Ultrasound Update

Had an ultrasound this morning to measure Stick-It's fluid and growth, as Dr. Fav is now charting this info. For the record, Stick-It is now estimated to weigh in at 4 lb. 1 oz., and is measuring at 32w4d. Pretty impressive for me being 30w6d today, huh?!?! No wonder I look like I swallowed a basketball already! See Dr. Fav tomorrow. Will post more, but need to get off computer, as boss is headed my way and is already talking to herself. Not a good sign.

Same Time, Different Pregnancy

Today marks the same point in this pregnancy as the point in my perfectly healthy third pregnancy when things went SOOOOooo Freakin’ Wrong. I woke up yesterday at 6:30. Well, I should say that I was woken up by DS#1 asking me to open the battery compartment on his cell phone to get it to start (long story, but I think the kid uses/jostles/jolts the thing so much the connection comes loose). Before you think this child is strange or calling friends way too early, he is up at 6:00 every morning and has to leave for middle school by 7:00 a.m.; school starts for the middle schoolers and high schoolers in our town at 7:23 a.m. I should also explain that I sleep on the couch most nights; it’s more comfortable on my back, and I’m a very sound sleeper, so if I nod off watching Dancing With the Stars, it’s over, folks. Because I’m always on my side sleeping on the couch, Stick-It’s kicks are enhanced, and for the past three weeks, he’s kicked me awake with his David Beckham impression between 4:00 and 4:30 a.m. As in pre-dawn!! As in EVERY MORNING!!!!

So, as I tried to rub some semblance of moisture back into my dry-contact-sealed eyes to solve the cell phone dilemma, I realized I hadn’t been awake from 4:00 on from the kicking. First thought? Wow, I must have been tired last night. Second thought? OH MY GOD, WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH STICK-IT?!?!?! Thinking back, I have noticed a change in his schedule of activity over the past week (meaning it’s becoming more normal; he’s not active all night and sleeping all day), but he’s started moving later (not as strong though). He seemed to be lower yesterday, and was fluttering and banging away, but it didn’t seem to be as strong as it had been. My rational mind kept telling me not to worry, but to counteract the rising I-can’t-breath-panic-attack-feeling, I called the OB nurse at my practice. After explaining the situation, I asked if I could come in to just get the heartbeat checked. Mind you, this is per Dr. Fav’s own instructions, he who had told me not to get a home fetal monitor, but to just come in whenever I needed to. Needless to say, hearing my mom’s voice, the voice of the woman who was my rock through finding out that Jimmy was gone, who was my L&D coach, who was there to hold and rock and kiss her grandson goodbye, and then having to put into words why I needed her to drive DS brought me to tears. She, of course, was ready to jump in the car to get to me. So, in reassuring her, I calmed myself down. Called DH and told me not to worry, but that for my sanity, I was going to have a listen. Announced to my boss that I needed to leave 15 minutes early for a doctor's appointment. She asked why. I told her that I just wanted to get checked, as he hadn't been as active today and that it was around the same time in the pregnancy as when we lost Jimmy (she was my boss then too). Her response? "Oh, you'll be fine. You don't know what I went through when you lost him. I couldn't even talk. I was so upset." I know in her own weird way she was trying to comfort me, but everything is always about her, and this was just another example of why, unless absolutely desperate, I have no intentions of coming back to this position after I have this child.

Off to the doc's I went, her words still ringing in my ears. After a short wait (I got to be one of the last patients of the day), I was in an exam room. Needless to say, Stick-It was fine. The nurse who did the check is a former coworker of Mom’s, and got the heartbeat right away. I could even hear the whooshing sound the valves make, since she was right over his heart. So, all is well, and I could sleep last night. Well, that is, until 3:27 a.m. this morning, when Stick-It decided to answer my prayers from the day before, and began his Muhammad Ali impression for the next 90 minutes!

Maternity Clothes Wars

I have reached the uncomfortable stage in my pregnancy, when you walk around swaybacked to make up for the huge belly in front. I was not on the slender side prior to this pregnancy, but I feel HUGE now. I can’t imagine how big I’ll feel in another three months! Having had two full-term pregnancies and one 28-week loss (the early loss meant I never got to the maternity-clothes stage), my ligaments are stretched (along with everything else), and I am carrying VERY low! I mean, the kicks are all at pelvic level unless I’m lying down on my side; then, Stick-It moves up a little. I am a pack rat by nature, and a procrastinator, so I never cleaned out any of the baby stuff. Honestly, I just shoved it away after losing Jimmy, and since I always thought we’d have one more child, I never went through it. Lucky for me, because I obviously need maternity clothes. Unfortunately for me, being bigger by about fifteen pounds (and in different places) than during my three previous pregnancies, a lot of the saved clothing either doesn’t fit or is off-season. So, realizing I have only a few (maybe three) pair of stretchy pants and four tops at home, along with a dress or two that still fit, I announced to DH on Monday that I needed to go shopping for a few more tops and bottoms to get me through the rest of this pregnancy.

And now, an update for those who haven’t been shopping in a while: apparently, maternity clothes designers are suffering from the same malady as the designers of regular women’s wear and of children’s clothes. It seems they believe that a) you should look like a streetwalker at all times, or b) you have gobs of money to go buy very expensive, classic clothing. Since I’m not dressing like a hoochy mama looking for a daddy for her baby, and I'm not made of money nor willing to spend lots of it on clothes that will not be worn again (because I am D-O-N-E with my childbearing years after this one, ladies), I spent much of my holiday searching desperately for a a few reasonably-priced decent-looking pieces.

Now, I normally take an XL to accommodate my shoulders and bust for tops, and I’m a 16-18 in the bottoms department. Well, that translates for L*iz L#ange at T*arget to be a Medium. I’m not kidding. The crap they’re selling would probably fit those little girls like Nicole Richie who get pregnant with their tiny bellies and then bitch about hitting the 100-pound mark the week before they deliver. Ugh! Or, as I quickly discovered, the designers think we should all emphasize our busts and bellies with empire waists and scoop-neck collars that just make me look even bigger! And did I mention the ribbon on the empire waist that accentuates the bulge, or the wrap-style tops that don’t cover the oversized twins in front that were once my reasonably sized boobs? Further complicating matters are the sweaters and velour tops that they’re stocking. I’m sorry, I’m still working, and it takes place in an office that has no windows that open, a thermostat that is stuck on “unreasonably warm”, and is in a climate that today is hitting 60 degrees outside. I’m already hot from the hormones, idiots, why would I want to wear something to make me sweat more?

So, I managed to find one clingy XXL top that wasn’t too bad and one pair of black slacks. Between that and what I have at home, I hopefully can make it through the next three months. Hopefully, with some carefully mixing and matching, I won’t look like I only have two outfits to pick from!

Bedroom Shuffles (aka IKEA Rocks!)

When we found out that Stick-It was on his way, and it became apparent that he was healthy and sticking, we had to break a promise we made to the two older boys. Plans had begun for a yard sale, with the boys were driven to clean by the promise that they could keep the profits from any toys sold. I had my own visions of an attic empty of Rubbermaid bins of outgrown clothes and a garage free of baby furniture and strollers. Yes, Ms. Pack Rat that I am, I have thrown only broken items out; everything else is still on hand. And them each getting his own room was a good idea at the time, with one starting middle school. They have shared a room since the younger one was 18 months old; it was a hot summer and we had only one air-conditioner for them to share.

With the anticipated arrival of Stick-It, plans have changed. They will continue to share, and on top of that, are losing their toy room. Yep, our third bedroom (all upstairs) was their toy room, where the GameCube and DVD player lived with the board games, Legos and Matchbox cars. It was a great setup: they were upstairs, we occupied the TV room downstairs, and the living room furniture was left to fade in peace. In fact, we only had cable in one room – the TV room. Our bedroom has a TV with rabbit ears that got three or four stations.

Then came the pregnancy news. And plans changed. My father was pressed into handyman service, splicing the cable so that we now have it in our room, the TV room, and the living room; he also wired and rewired phone jacks, so we can have phones in two additional rooms if needed. Then, the decision was made to give the boys the TV room, while we’d take the living room as our respite. The toy room would be partially emptied and repainted for Stick-It, and the boys’ room would get two new (and matching) dressers and a bunk bed.

Have you ever tried to find reasonably priced, not-a-piece-of-garbage, furniture, particularly bunk beds that would hold an 8” mattress? Well, thank the Shopping Gods for IKEA, home of Scandinavian furniture, or, as I call it, the Mothership for Shoppers! I’ve been in this place once, but the impression was made. Mind you, I’m not looking for heirloom pieces. I’m looking for something that, if a kid gouges it with a pencil, I’m not going to need his college fund to fix, and that I won’t have any issues about letting him take with him when he moves out (then I can get the good heirloom stuff!). I know too many people who spent big bucks on a nursery or bedroom set for their little darling, only to have the kid chew the $800 mahogany crib rail to pieces or play Picasso on the side and top of the bureau with a Sharpie. And hey, I’m just too cheap to spend that type of cash.

So, after much whining, pleading, and demanding, my DH agreed to the pilgrimage to the Mothership last Sunday after church. I had researched online what pieces I wanted to see, so we weren’t going in blind. Tape measurer and notes in hand. Traffic wasn’t bad, so the trip took just under an hour. Once inside, it took about 2 hours to walk around, get some food in the caf, make our final decisions, load our flatbed, and get in line. Then, the harrumphing began. The Patriots' kick off was at 4:00 p.m. We got in line at 3:00 p.m. The watch checking began. DH’s temper with the kids was running low. The “knock it off”s started. I finally turned to DH, who snapped at me, “What?!?” I responded back curtly, “Knock it off yourself. I’ve told you we needed to do this three weeks in a row. And you always had an excuse. The Red Sox were playing. The Patriots are on at 1:00. Well, tough, you can listen to kick-off in the car!”. We got home during the first quarter, and I let him watch until almost half time. Then I told him to get up and come help me unload the bed. He was not a happy camper, but tough, I wanted these beds together, particularly as I couldn’t do the bureaus first with the boys’ beds in the room as they were; they wouldn’t fit.

It should be noted that, because DH is spatially challenged, I have always been the one to assemble things in our home. He is also a procrastinator, so that I have been the one at 7 or 8 months pregnant lifting furniture, putting together cribs, etc. Unless I throw a hissy fit, he doesn’t help. And honestly, with this pregnancy, on top of working fulltime and dealing with a 12-yo and an 8-yo, I’m just too friggin’ tired. Oh, and did I mention DH just this week transferred to an office closer to home (half the distance of his old one, so about 25 minutes away), but he’s now Monday through Friday 2:00 PM to 10:00 PM instead of Tuesday through Saturday days. So, I am essentially a single parent at night, dealing with pick up and practices and errands and dinner and homework and bedtime on my own. So, with that in mind, my demands to put together the beds Sunday night didn’t seem like I was asking too much to me.

With DH and DS#1 holding pieces up and together, I finished assembly at 9:00 p.m. The next night, I assembled one bureau, then Tuesday night, the second bureau was assembled and clothes put away in it. One bookcase has been moved in, and tomorrow DH will have to move the bureau that was in the boys’ room to Stick-It’s room (because it’s too heavy for me). Then we can clean out the rest of the toys, move the rest of the furniture out, clean and paint the room, and fix up the TV room for the kids. And if I’m still standing on Monday, I’ll be amazed! If we can accomplish that much, I’m hoping we can get everything done by Thanksgiving, when I hit 28 weeks. Then I can concentrate on cookie making, gift-wrapping, the holidays, and getting ready for Stick-It.

Workplace Woes

Off-pregnancy topic for today – need to vent about work. So far as I go, I’m feeling HUGE, can’t breathe due to the humidity in the Northeast, and Stick-It is kicking me awake every morning at 4:30 a.m. Not what a perpetual night owl deals with well.

Okay, my job sucks right now. Well, not the job, but my boss. She has for quite a while. I have worked in the same office for the past 12 years at a local community college as an Administrative Assistant to a Dean. This woman has become the walking example of a bad boss, and why people call state employees "hacks" to begin with. I know, you're asking yourself, "so why not leave?"

One, after 12 years, I have some really great benefits. Like 4 weeks vacation time. I’m making decent money. I have a 15-minute commute. And it’s not the toughest job in the world. But over the years, I’ll admit, it must have been something like suffering from Stockholm Syndrome for me. We had another Dean and his Admin in the office with us, and they were a piece of work, so for years, it was her and me in the same foxhole. And she was somewhat reasonable. Then came, about four years ago, her losing her dad. Then, little things, like three years ago, when my husband had his heart attack and I was 13 weeks along with Jimmy. Her response to the news? “Oh, I’m sorry. So, do you think you’ll be in on Monday, because the work’s piling up?” Then, four months later, her response to my losing Jimmy: “Oh, take as much time as you need, but do you think you’ll be back in three weeks, because the work’s piling up?” A year later, as her mother was dying and I had my miscarriage: “Well, now you won’t be so hormonal!” This from a woman who had a miscarriage a few months after her dad died, which she kept secret from everyone at work but me.

I shouldn’t have expected anything more from her. She has NO life outside of work. None. No support system, no friends, no one. She has aunts and uncles and cousins who live one town over from where she is, and no one helps her. And she doesn’t ask. She’s not “into” anything. At one point she told me her motto was “Just don’t get involved”. Not in her kids’ school, nothing. In fact, her kids are involved in NOTHING. No sports, no clubs, etc. The only time they did anything was when her husband had a different job and coached the boys. But in the last few years, that stopped. Three years ago, her mother was diagnosed with end-stage ALS, her husband had taken a position in his company where he was in Southeast Asia three out of four weeks a month, and she fell at home and broke her right foot (so she couldn’t drive). No family came to help her, no friends pitched in. Are you getting the picture? The woman is a loner with a capital “L”. And her husband, who seems like a nice guy, isn’t much better. The day after her mother’s funeral, he left to go back to Asia. After all, he’d been home for a full three days, coming in the day before the wake.

I, on the other hand, live in the same town I grew up in. I’m involved in both kids’ schools and their sports as well as in the town, as is DH, and we are surrounded by family and friends who will step up if asked, just as we do for them.

So, you might ask, what’s changed my mind about staying here? Well, three years ago, just as her mother was dying, we had a turnover in the office. The other Dean and his Admin retired, and new ones took their place, changing the whole tone of the office. I crawled out of the foxhole and started to realize what a Bitch she could be. A year later, just after her mother’s death, when she started to be truly unbearable (everything that went wrong was my fault, and she stopped giving me the tools to do my job effectively, like telling me her schedule), she announced that she was taking a year’s leave of absence to go overseas with her husband and kids. Woo-Hoo! She ended up extending it to 18 months, and I had an Interim Dean who was a dream to work for. He had his moments, but viewed me as his right hand and an integral part of the team. Well, she decided to return in June, and right as she did, I found out I was pregnant. Despite the hopes that she would come back somewhat less tense, the opposite has happened. She’s more paranoid and secretive than ever, and doesn’t like the fact that I no longer let her bullying ways slide, having had words with her quite a few times over her tone and attitude. But again, it’s never her.

She has made the past four months seem like an eternity, and is now on my case to tell her exactly when I’m planning on going out on maternity leave, how long I plan to take, and the date I expect to return. I have tried to explain that I have no clue at this point (after I confirmed that I only need to give her 2 weeks’ notice according to my union contract), that, as I learned with Jimmy, things can change at a moment’s notice, and that I’m not sure how long I’ll be out (things like daycare and how long I can afford to go without pay have to be figured out with DH). I’ve been told that the plan is to induce me two weeks’ early, but that could change. And I’ve been warned that I could also end up on bed rest (or, thanks to the stress she keeps inducing, I may decide to speak with my OB and be written out, if possible, even earlier!).

I also can’t get a straight answer from HR regarding their various leave policies, and now have to ask our union rep and office to clarify a number of these issues. I’m waiting for HR to also get back to me regarding what the increases would be in my insurance deductions if I did come back part-time, not that I’m sure that’s an option; my contract says it is, but I’m clarifying that with the union as well. I’m also waiting to get the list of fees from my daycare to see if there is a three- or four-day option, or half-days, as DH, in the middle of all this, is transferring to a closer office, resulting in, for now, him working Monday-Friday second shift starting next month (he currently commutes an hour each way, and works Tuesday through Saturday days). He has been told this won’t be for long, but it might actually work if I could find a 25-hour a week position somewhere.

But, like with most maternity leaves, I need to stay in my current position until I have this baby. Then, once I’ve delivered AND we have a sense of a plan as to when I need to go back, I’ll begin applying for different positions. Hopefully, I won’t have a problem finding something. As far as her questioning goes, I’m not saying anything besides “Gee, we’re trying to get some answers, and, as you are well aware, everything is up in the air when it comes to a pregnancy. There are no certainties.” And that, dear readers, is the light at the end of my current employment tunnel: not having to put up with Dean FruitLoops and her neurotic behavior, will be worth a reduction in pay and benefits!

It's A ....

It’s a boy. Another son. On one hand, I am so set for another boy! Clothes, toys, the works, I’ve already got boy stuff. Lots of it. And I know how to be a mother to a son. But now my apprehension grows even higher. I’m 20 weeks along with another son. I’ve been here before, and the sense of having the other shoe hanging over my head is ominous.

Our Level II ultrasound last week went well. Stick-It looked fine, and then the inevitable question: “Do you want to know what it is?”

Of course I did. DH was, as always, on the fence. But I don’t like surprises. At all. Period. And trust me, losing Jimmy, losing the next pregnancy a year later, and all that we’ve gone through at the IF clinic were enough “surprises” to last me a lifetime, thanks.

The tech moved the wand around my stomach because Stick-It once again wasn’t giving up any secrets. And then, there it was. Even I know what those were. Those were boy parts. The doc confirmed it.

As many of us have written, knowing that you will most likely never have a child of the other sex brings forward a range of emotions. Yes, we are infinitely grateful to be having a child at all. But there is something in knowing that I will never have a daughter to dress up, to braid the hair of, to take to Girl Scouts. Please don’t mistake my feelings; I love my sons with all my heart and soul. But this will be my last pregnancy, my last chance at having a child of the other sex in my house. I also know very well that mothers and sons have a very different relationship, particularly when the sons are grown, than mothers and daughters do.

I shouldn’t have even thought on an outside chance that this one would be a girl. Vegas wouldn’t have taken a chance on our odds. First, my DH is the youngest of 8 boys. That’s right. Eight in 12 years. My brother has two boys. The cousins on my dad’s side? All boys (the cousins on my mom's side, all two of them, have one boy and two girls between the two of them. And the boy and one of the girls were twins.) Out of my pregnancies, five now in all, I’m averaging 80% in the boy area. My two oldest, then Jimmy, now Stick-It (the miscarriage was too early to tell).

I also had one other major reason for wanting this child to be a girl. Having a boy after losing a perfectly healthy 28-week-old pregnancy with another son to a cord accident just makes me feel like I’m reliving so much of it. DH has similar feelings. I know the odds are in our favor that nothing like that will happen again, but I don’t like to gamble. Knowing this is another boy will just help my apprehension will grow until this child is delivered alive and is safely in my arms.

"Would You Like Some Cheese with That Whine?"

Before my whining starts, happy positive vibes to Thalia, who should have already met POB today! Thalia, we’re all thinking of you!

I have a cold. I thought it was allergies, but yesterday afternoon it quickly became apparent that it was something more. There are few more annoying things than being sick when you’re pregnant. I can’t breathe, my nose is either running or plugged and putting pressure on my head, my throat is raw from coughing, the crap that has run down my throat overnight tends to make me sick to my stomach in the morning, and, best of the best, if I cough and have even a half-full bladder, well, let’s just say I’ve taken to wearing pantiliners.

I have been using Sudafed sparingly, saline spray constantly, and have finally had a Hall’s Cherry cough drop without having it make me sick to my stomach. That and lots of chicken soup. Not the real stuff either. When I’m sick, I want Lipton’s Chicken Noodle Soup, Irish tea with honey, and lots of Jello. For now, no tea or Jello, as anything sweet is tending to make me nauseous. One of the quirks of this pregnancy.

I may even give in and go home at lunchtime today. That, or stick it out and bang in sick tomorrow. I just hate using any of my sick time, as any saved time is what I have to use to be paid for my maternity leave. And I already need to leave early Monday for my Level II u/s, and the following week DH is having his remaining two wisdom teeth removed, so I need to take a day for that. I'll just state for the record that the US and most of its companies totally suck when it comes to maternity leave policies.

How's Your Stress Level?

I know from the other blogs I read and from talking to other moms who’ve had a successful pregnancy after a loss that you never have a worry-free pregnancy. So when my OB asked at my visit “So, how are you doing? How’s your stress level?”, I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or punch him. How’s my stress level? You really want to know?

Every time I wake up that I don’t have sore boobs, I have a moment of panic that something is wrong. The nausea still continues, and I somehow find it reassuring. I haven't felt movement yet, which is not unusual for me (I usually feel the baby around 18 weeks, but I'm older and everything is a little more stretched out). Particularly for the first twelve or thirteen weeks, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something horrible to happen, for this pregnancy to end, just as the last two have.

I so strongly remember that the first night in the hospital when they were trying to start labor with Jimmy. I stood in the bathroom, naked, while my mother helped me into a fresh Johnny. I looked in the mirror at my boobs that were already deflated and the stomach that no longer showed any movement, turned to her, and said, “I don’t even look pregnant anymore. I don’t feel pregnant.” Twenty-one hours later, delivering my third son, who didn’t move, didn’t cry, who was already gone. Writing his obituary the next day, planning his graveside service, telling my mother that it was the only thing that I could do for this son that I would never get to mother in any other way.

A year later, hearing the voice of Dr. Grandpa tell me over the phone that the 7-week u/s didn’t look good, that my HcG wasn’t doubling, that the yolk sac was too big, and that this pregnancy probably would end soon (it went on for fifteen more days, a year to the day of Jimmy’s due date), and crying, asking myself why I was putting myself through this. Swearing that I wouldn’t do this again. Then the next year’s turmoil of secondary IF and the shots, the tests, the IUIs, having AF show up the day of my pregnancy test bloodwork. And now, being here.

So, how’s my stress level? I know very bad things can happen. For so many of us, it has. We don’t live in a vacuum like so many expectant moms. We've walked through the fire, the depths of despair, and come out the other side. I am one of the lucky ones; this is not my first child. This is my fifth pregnancy. I have two great kids at home. I have one son buried in our local cemetery in a plot that my father bought for us, where my husband and I will join him someday in the distant future. I have one child that I have only a few ultrasound pictures of. And every day that this pregnancy continues on, that I have an appointment where I can see this baby moving and get a blurry picture or hear it’s heartbeat, I am incredulous that it is happening, that I may actually bring this baby home.

Screening Results & Dr. Fav

First, mea culpa. Not that anyone seems to be reading this thing, but I still can't get my act together when it comes to keeping up with this blogging thing. I've had some great ideas for posts, but somehow always get waylaid.

I’m still in PregnancyLand. Stick-It’s still sticking. All-day nausea has subsided somewhat, but I still have my moments. This morning I couldn’t get to work until 11:00 a.m. I almost passed out twice, something that never happens to me. DH made me take my BP. It was 80/48, at which point he said he didn’t want me behind the wheel; I agreed, because I felt like crap. So the next two hours was spent lying down, trying to drink and eat something to get my metabolism and BP up. Finally it went up to 90/58, and now I’m at work.

First trimester screening results from the practice I was referred to came back, and were great. I have gone from a 1/70 chance of having a child with Down’s Syndrome to a 1/1380 chance; the genetics counselor noted that that is the same risk a 20-year-old would face. Same level of risk (same as a 20-year-old) for Trisomy 13 or 18 – from a 1/137 risk to 1/2721.

Then she asks the question: to amnio or not to amnio? Mind you, the only amnio I’ve ever had was with Jimmy. I know it had nothing to do with his choking on his cord, and at least we knew of all the things that he didn’t die of, but I’m also a person who analyzes numbers. The question I raised at the screening appointment was the 1/200 risk of miscarriage that the amnio carries, which the older OB at my practice had confirmed the week before. The genetics counselor corrected that. Due to their review of the latest studies from NY, which apparently has a similar population to the New England area, this high-risk practice (out of Mass General Hospital) now says amnios have a 1/600 risk of miscarriage. Still, that’s twice the risk as have a child with Down’s, and four times the risk of having a child with Trisomy 13 or 18.

So we’re opting to not do the amnio. I had the APF drawn Friday for the neural tube defects, and have my Level II u/s next Monday.

More reassuring was finally seeing “my” doctor in my OB practice. Dr. Fav is just a great guy. There are four doctors in this practice, along with some midwives (who I’ve never seen). Dr. Lady is my second pick in the office. Then there’s Dr. Grandpa, a man that my mom, an OB/GYN nurse, worked with for a few years two decades ago, before he and his two partners split and she went with one of the other partners. He’s nice, but a little too old-fashioned at times for me. I had to see Dr. Grandpa for my first appointment at 10 weeks and then again at 12 weeks (he couldn’t hear the heartbeat at 10 weeks, and wanted to see me at 12). Then the last partner, Dr. A-Hole, is the one who let me bleed for 8 weeks after my miscarriage before my D&C. He’s the one that I informed the intake OB nurse I would not see with this pregnancy. Actually, I said I wouldn’t let him within 20 feet of me, and that I still had friends and family who thought I should have sued him for dragging out my second loss with their office.

Now, you may ask why I would return to the same practice. Because when I asked my RE if there were anyone in the area that he would recommend for someone who finally got pregnant with his practice, he recommended Dr. Fav. When I posed my issues with Dr. A-Hole, he just told me that any woman who’s gone down the IF path has to be her own advocate when she does get pregnant, because most OB/GYN offices don’t handle pregnancies after losses well. And Dr. RE is a man I had and have great confidence in who was at one of the better Boston hospitals when it comes to high-risk pregnancies.

Anyway, Dr. Fav was on for my 16-week appointment; I’ve also got my 20- and 24-week set up with him. He greeted me, and did all the regular checks. Heartbeat was fine, my BP was fine, and I’ve only gained 9 pounds to date (pretty good for a “big” girl – I’m 5’7.5” (that 0.5 inch is SOOOO important!) and now weigh in at 207.5 pounds. Then he asked how I was, how much stress I was under (my response was “quite a bit at work”), and his plans. He wants me scanned every 3 weeks to check for fetal growth, fluid levels, and placenta health. He also wants to see me every 2 weeks, and in between doesn’t care if I’m in the office for heartbeat checks every day if that’s what I want. He also mentioned that his and my anxiety levels would be going up dramatically from about Week 24 until this child is delivered healthy and is safe in my arms. Sounds good to me, and it’s comforting to feel like I have someone watching out for me and Stick-It.

So, the next step is the Level II u/s. Hopefully, Stick-It will cooperate and we’ll find out what we’re having.

“And How Much Maternity Leave Does Your Company Offer?”

Ah, the question so few of us ask when interviewing for a position. Why? Because you might be marked as one of those women who actually wants to have children but needs to work to support those same children, someone who might need to take a few months off after delivering a bowling ball and then will dare to return to the workplace. And then, even if you end up on IF island, you're still marked.

Why is this an issue? Because I had my second OB appointment yesterday. (Yep, 12 weeks. Pinch me. Sorry, but I'm still waiting for the sound of the proverbial other shoe hitting the floor. But back to the point at hand...) Because the office computers were down, they couldn’t access anyone’s medical records because they computerized every G.D. record. So my appointment was delayed by 35 minutes. And that means that I had to stay late or take half an hour sick time. No big deal, right?

Well, due to the overwhelming generosity of my employee (I work for a state agency), I receive a whopping 10 days paid maternity leave. That’s right, 10 days. I know that’s more than some women get, but give me a break. And any more time than that is at my expense; to be paid, I have to use whatever time I have squirreled away. And of course, being that FOUR IUIs hadn’t worked and we figured we were at the end of our fertility road, I have used almost 100 hours of vacation time this year, including two weeks this summer. This would be shocking only if you realized that I NEVER take vacation time, let alone two weeks in the same three-month period.

So now, 30 minutes makes a difference. Keep your fingers crossed that the computers stay up for the rest of my visits.

Stick-It

Stick-It’s still sticking. Still pregnant. Wow. Can’t believe I just typed that. HcG came back at 14032 on 6/27, so we’ve still got doubling. OB ultrasound was done on 7/3. The thought of it terrified me; the first ultrasound with the last pregnancy was when they knew something wasn’t right. I even went back and, sure enough, because I’m both a packrat and detail-oriented, found my electronic calendar with that pregnancy. My HcG never got above the 2000 range last time. I know the numbers have been sooo much better this time, but the thought of having to see another screen with a baby dot on it and be told after the scan that things aren’t looking good is scary.

Had the u/s. The woman doing it, turns out, worked with my DM (did I mention DM was an OB/GYN nurse for 20+ years?). When she realized that I was DM’s daughter, she took extra time. Crown to rump length was 6.8. Yolk sac was 3.7. What’s so infuriating was the way with the last pregnancy I was told that the yolk sac measurements were abnormal, in a very patronizing way no less. Not a simple scientific explanation, like this time (“3.7 is good. Anything over 5.0 gives us cause for concern.”) Good. Give me facts, numbers, ratios, rates, something I can grasp and research and question.

Then I see the RE, not my regular one, but a very nice one. We’ll call him Dr. RE #2. And a resident who’s in training. Which I really don’t have a problem with. I think it’s great that this chick is going to find out what it’s like for the IFers of the world, and if she wants to stay in our sandbox. Dr. RE#2 is great. He greets me with "You're giving us a bad reputation. Congratulations!", referring, of course, to the fact that, while not one of their 4 IUIs worked, we managed to somehow end up where we are.

Everything is going well. He said I do need to stay on the progesterone suppositories twice a day for another three weeks (ugh!) as my levels were on the lower side. He then pointed out, however, that my progesterone levels have never been on the high side, pregnant or not, according to all the blood work they’ve done on me in the past year.

Another u/s in two weeks. I moved it up a little as we’re going camping next week, so the morning we leave, I get another picture. I’ll keep my emotions in check until then. Oh, and the morning sickness (or all-day sickness in my world) has started with a vengeance. That, combined with the low blood pressure I have with every pregnancy, is kicking my ass!!!

Progesterone

You great white waxy
suppositories
that I have to stick up my hoohaa
twice a day
according to the orders of the RE
who I have not actually spoken with
or even seen
yet
regarding this pregnancy.
Moonfaced,
bloated,
can't tell if it's
morning sickness
or
the progesterone
making me slightly nauseous
but my boobs are sore
so that's a good thing,
right?
Waiting
for the other shoe to drop
the door to slam in my face
again.
But this time is different.
This time,
no matter what,
I'll be okay;
I'd be sad
and mourn the loss of possibilities
yet again,
but I'm in a better place
than the last miscarriage
and better than when we lost Jimmy,
so let what may be
be.

And God Laughed…

As Frank Romano (the dad on "Everybody Loves Raymond") says,

"Holy Crap!"

I can’t believe I’m posting this. On Father’s Day, I peed on a stick, a Home Pregnancy Test stick to be exact. I didn’t have to wait the three minutes – the double lines appeared right away.

HcG on CD32 was 373.

Today’s HcG (CD34) was 911.

We have doubling. More than doubling. I am pregnant. For the fifth time in twelve years…

No signs of bleeding, boobs are a little tender (but they’ve been through two breastfeeders and one engorgement due to my stillborn child’s delivery, so they’re stretched beyond belief).

According to all those lovely due date calculators available on the web, my due date would be Thursday, February 21, 2008. Knowing that my OB/GYN had told me after Jimmy’s death that, if I were to get pregnant again, he would induce me at 38 weeks if everything were okay with the baby (read lungs were mature), as the stress would be too much for either of us. Then I got pregnant with and miscarried Little One, so we never had the chance to find out.

So, if my OB/GYN holds to his word, this child would be induced at 38 weeks. Instead of Thursday, February 21st, I would have a due date of Thursday, February 7th. That was the day we buried Jimmy. My fifth pregnancy and hopefully third live birth would take place four years to the day that I buried my third child.

Because God has a wicked sense of humor.

I just can’t get excited about this pregnancy at this point. I know that sounds horrible, but I can’t. I had finally resolved myself that I wouldn’t have another child, and bam! I know too well what can go wrong. What if I miscarry again? What if there’s something very wrong with this pregnancy? What if it’s a perfectly healthy baby that chokes on its own cord twenty-eight weeks into this pregnancy?

For now, I am living blood test to blood test, waiting for the other shoe to drop, anticipating it, steeling myself for it. I know that these feelings aren’t unusual for the IF bloggers who have finally succeeded in having a successful pregnancy, but I am surprised that I can remain this unemotional, because I’m not, unemotional that is. I’m very emotional. I cry at Hallmark commercials and sad songs and sappy country music videos. So the lack of emotion is just not my norm.

Next bloodwork in a week. Holding on until then.

Another Day Over, Another Year Spent

I did it. Another date on the calendar that jumps out, raps its fingers around my heart, squeezing tight. Another year that I’ve made it through. Sans another baby.

Did I mention that Jimmy’s due date was April 28, 2004? Did I mention that, because God has a tart sense of irony, I miscarried Little One exactly one year later, on April 28, 2005? Even though we knew there was no heartbeat, it was still the day that the hope of another child left my body. Since then, nothing. I could do handstands, balance on one foot, poke my stomach every night injecting whatever my RE told me to, driving like a maniac in the AM to have an ultrasound wand stuck up my hoo-hah and needles stuck in my arms (often by inexperienced vampires), and still no pregnancy, no double lines on the EPT, no nothing.

I made it through the day. The first year, two and a half months after we buried our son, I was in Virginia at my brother’s then-house. That was NOT a good day. I started my day crying silently upstairs in the guestroom, and ended the day early, anxious to sleep and let my aching heart rest.

The next year, I was in an emergency room with the ass of an OB/GYN partner telling me he didn’t want to do a D&C. I should have insisted. Two months later, I had one anyway, and told my OB/GYN that that particular partner had done more damage to my psyche than losing another child, on top of wasting three of my valuable remaining months of fertility.

Last year, I worked. Granted, I was out of sorts all day. Then I went home, poured a large glass of wine, drank it, and went to bed early, just to give myself the escape of sleep.

This year? This year I was roaming around Walt Disney World’s Disney/MGM-Studios with DH, DS #1 & DS#2, and a family of three that came along for the vacation. Did I have time to remember? Yes, every time I looked into the eyes of every 3-yo that bumped into my leg and heard the cries of every 2-yo mid-meltdown. But it was okay. I had a great time, and watching the kids enjoy themselves was the topper.

The cold-water-in-the-face, the slap of a reality check, came on the plane ride home when DS#1 asked if I was sad. Let me preface this by saying that I am not a great flyer, and had a throcking too-little-sleep headache to boot. Two little kids were directly across the aisle, and, while well-behaved, their screeches of delight over a game of peek-a-boo were like hammer blasts between my eyes.

He was sitting next to me, my sensitive son, worrying about me. I asked why he asked. He said, “Because every time you look at a baby, you look sad.” I told him that I had a headache, and that I was okay. Not a total lie, but I also don’t want him to worry about me. My boys have been through too much. That breaks my heart. They shouldn’t have to know at their ages that babies die before they’re born.

And I am okay. The pain isn’t fresh. It can still be surprisingly biting, and aches on occasion, but it’s not the constant piercing make-you-want-to-scream-at-the-unfairness pain.

I finally am okay. For now. Check back, and I’ll let you know how well I deal with the yard sale prep over the next month. I’ll be saying goodbye to the clothes and crib and bassinet and strollers, to the potential of having another baby wear the same clothes and sleep in the same crib as the boys. This will be interesting.

Bad Blogger!

Really! I suck at this! I have all these thoughts running around my head, and want to put them down on electronic paper, to get them out of my head where they're running around bumping into important scraps of thought, to let them form a cohesive line of thinking. Actually, I want it to look like the scenes from “Harry Potter” where Professor Dumbledore uses his Memoraball, freeing up mind space. And then the phone rings (because I do a lot of this at work, where no one is looking over my shoulder), or someone does come in and I don’t want them reading my most personal thoughts because none of them know I blog, or I actually need to get some work done. Well, today is the day I will update this blog, to at least bring it current. After all, it’s only been five (FIVE OH MY GOD I’M SO BAD AT THIS) months since I wrote.

The meeting with the RE went just as I thought. Intermittent bleeding, in his esteemed opinion, due to the coming-off-of-the-stomach-bruising hormone injections (no physical exam, in case you were wondering). And oh, by the way, when would you like to schedule an IVF cycle? I thought the poor man was going to fall off his chair when I told that we weren’t going down that road. Oh, and by the way, if I do want to, can you deal with the Black Hole that is your insurance office?!?! I relayed my issues with L. and S. to him, who promised to review the situation. I think he actually will too, as one of the partners has split off to start his own RE practice in the area and is in direct competition.

I am sort of in the middle on this whole thing. While part of me aches to be pregnant again and have another child, I know full well pregnant doesn’t equal healthy, trouble-free pregnancy and delivery. And my “clock” is ticking, so to speak; the Big 40 summit was reached in December. And is it fair to my 11yo and 7yo. They both have gone through so much already, their dad’s heart attack, their brother Jimmy being stillborn three months later, my miscarriage a year later just after we told them I was pregnant… to put them through another situation that could have tragic results is something I have to, as their mom, HAVE to consider. I’m on a tightrope, and I REALLY hate heights!

All the while, I’m SO pissed that DH is being such a scaredy-cat chicken-shit about the whole thing; he’s not even there to explain to the nice RE that HE has no desire to pursue this route. To Hell with what I want/feel/need. He’s made his decision, and I’m going to have to live with it. So I try to find the words, and finally do. “DH is really not willing to go down that road”, I tell the RE, “he has reservations”. God bless my RE, who looks me in the face and says, “and what about you?” I want to hug this man and cry at the same time. Ohhh, yeah, me. He offers up the tidbit that we can keep doing the IUIs if we want. I tell him we will probably take a break to review our options. He tells me to give him a call if we change our minds, and that if we’re trying on our own, he’ll still want to see me the minute I have a positive pregnancy test. So optimistic, he is!

So, over the last five months, some intermittent bleeding. Had my physical with a Pap in January. Everything was fine. Actually, not so fine. I had three cycles where my peak never registered on my fertility monitor, or happened so late in my cycle that there was no way a fertilized egg would have had time to implant before AF washed it away. Things have been more normal for the past two months, but still no preggers.

My self-imposed attic/house cleanout of all the baby gear has been postponed until mid-June. We’re vacationing in the land of the Mouse (Disney World) at the end of the month, and then my weekends are rather full until school’s over. That, and in New England, our spring has had the weirdest weather! I’m hoping June will at least be warm and I’ll have a decent weekend to have a yard sale, but it’s New England, so I guess I should expect snow!

Congratulations to many of the others out here in Blog World who have achieved the double line and are still going strong (Thalia, Barren Mare, UtRus, Watson). Condolences at the same time to many who have endured another loss (Julia, Jill). And for some whose paths have veered suddenly from getting pregnant to getting healthy (Lisa), my thoughts are with you.