewoods.com/home/2010/8/11/simple.html#comments

What beautiful, powerful words that so perfectly say what has eluded my grasp in the past couple of weeks as I stumble closer and closer to that day again.

This especially resonated with me:

"It shouldn't be possible in so many ways, but the simple fact of his death is a proof of the geometry of life. It is something that is absolutely true in a world that is filled with gray areas and half-lies. There's no way to hide from it. No way to reason with it. No way to change it or fix it or alter it in any way. It is simple. It is final. It is true. He's dead. I'm alive. And now I get to spend the rest of my time here trying to reconcile those 2 truths even though they are perpendicular lines --true forms-- that intersected once and never will again. Or at least, not in this world.

Part of me went with him. Part of him stayed with me. Now it is an impenetrable nugget that lives inside me that is impossible to explain. It is a single point of existence, a raw, elemental dot that is painful and compelling and beautiful and terrible. His death is not just a moment, not just a period of time in my life, rather it is an ongoing experience that continues to alter my entire life and everyday experience."

Yes.

That's how it is.

Oh, Gabe. Darling, how I miss you.

New Discussion Topics up on Glow!

2010-08-11T15:00:00.002-05:00

This week on For One and All (http://www.glowinthewoods.com/discussion/): Perceptions of Time

Last week we went back to the beginning to recall how we felt in the immediate aftermath of our losses. Now we are exploring where we've come from and how it feels now; what has changed for us in our grieving; how we pictured various points out from our loss and how that compares to reality; what we hope for as time continues to move us along.

This week on TTC/Pregnancy/Birth After Loss (http://www.glowinthewoods.com/ttc-pregnancy-birth/): Relaxation

The dreaded and hateful term to those suffering with infertility and many of us in the ttc/pregnancy after loss community - Just relax! Discussion centering on why that is difficult to do; what fears we have; what steps we take to try to relax; and what we say (or wish to say) to those who are offering such advice.

And sneak peek - Coming up this weekend, a new monthly feature on the discussion boards especially for Dads and Partners! If your husband or partner has been seeking a place to converse and talk about their perceptions of your shared loss, send them to Glow this weekend.

Some days I'd like to be someone else.

2010-08-06T11:59:00.004-05:00

I'd like to be a size 10 or 12, and be able to shop in regular stores.

I'd like to be a runner, not just someone who is trying desperately not to drop after doing 15 minutes worth of walk/jog intervals.

I'd like to be a person who seeks adventure, does things like travel the world and explore and participate in wacky car rallies and such because they seem interesting.

I'd like to be younger and less attached.

I'd like to be someone who could actually be friends with some of the people I like following on Twitter.

I'd like to be in France right now, eating a croissant and soft cheese, with a strong coffee and a cigarette. And in England, visiting Hadrian's Wall. And in Greece, on the beach with lamb and olives (and to be the kind of person who enjoyed olives).

Or, as my husband so neatly summarized it for me as I was telling him this, I would like to be someone who is not me for awhile. Someone whose life is very different than my own.

And it's not that I don't like my life. The thought of not being married to my husband, or having my Jojo gaze adoringly up at me while wagging his stump of a tail, or having my kitties rub against me and then dart away to play with feathers. . . those sorts of things make me happy and I don't want to trade them.

I just want a break from my life. From my dead baby and the weight of living life without him. I don't want to contemplate the best means of honoring him on his birth and death date. I don't want to wonder how one celebrates the day their child was born to his death. I don't want to continue to struggle with acceptance and appropriate grief and justifications of how I feel to other people. I don't want to be overtaken by tears with no explanation or trigger. I want a break from censoring myself or trying not to offend, and likewise from being offended when I know no offense was meant. I'm tired of needing comfort and needing to comfort others. I want a break from reminders that my life ought to have been completely different. I want a life where I'm excited by my child, not a new piece of memorial jewelry to remember that child. I want a break from putting the pieces back together and from a heart that's been masking-tape-and-glue-stick stuck back together again. A break from feeling guilty when I laugh and when I don't. From the wondering what a mother is and if I count or not.

To not be me for awhile.

The problem is . . . apart from the fact that I am me and I don't want that to change - I don't want to be someone else's wife or mother, I don't wish Gabriel away - is that Gabriel comes with me, everywhere I go. I carry him with me, and nothing changes that.

Sometimes, that brings me comfort. Sometimes, it's a burden that feels heavy. And now, when I am already tired and strained and feeling overstretched because of work and because of August and because it's almost a year and what do you call that day anyhow? Anniversary? Birthdate? Deathdate? . . . I would like a break.

There isn't one, not without giving up the balance of things. But I find myself, in moments alone, escaping into fantasies of a different life, a sunnier life, where presumably there is greater ease and less struggle. Too bad that doesn't actually exist in this world, eh?

New Discussion Topic up on Glow: In the beginning and Decisions

2010-08-04T12:04:00.004-05:00

I'd like to explore the range of emotions and the pressures of loss through the lense of time. Part 1 will explore the time period immediately after our losses, as we re-examine and explore how we felt then and how we coped. Next week's discussion will move on to focus on how time has changed our perceptions of grief.

Discussion topics are open for all to participate; I hope you'll join us here: http://www.glowinthewoods.com/discussion.

Additionally, the first official discussion topic is up on the ttc/pregnancy/birth after loss board. Focusing on the decision to try again (or pursue adoption, or carry a pregnancy)(or not, as the case may be), and how each of us reached that decision and the biggest motivating factors in our choices.

To participate in that discussion, please join us here: http://www.glowinthewoods.com/ttc-pregnancy-birth

Round-Up

2010-07-31T21:07:00.002-05:00

I don't have a great deal of time or energy at the moment (which nearly came out at the mo, as I've spent too much time round Brit lit of late). So here is a brief summary:

-ttc has taken a back burner. We're not actively or desperately trying, nor are we preventing. If it happens, great. If not, well, given everything thing at the mo, that may be for the best for a bit.

-trying to exercise more regularly. It's going. That's it on that front right now.

-work. I don't talk much about work here for very good reasons, but it's sort of taken over my life for the forseeable future. Layoffs have officially begun, and my job remains safe, thank god. However, when the news was broken about the plans (even though the majority of the layoffs affecting my division are currently on hold for up to a year), one department administrator immediately submitted her retirement. And I've been given that department, in addition to my own work.

That department is a bit of a mess and I'll be doing what had previously been two full time jobs until the remaining layoff plans go into effect. And it does not appear at this point in time that there will be additional compensation (after all, we are letting half the department administrators go, so I should be grateful to have a safe job).

But it's overwhelming and coming at a time when things are already busy and overwhelming. And the start of layoffs means that my office has also just inherited two other small departments and have no financial coordinator for one of our sub-departments. And the administrator for one of our larger departments is going on leave for three months in a few weeks.

Did I mention we have a new boss in the midst of this? At least he seems to be a nice guy and good manager.

Everyday, we walk around looking tense and stressed and that is nothing to how we feel. But we're all doing the best we can, and we'll get through. It's just . . . there is no end in sight at the moment. I'll be splitting my time between two departments and . . . well, as I said, 2 full time jobs and just one me. I'm going to learn delegation and efficiency quite quickly, I suppose.

-Coming up on the one year anniversary of Gabe's birth and death. There is a lot of reflection happening and maybe at some point I'll try to lay out just how this past year has changed me and try to explain how far I've come. I've tried a few times over the past week to write a post, but the words just aren't flowing right now. There is a barrier up against it.

I'm feeling a good deal of anxiety and sadness as we approach the date. I find myself suddenly on the verge of tears without knowing precisely why. I am more sensitive to things that wouldn't have bothered me a few weeks ago. I don't know what to expect or how to approach this and so I'm just in limbo, waiting, watchful.

All in all, with everything that's going on and the level of stress I am under, I'm amazed I can string coherent sentences together most of the time. Fatigue is high, I go to bed hours earlier (but don't seem to be getting rested as I'd like), stumble out of bed, awaking from strange dreams feeling tired. I am having semi-frequent headaches, and my back, shoulders and neck are getting sore from the tension I seem to be carrying. So I'm trying to remember to do stretches more frequently, get up and walk around a bit more often, trying not to overindulge in things that will make me feel worse (too much caffeine and sugar, primarily). DH continues to make me laugh and takes care of me. I listen to music far too loudly and sing along and I hurl virtual bowling bowls down a Wii alley at high velocity and I curl up with a book when I can to try and alleviate the tension and stress, or at least keep them at manageable levels.

Some times that works better than others.

New Discussion topic up on Glow

2010-07-29T21:03:00.002-05:00

This week's discussion topic focuses on negative emotions in the wake of baby-loss. What have you felt that has stuck around longer than you anticipated? What negative emotions have been surprisingly strong? How do you feel about your negative emotions? How do you handle them? How have they changed?

Babylost parents, family and friends - please drop by Glow's discussion boards to join in and share your perspectives.

http://www.glowinthewoods.com/discussion/

My baby died. I'm fucking sad.

2010-07-22T21:21:00.002-05:00

That's about all that needs to be said tonight.

But I'll add this.

I feel so lonely right now, so left behind that I can't stand it. I feel like my heart is going to break open from the pressure of the pain I feel right now.

I haven't cried in weeks. I finished with most that months ago. But tonight I can't seem to stop and I have to stop. It upsets DH and makes him unhappy and concerned and he feels impotent because he can't make this better for me and seeing his pain and causing it, to any degree, tears me up and makes the hurt that much worse.

I miss my old life and the life I thought I would have. I miss the touch of optimism and hope and belief that everything will turn out according to something I couldn't have seen before.

I miss old friends. I miss my purpose in life. I hate the fact that I know only a few people who are not pregnant or don't have kids and since it's by choice for them we stand on opposite sides of a divide.

I miss my son. More than there are words to express. I miss every milestone we never got, I miss everything I never got to tell him and I miss him.

My baby died.

I'm fucking sad.

One of those honest, but less-than-attractive sorts of posts

2010-07-20T09:47:00.002-05:00

I don't like pregnant women any more. The sole exception is my friend C. Because we tend to think along the same lines in pregnancy and she's been pretty sensitive to me. Because it's all about me, obviously.

I especially don't like being asked to be near them or newly born babies.

I don't want to hear stories about trying to conceive unless it's been long and agonizing because then, I don't mind being around you so much.

I've got no problems with you if you've had previous losses or infertility - because then you're my kind of people. We can look at each other and nod.

Women who get pregnant really easily or have 'oops' babies? I can't stand them right now.

It's awful. It's unattractive. It's ridiculous because I know, I know, how hard pregnancy is regardless. I know what a big life change it is, I know how carefully made plans falling aside can be horrifyingly big deals and . . . I know.

I sort of despise myself for the bitterness that can flood up in me. I sometimes have to stop myself from giving dirty looks.

It's solely a result of envy and disappointment. Neither of which are healthy or desirable emotions. Both of which I am ashamed of feeling ever in regards to something as happy as new life.

I know that another woman's pregnancy has nothing to do with my lack thereof or bad luck in pregnancy. I know that I truly wish every woman gets to remain blissfully ignorant and unaware that disaster and utter desolation are lurking right around the corner and that they are in no way immune because of any thing they have done or are doing or haven't done. Death doesn't care if you never smoked or drank a sip of alcohol or that you faithfully took your folic acid and ate your vegetables and slept on your left side.

I see it lurking all around, tragedy waiting to strike. It hides just out of view in the aisles of stores, it haunts these happy naive, you can just catch a glimpse if your turn your head, if you look me in the eyes. I fear I'm a bad luck charm, that I summon these ghosts and demons as my companions. If nothing else, I remind you of what is out there and I can't stay my lips. I want to implore you to please appreciate what you have and please don't take it for granted and assume it's a sure thing. Listen to the warnings that fall from my lips, but I'm a Cassandra, a speaker of doom that is not believed and truly of doom that may never appear.

Because what I can never remember is that I am the small minority, the statistical anomaly, the place that lightning struck. The rest of the world is fine.

Place in the World.

2010-07-19T15:48:00.002-05:00

Something I've been tossing about for a couple of days now is about places. Where we belong, who we are, how we find those spots that are ours.

Naturally, this was sparked by a twitter debate, yet again. A young English chap - in fact, the very same that spawned my last diatribe - has made me think. He is quite a confident person, which is all well and good. I find myself shockingly less so. Perhaps it's a difference in personalities - he is obviously an extrovert, eager to meet new people. I'm very much the opposite in most areas of my life.

I do enjoy meeting new people, but only in quiet, controlled sorts of ways. I like substance in my conversation, the chance to really dig down and get to someone in more than a superficial way (which is not to say he doesn't also look for that; I really wouldn't know). I guess it's odd that an introvert like me has a blog, participates actively on message boards and revels in over-sharing the most banal thoughts and events on twitter.

And yet . . . I don't mind. Probably because I still have trouble believing that these things perhaps move me out of my shadowy corner and thrust me on stage. I never was a very good actress, preferring stage management and direction to the spotlight. If nothing else - it was often itchy and hot under those lights. The background was cool and infinitely more comfortable.

I do wonder though, how he's found such confidence, such assurance about himself and who he is and where he's going. On a daily basis, I look at myself in the mirror with something approaching disbelief. I haven't any idea what I'm doing much of the time, certainly none about where I'm going - not while the only firm direction I've had is contained in a wood box on my mantle and nothing has come forth to replace it.

I said awhile back that I wondered about big things versus little things. That I used to feel destined for great things and am realizing that perhaps the little things are the great ones.

I still don't know where I'm going. My career is one that pays bills, it's not one that makes my heart beat faster or really fills me with pleasure because I enjoy it. I'm quite grateful for it - especially after today. I think I'm decent at it, which is fine. But it's not a great thing. It's a paycheck. That's fine.

My marriage is a good thing. One of the best things of my life, I think. That was one thing I knew and continue to know - the boat, I imagine fancifully, that keeps me out of the depths of the sea.

My friendships - I can only be humbled and grateful for you wonderful people. I do not deserve you.

But you know, there is more. There is more I do and more to me. And as of today, I have a new direction and something that does fulfill me and makes me so very happy.

You can read a bit about it here.

One thing I can do is sit with those who are newly grieving, and let them grieve. I can talk with those who need to converse as badly as I did and give them the understanding I received. I can be an ear, and I can hopefully comfort and soothe provoke and help. I can give back a small portion of what I've been given.

And I believe with all my heart that if this is the best of my life, it will be something great.

Less than 6 weeks now

2010-07-14T09:45:00.003-05:00

August 24th is coming up. Six weeks from yesterday. Some days it feels like a ticking timebomb hanging over me (literally, I picture a giant bomb wired to an old fashioned ticking alarm clock and a giant calendar) (living inside my head is plain weird, y'all).

Mostly though, it feels awkward.

An entire trip around the sun to come back meet myself again. It's like a weird sci-fi story in which a part of me was forever rooted to that moment in time (I can still see it in vivid detail, and feel the hospital gown at my throat and the scratchy white sheets and how hot and thirsty I was and the pain the pain the pain). The rest of me though, that was pushed onward and now I come full circle to where I was before, only time has passed.

Still, I stand rooted there, watching it play out over and over and over. That day still flashes through my head and I still hold my breath waiting for a different outcome. It never changes though.

Gabriel was born. Gabriel died. The world never stopped moving, no matter how much I pleaded, and I was carried along with it. Or at least part of me was.

And back again.

How do you mark that passage of time? Gabriel deserves acknowledgement. His existence deserves acknowledgement.

But it's not celebration.

Because he died.

But it's not total mourning.

Because he lived.

I don't know what we do in six week's time, less a day.

There is no grave to visit - his box of ashes remains on our mantle, never far from me when I'm home. There is no memorial or marker. Sometimes I wish there was.

What do we do? Sending up a balloon feels . . . odd. Baking a cake does as well. In some ways, a dinner out and a toast - an acknowledgement of him and of how life continues, feels the most right - and yet, who wants to sob in public? Who wants stilted dinner conversation or to pay good money for food that tastes like ashes in your mouth?

I'm taking the day off work. DH is not. It's bad timing - as it was when it all happened last year. I don't begrudge him choosing to work; he'd rather. He doesn't begrudge me staying home, I'd rather.

I wish I knew what was right for us. I think it will be time for my new tattoo. I'm not sure where yet, but I want this footprints marked on me. I want to visibly carry him with me everywhere.Maybe I'll find a quiet place and I'll take the outfit I bought just for him, the only one not packed away in the spare room. And I'll take Winnie-the-Pooh and I'll finish reading the story to him that I started the day before he was born. I like to think that he would want to know how it ends.

Also on my mind

2010-07-12T22:20:00.002-05:00

Apparently I'm feeling chatty for the moment.

I could tweet this, but I feel this worthy of being shared with the masses.

'Fuck' is one of my favorite words. Truly.

It's so wonderfully appropriate to so many situations and acts as a great enhancer. And it can serve a function in so many parts of speech.

We used to joke that 'fuck' would be our child's first word.

Should we ever have one with a chance at living, it wouldn't surprise me. We use it that much. Which probably, in reality, makes us sort of trashy.

But ask me if I fucking care?

Twitter has made me think.

2010-07-12T21:49:00.002-05:00

First, let me say - I have fallen completely and totally in love with Twitter. It's sort of odd, because in many ways, I have a deep loathing for the concept.

Social media . . . the term alone makes me cringe. Probably all the special looks at it on the news and all the dangers and whatnot that lurk within. I often roll my eyes because there is a certain level of common sense that ought to be involved - don't friend your boss if you're going to bitch about them. Don't put up naked pics of yourself if you don't want them stolen or shared or viewed or sent to your mom. Think about how much personal information is really worth sharing, if you aren't 100% certain who is looking. Don't access things at work that a) you shouldn't be and b) that you don't want to risk others seeing (or at least know how to clear your history and cookies).

Which isn't to say there aren't benefits to social media (and aren't message boards - my heart and soul in a box - also considered social media? albeit, perhaps, in the longer conversational ways of us creaky antiquated old people)(for that matter, aren't blogs as well?), because certainly there are. No one would return to them otherwise.

Clearly, I am receiving some benefit to them as well. I can tell you honestly - I love it. I think, for me, it's the relative anonymity; something I've not really enjoyed on the internets for a long time now. I've been easjer so long in so many places, that is ingrained in me. I think even if I were to choose a new name and start over at, say, thebump (should I ever fall pregnant again for longer than two days - stop laughing), I still think it would eventually become obvious who I was unless I wanted to hide my story or part of me away. Which I don't really do. Obviously, I do (we all do) to some extent, as we would in real life. But I have always tried for a level of honesty and sincerity. I can't imagine hiding away Gabriel, or the other pregnancies, they have so thoroughly altered my life and world view.

So I think it would out.

Which, maybe, is a bit of why I like Twitter. A few people have found me - and well done, you lot. Many haven't. And that's fine. I'm not trying to build followers. I'm not trying to do anything but randomly record my thoughts throughout the day. In many ways, I still feel bound here. There are things I am not comfortable saying or doing here. I feel like I might be letting someone down or being terribly boring and repetitive to say over and over that today is a hard day or a good day. And the mood so often changes before I can really record it on the blog. . . I'm afraid it would be schizophrenic if I were to expound on my every mood. And I'm never sure how much to discuss - I know there are old readers from Chickadee's time, and new readers that have found me through Glow, and I want to be honest about all aspects of this life post-Gabe, but I don't want to seem too sad or discouraging, or too happy, or unbalanced or I don't even know what.

It's hard to explain for those that haven't lived this, and unnecessary to explain for those who have.

So I think Twitter provides an excellent escape from that. And I'm highly entertained by Twitter. Following some of the people I do is fun. I enjoy it. At the same time, I'll admit it's a bit scary. Because I've looked at some of these people's followers and I think they are sort of creepy. They apparently live for getting tweets from celebrities and beg them to wish them luck on the most random things. Or do weird things like find their friends or relatives and follow them as well. Certainly I've started following people through others I follow, but this strikes me as sort of stalkery. I guess I have no desire to be lumped in with these creepy fans.

But, oddly, it's just this sort of thing - following a friend of someone you follow - that led to a very random thing tonight. I won't give you the whole feed, but someone I've never met and never will posted a very thoughtful blog about social media that I found through Twitter. It was largely focused on security and employment, but it made me think about the things I worry about with this form of social media.

On one hand - how fascinating to get a glimpse into the life and thoughts of this person in a totally different country and life. Truly. Something our grandparents wouldn't have thought about, most likely, and certainly not with the immediacy which we can enjoy now. And yet - I can piece together quite a picture of this guy's life (as I expect he could with mine), and yet it's so terribly superficial. Of course, in none of these mediums can we get a true picture (the same is relatively true of face to face interactions) of the persons we are following. So I can tell you that Tiago Splitter claims to be happy to be joining the Spurs and that James Phelps is no longer a ginger and that my friend G wants my apple-honey butter. So what? I don't know any of them any better for those things, not really.

I can tell the world via Twitter that I'm fucking depressed as hell (thanks chemical imbalances) today, but 140 characters doesn't give me much room to expand on that thought. There is back and forth occasionally, which is fantastic. Short brief statements can be entertaining and witty and word tetris is fun (if sometimes frustrating - ask the people on the receiving end of a twitter rant that couldn't possibly be contained in so few words). But it's a superficial interaction, with only very limited possibilities for continuing the interaction.

I'm wondering if it sets society up so that we can only communicate in clips and sound bites (god forgive us for what it's doing to butcher the English language - forums are becoming unreadable because of the inability of the younger folks to write in complete sentences or spell correctly. Also, get off my yard, you young hooligans!). I wonder if we are leaning away from complex and real interactions. Conversations are what drive me - I thrive on them, on digging in and getting to know someone on a deeper level. So 140 words in passing isn't necessarily fulfilling for me.

On the other hand - perhaps this is just a giant party that we're milling about. Or no different than, anyhow. Because in that environment, is there really much more than superficial interaction? I suppose not really. You exchange pleasantries, scope people you find interesting, maybe hang onto that crowd and hope for an opening and then give it a go. And then find if there is a connection, another bit is exchanged, another phrase, perhaps a topic of mutual interest comes up and then you are talking. And you likely find another place to talk - moving off into a corner (or direct messages that are more private on twitter), or leaving the party altogether (taking it to personal email or text). Perhaps Twitter is merely an introduction to these other things.

This person made an interesting point that he feels Twitter expands possibilities - that his friends are largely similar so he's less likely to find new things from them, whereas Twitter opens up a whole new world to explore, and brilliantly, if you don't like it, you move on to the next person.

There may be something to that, there may be something to the idea that it merely encourages superficiality and replacing genuine intimacy with oversharing. I have to be honest and say I never expected to think so much on this because of Twitter. And yet, here we are.

Out of options

2010-07-11T12:13:00.003-05:00

Well, despite a lovely sort of temp jump this morning, the laughingly negative hpt and the early stages of cramping lead me to believe my period will begin as expected. Which is mildly disappointing, but otherwise ok.

I guess it's time once again to admit that I need to lose weight. And I need to be much more serious about it than I have been in the past year or so. For my health, for our chances of conception, for an easier pregnancy . . .

It's just that I'm lazy. I don't like exertion. I don't like change, and I know first hand just how much it is going to suck until it's become habit to exercise again. I don't want to go through it. It's hard, and embarrassing and demoralizing. I don't like the pitying and disgusting looks I get when I go to the gym. I don't like the trainers trying to sell me on their services. I don't like sounding like a cow about to die because my cardio health is so bad. I don't like sweating and I don't like the slow progress that is weight loss. I don't like the guilt that trying to lose weight seriously brings or the hunger or the cravings, at least until I'm over them.

It's so much easier to stay hidden inside this body and this fat. So much more comfortable.

But I don't think it's going to help. And I think it's what I need to do.

I just don't want to. And that mental block makes it all so much more difficult.

Not that you care . . .

2010-07-09T09:42:00.002-05:00

. . . but my official stance on the LeBron/DWade/Bosh to Miami is as follows:

a) Meh. I follow the Spurs, and Miami is an Eastern Conference team we'll see twice unless we both happen to make it through to the NBA Finals. So, a giant whatever on that front.

b) The whole camera-crew following Bosh and hour-long special to dump your hometown on national TV was especially lame. Filled with hubris and lack of self-awareness (or showcasing of being surrounded by yes-men) - bad moves. Bill Simmons resurrected a bizarre rumor from 2 years ago that this was planned after the guys played together for the US Olympic team. Now that is an interesting tidbit.

c) Three superstars won't work. There is a reason teams don't do that. If you want to play fantasy basketball, your actual, real, in-existence team shouldn't be the arena. I hear yahoo!sports has a good offering. My biggest WTF moment in all of this is that Pat Riley is doing it.

d) LeBron doesn't owe anyone anything. He has the right to put together the best deal for him based on a variety of circumstances, which may include the chance to win a championship. So I don't fault him for leaving CLE, who had 7 years to put SOME kind of team around him and failed miserably.

However, e), I think what he's done is highlight that he is not a superstar. He's a role player. He doesn't want to be greatest of all time, he doesn't want a challenge - or he would have gone to Chicago or even NY. He wants to coast to a championship.

f) Miami is a clusterfuck. The basic fact is this - with that talent, they have no bench. They can't afford one. Anything less than a title is sheer failure. I don't think they'll win a title.

g) The bright spot in all of this is that the media will be so busy fellating Miami, they cannot possibly also fellate the Lakers, so LA coverage should drop some. Not that ESPN will be made more watchable by this move, but my Laker-hate is strong enough to appreciate whatever small break we can get.

What a week!

2010-07-08T08:31:00.002-05:00

I know, I know, it's been nearly a full week since I last posted. Terrible! But we roadtripped it for fourth of July and headed on back to ole San Antone and it's never slow when we make that trip. Fitting in three families with even time and usually an extra family event on DH's side (which is fine! not complaining! it's why I now feel at ease with more of my in-laws!) is never easy; it's a complicated Tetris game of time and feelings balanced with sheer exhaustion on our parts because we never sleep well there.

This time it was made more difficult by the presence of DH's best friend in the world A - who happens to be on the verge of proposing to DH's only sister. We think that's great. My MIL disagrees. Family dispute has been on-going since they first got together about two years ago. I won't go into details, I'm too tired. But the divisions meant that we had to work in extra trips to see A & J (and A's five-year-old son) and my parents-in-law.

We returned Tuesday night, battered and exhausted. And I'm not even the one who went and chased a 5 year old around Sea World for 7 hours!

It was a nice trip though, and I'm glad we went, as we hadn't been home since Christmas. Fast-paced, but good overall.

And since then, I've been busy busy at work (not that I see that ending, ever - which is job security, I suppose, so yay?). And writing at home. I got up the courage to share what I've written so far on something to DH, and he . . . didn't hate it. He even thought it was good and wanted to read more. A good feeling. And of course, I spent hours last night and will do so again tonight doing crafty things to finish up my Christmas-in-July Secret gift exchange; tomorrow the deadline to have it mailed. Nothing like waiting until the last minute! But I'm pleased overall with it, I think. Hope she likes it, anyway.

I've also been more introspective lately, feeling a little more withdrawn. Not in a bad way, necessarily. I don't feel isolated, exactly, or lonely. This is less imposed on me, than me pulling back a bit. Though, given the vacation, I suppose it is somewhat imposed, lol. But I am feeling ok. Just . . . tentative? Waiting? Not sure. Not bad, that's the important bit, I think.

Overall, feeling well. 7/8 dpo today. Had a nice dip and recovery - which has mean exactly nothing in past - and a lovely jump today. Sadly, I think that's probably more attributable to trying to make the cats leave me be than anything. Normal symptoms for this time, so I'm doing my best to ignore and plow on through the week. Definitely looking forward to Saturday and a lie-in.

Otherwise, following NBA free agency half-heartedly, hoping the gaps are filled adequately for the Spurs. And that, friends, is my update.

Yes, it was.

2010-07-02T21:57:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I feel like I have blown things out of proportion. That perhaps I have made Gabriel into more than he was, that the pain I've felt is out of proportion to the loss. Maybe it's because so few people (fortunately for them) really understand what the type of loss is and how it tears at you and turns everything upside down. There comes a point, I think, where you have to question things because when most people around you act one way or believe one thing, it makes you question yourself.

But I went back, drawn to it, and re-read the story of Gabriel's birth. We will soon be at a year since it happened and I think about him a lot. I think about the circumstances a lot. I feel like I never left that time, the fact that nearly a year has passed completely puzzles me.

I read it over again.

And I did not make it something bigger than it was. I did not dramatize what happened. I did not imagine it to be somehow more awful or important than it really was.

If anything, I underestimated the horror of what happened to me, to us. Reading it dispassionately, forgetting for a moment that that is our story, I was horrified. I was moved to tears by the bewildering experience.

No wonder I was paralyzed. No wonder I am still lost and sad. It never should have happened. But it did.

I am heartbroken yet about losing my son, but time has given me the space to be heartbroken in a different way; to see how terribly wrong it was. I can see that I oughtn't to have gotten over it by now, that I may never get over it. And that's not wrong or bad.

The little things, the big things

2010-07-01T20:37:00.002-05:00

I used to believe that I was destined for great things in life. That I would likely do something important and big and amazing. I had a feeling, deep inside me, that told me I was special, somehow.

I think some of the biggest feelings of self-loathing have come when I haven't had any reason to believe that could possibly be true. I think one of my biggest fears is mediocrity. Of erasure. Of leaving nothing behind me of any value.

* * * * *

CS Lewis is among my favorite authors. Dry, funny, sincere, and so sure of his faith and belief. So ready to share, and defend. His works are marvelous.

The Great Divorce is one of the lesser known pieces, and one of the more brilliant, I believe. He takes Blake's argument that there will always be a bit of Hell in Heaven and a bit of Heaven in Hell and says there can be no such thing because they are so opposite, so divorced from each other that there is no common factor.

And writes a little dream story about a visit between a modern sort of hell which is people so wrapped up in themselves and their gray existence that they are miserable, and do nothing but cause misery to others. They take a day trip to the other side, to a heavenly plane and the narrator is taken to view several reunions between the ghosts of hell and the very real people of Heaven. Those of Heaven are trying to convince those of Hell to stay, but many of them are so self-centered and so assured of their own rightness in whatever position they've taken that they refuse to see anything else and thus refuse the mercies and love available to them and think themselves victims and ill-used.

There is a stunning scene in which one of the heavenly beings is accompanied by an enormous entourage. She is one of the more important people of Heaven, having come quite a long way to meet her husband. At first the narrator thinks she must be Mary, because she is so beautiful and light and so well attended.

But it turns out that she is someone that no one really knows. She was kind to everyone she met; she loved every child as her own, every man as her own husband, every woman as her friend. She gave freely what she had and was joyful in the circumstances of her life.

The message is fairly clear.

* * * * *

I think that I've felt an odd discontent lately. Something I've been unable to really pin down. In many ways, I've been more relaxed, more comfortable. And yet. . . a restlessness, a stirring.

I want to find that destiny, I want to fulfill it. I want to do something that matters, something important.

And I guess I'm re-evaluating what that is.

I don't think it will ever be big, or splashy, or even really note-worthy. But if I can do better in the little things . . . won't that have the greatest impact? If I can be a better friend, a more patient wife, a more dutiful daughter. . . if I can step beyond my self-absorption and reach out to someone else in pain and sit with them awhile . . . if I can make one thing easier for someone else . . . if I can make someone else laugh or smile. . .

isn't that more important than a grand gesture? Isn't that a pebble in the lake causing ripples? Doesn't that maybe have a greater effect? Isn't that an important thing?

I feel it worth noting:

2010-06-29T18:06:00.002-05:00

Today is cd 16.

I have a + opk. I ought to have, in my opinion, of course, had a Peak on the CBEFM today.

I have what feels like a golf ball trying to explode from my abdomen.

It hurts like a MTHFR. Seriously, I've been a fair amount of pain for a few hours now. It's making me whiney.

But hell, y'all. This is EARLY. This is like NORMAL PEOPLE.

Mark it down. It may never happen again.

Weird.

2010-06-27T19:58:00.002-05:00

I started having ewcm on Friday. Unmistakable. And since we hadn't had sex in like, forever, because of the stupid bronchitis and coughing a lot and so on.

Bit early, I thought, but that was fine. CBEFM's remained low.

The ewcm has only increased since then.

And the opk I took this evening? Not positive, but pretty dark. Huh.

Interesting to see what happens with this one.

And while I'm waiting, I will be occupied w/ Twitter because the obsession doesn't end, it only grows. And The Blogess, because, awesome.

I get it, I really do. I'm just an unappreciative heathen.

2010-06-26T14:21:00.003-05:00

Soccer bores me.

I'm sorry.

I really am.

I want to like it, really. I get the appeal, the excitement, the feeling it could go any way at any moment. I understand the athleticism involved in it and am very impressed at the precision required.

Unfortunately, it's like baseball in that regard.

Bloody boring. For most of it, it's just men running back and forth over a big field.

I know, I know, basketball is much the same. Except it's way smaller, the ball moves around more and there is a shot-clock limiting the amount of time one can retain possession of the ball and attempt to score. So it contains more instant gratification and moves at a faster pace.

So, while I'm shockingly more up-to-date on the World Cup and have actually watched several games with my husband, and actually knew more about WC than the NBA draft (which makes me feel all sorts of wrong), I am terribly bored by it all.

Sorry. I want to like it. I know it's the biggest international sport and all. But. . . yawn.

OMG, How?! HOW?

2010-06-25T12:56:00.003-05:00

How is it possible to have become so addicted to twitter, after starting an account less than 48 hours ago?

HOW?

I have WORK to do. I have . . . um . . . STUFF to do. I have a life, even if much of it is frittered away in front of the television or in writing stories about Fred and Hermione that I will never allow to see the light of day.

And yet, I am completely and utterly addicted. My feed looks schizophrenic, a bizarre mix of Spurs players/news, English actors significantly younger than myself who *may* happen to be in movies that *might* also involve Fred and Hermione (ok, I admit it, I really just sort of want to follow the Phelps twins because I totally have a crush on them, but really it's because Fred and George are my favorite characters in Harry Potter. And the twins who play them, Oliver and James, are just so damn cute. And funny. And yes, I'm 30 and happily married. So what? I don't want to shag them, just have a beer or four with them and bff's 4evah) and where was I?

Oh right.

Twitter. Feeds. I also have several comedians (Conan, Chelsea Handler, Jim Gaffigan, etc) and cast members from my two favorite cable shows (Leverage and Burn Notice). And several babyloss and IF bloggers who float around twitter.

So it's this totally bizarre mix of things and people. Fun. Enjoyable.

And apparently scarily addictive.

Because I feel twitchy when I can't check the feed update every few minutes.

Less than 48 hours, people. Very little of depth or substance. Just some funny things. WTH?! Nothing I would regret not knowing before I died.

And yet . . . maybe I should activate the internet service for our phones . . .

That settles that.

2010-06-23T22:35:00.002-05:00

For a variety of reasons, including a wee bit of sleep deprivation, I realized that I've missed at least two, and possibly three doses of my anti-depressant until tonight.

I noticed that yesterday and today, I'd been feeling more scattered, more anxious, and this evening was starting to feel really down. I didn't like it at all. It was unnerving, and didn't feel good.

Now that I realized the pills were missing, I'm thinking there may be a connection.

Which is sort of scary. I didn't want to be forever dependent on the A/Ds. But you know what? My mom has needed them for a long time. And if that is how it feels going off?

No thanks.

The way I feel on is just so much more stable. It's not numbing, it's not a happy pill. It just . . . keeps me level and helps me focus. The highs are still highs, but the lows and the fears are not so soul-sucking and crushing.

Scary thought that my prescription is almost up again. Definitely need to get a new PCP and consider switching the prescription out from Dr. B to a PCP. Because, man. It was hell getting the last one written. I'll try the pharmacy thing the office suggested, but . . . ugh.

Even if I rethink it after the fact, there is no way I will consider going without the A/Ds as we approach August. God, how I've loathed that month. It's certainly not endeared to me now.

Today?

2010-06-22T13:21:00.001-05:00

Is a good day.

* * *

That's all, really.