written September 12
We are rounding out the end of 18 weeks and for the first time I've been sick two mornings in a row. Fun! In the first three months my nausea was pretty much 24/7, which was confusing to my ravenous appetite. This far along I still have bouts of nausea, though they tend to spike while brushing teeth and taking pills getting ready in the morning and on the way to bed at night. That's alright, I'm not mad at the symptoms. I prayed fervently, almost desperately, for continued signs to reassure me in the first trimester, the last thing I plan on doing is being ungrateful for those continued signs, even if they are lasting a bit longer than I think I may have needed.
This week has been a week of growth spurting, or so it feels. Some days the best description I can give is that I just feel all womb-y. Things are stretching (that ligament pain thing has not been bad at all, except when it decides to be bad and it's REALLY BAD), adjusting, moving (just me, no baby feels yet) and it all feels just sort of strange. Right now I have an over-expanded feeling in my upper stomach, that distended feeling you get after stuffing your face at Thanksgiving. Lunch was a good hour ago and I had a leftover bun-sized sausage (no bun), a few bites of roasted potato and 2 small slices of deviled eggs. I don't think it sounds like a lot, it didn't feel like a lot at the time and yet, stuffed.
We had another appointment with the midwives last week and so far so good. I've somehow managed to lose 3 pounds (of COURSE!) but it is thought to be water weight and nothing to be worried about right now. My blood pressure had been a little high so I got on some medication to help nip it in the bud, am checking it daily, and that seems to be working out. The heartbeat is strong in this one, bounding and higher and to the right of where it was last time. I'm anxious for when I can actually start feeling Peanut do all that moving in there, which, according to words people say in books and things, should be any time now.
Last Sunday we started our Bradley classes, which had some mixed results. In the first class we learned that our teacher is nice enough but also a bit dry, skimpy in the humor department and sometimes more than a little quirky. I wasn't blown away but Clif was beyond not impressed. The next night was a catch-up night that Clif couldn't attend, but I found it to be a noticeable improvement from the night before. While it might not be the most stimulating instructor, I know there is a lot to learn and I'm so eager for the knowledge and skills.
Throughout this process Clif has been absolutely and completely amazing. He takes my moodiness and insane hysterics in stride, comforting me as much as possible. He cooks, cleans, and checks to see how I'm doing. Yesterday he heard that I was sick in the bathroom and when I came out he was ready to get out of bed and make me an egg, knowing it's been one of my go-to foods when I'm not feeling well. I'm touched by his attention and care and so lucky to have him for a best friend, husband, father-to-be.
In a week and a couple of days we should, hopefully, find out if Peanut is a he or she.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
First Letter to Baby
Well, Peanut, this past weekend you scored mommy her first "with child" freebie and a Southwest Airlines employee named Lisa became a bit of a hero.
I had to make an overnight trip half way across the country that I wasn't particularly thrilled about. While the weekend turned out to be lovely I knew the long and late trip home Sunday night would make the return to work on Monday particularly brutal and wasn't looking forward to the last leg of our travel home. Our return flight was due to take off at 5:30 pm and land just after 11:00 pm at BWI airport. While a bit cheaper, it meant a subsequent hour ride back to my car in Falls Church then drive the rest of the way home to Sterling, estimating my arrival to bed somewhere in the ballpark of 1:30 in the morning. It would be intense, is what I'm saying, and I don't know if you noticed, Peanut, but intense is not something we have been doing very much of lately.
My travel companion and I arrived to the airport an hour ahead of our flight. While I was distracted by the need to re-check my carry on suitcase that hadn't caused any concern or changed content since the day before, my friend said he needed to run to the gate and took off at a jog I wouldn't have maintained even if I wasn't expecting. I hadn't heard exactly what he said but was instantly worried we had our times wrong and he was going to catch our plane and hold it for me to catch up. I sped walked and people dodged my way to our gate at the far end of the terminal, which luckily wasn't too large, arriving in a sweaty, panting, apologetic-for-my-state-of-pregnancy mess to find my friend in haggle mode with the employee, Lisa, at the gate check in to see if we could get on the flight that was ready to depart. So, it wasn't our flight after all, but it would save us a 45 minute layover with a plane change and get us home over an hour early if we could get on this plane. Unfortunately because we hadn't purchased the right kind of tickets it would also cost an additional $600.
We hedged for a moment. I tried not to blurt out that I'd pay almost anything to get home early (it helped that I certainly couldn't AFFORD to pay anything, much less almost anything) and deferred to my more seasoned travel mate to make the best decision. He asked Lisa again, wondering if there were seats free on the plane why we couldn't take advantage of them, but she was sticking firmly to the policy. Being in customer service myself, I was not about to fault her for doing her job, but was disappointed. My friend looked at me and asked how I was feeling as he pulled out his credit card to pay for the tickets, to which I answered truthfully that I would love to get home early but by no means was incapable of going at our originally appointment time. Lisa paused and looked at me, asking if I had said I was pregnant (I had only mentioned it by way of apology when I arrived but by no means lingered on the topic or expected to use it as a tool). I confirmed and she told my friend to put his card away and gave us our new tickets for the last 2 seats on the earlier flight. I thanked her with relieved and overjoyed tears (further evidence of my delicate situation) and found myself in bed that night well before I would have even been half way home otherwise. So, thank you and Lisa for that very welcome treat!
On a more serious note, your dad and I have had a lot of dear loved ones going through some major life events in the past few months: one having difficulty expanding their family unit, one with a family member who is facing a great battle against ugly and (we hope) false allegations. Another lost her mother and some of our family members are struggling with health challenges.
Last night one of my best friends, practically a sister, lost her husband. Though of very different varieties, she and I both had struggles with successful baby making attempts. She is 5 weeks ahead of me now and we were thrilled to find out we'd spend the majority of our pregnancies in it together. We've shared some hopes and dreams about tackling the next phase in our lives as a team and I'm eager to see them come true. Right now it feels like a distant hope with the weight of what has happened, but we have mountains of love and support to give and I know that in time we can revisit happier things. In the meantime we have very heavy hearts.
Not too long ago a friend (you will learn I'm not one to use the term acquaintance, it doesn't fit in my vocabulary) of mine was coming back to town for a weekend. I hadn't seen him in quite a while and figured if he was just going to set up shop somewhere for the evening I'd like to swing by just to say hello. Turns out he was coming in town for some more significant reasons and needed to limit to visit to family and closer friends than I was, which I fully understood. What I wasn't expecting was the sort of reprimand I got from him wondering why I thought we were so close that I could get to be included. The thing is I don't think that we are that close, and if I'd known the real reason for his coming to town I wouldn't have presumed to think it would be my place to be included, but I consider him a friend and I care enough to want to make an effort, even if it's just for a moment to say hi, offer a hug and be on my way again. While I was caught off guard by his comments, and more than a little hurt, I still care and would love to offer that hug if his next trip to the area isn't so important.
I hope that that is a kind of mentality I can help inspire in you. Even people that are further to the outside of our close friendship circle deserve love and support and it is one of my greatest joys to give it every chance I can, whether it's for someone I see on a regular basis or only share Facebook messages with every once in a blue moon. People are important, their joys and struggles are significant, and if there is one thing I have appreciated so much this week it's that life is too short to not fill it with all of the love that we have and more. I am far from perfect but I want to strive to give all that I can to the people who grace my life, I pray one day you will experience the same desire.
I had to make an overnight trip half way across the country that I wasn't particularly thrilled about. While the weekend turned out to be lovely I knew the long and late trip home Sunday night would make the return to work on Monday particularly brutal and wasn't looking forward to the last leg of our travel home. Our return flight was due to take off at 5:30 pm and land just after 11:00 pm at BWI airport. While a bit cheaper, it meant a subsequent hour ride back to my car in Falls Church then drive the rest of the way home to Sterling, estimating my arrival to bed somewhere in the ballpark of 1:30 in the morning. It would be intense, is what I'm saying, and I don't know if you noticed, Peanut, but intense is not something we have been doing very much of lately.
My travel companion and I arrived to the airport an hour ahead of our flight. While I was distracted by the need to re-check my carry on suitcase that hadn't caused any concern or changed content since the day before, my friend said he needed to run to the gate and took off at a jog I wouldn't have maintained even if I wasn't expecting. I hadn't heard exactly what he said but was instantly worried we had our times wrong and he was going to catch our plane and hold it for me to catch up. I sped walked and people dodged my way to our gate at the far end of the terminal, which luckily wasn't too large, arriving in a sweaty, panting, apologetic-for-my-state-of-pregnancy mess to find my friend in haggle mode with the employee, Lisa, at the gate check in to see if we could get on the flight that was ready to depart. So, it wasn't our flight after all, but it would save us a 45 minute layover with a plane change and get us home over an hour early if we could get on this plane. Unfortunately because we hadn't purchased the right kind of tickets it would also cost an additional $600.
We hedged for a moment. I tried not to blurt out that I'd pay almost anything to get home early (it helped that I certainly couldn't AFFORD to pay anything, much less almost anything) and deferred to my more seasoned travel mate to make the best decision. He asked Lisa again, wondering if there were seats free on the plane why we couldn't take advantage of them, but she was sticking firmly to the policy. Being in customer service myself, I was not about to fault her for doing her job, but was disappointed. My friend looked at me and asked how I was feeling as he pulled out his credit card to pay for the tickets, to which I answered truthfully that I would love to get home early but by no means was incapable of going at our originally appointment time. Lisa paused and looked at me, asking if I had said I was pregnant (I had only mentioned it by way of apology when I arrived but by no means lingered on the topic or expected to use it as a tool). I confirmed and she told my friend to put his card away and gave us our new tickets for the last 2 seats on the earlier flight. I thanked her with relieved and overjoyed tears (further evidence of my delicate situation) and found myself in bed that night well before I would have even been half way home otherwise. So, thank you and Lisa for that very welcome treat!
On a more serious note, your dad and I have had a lot of dear loved ones going through some major life events in the past few months: one having difficulty expanding their family unit, one with a family member who is facing a great battle against ugly and (we hope) false allegations. Another lost her mother and some of our family members are struggling with health challenges.
Last night one of my best friends, practically a sister, lost her husband. Though of very different varieties, she and I both had struggles with successful baby making attempts. She is 5 weeks ahead of me now and we were thrilled to find out we'd spend the majority of our pregnancies in it together. We've shared some hopes and dreams about tackling the next phase in our lives as a team and I'm eager to see them come true. Right now it feels like a distant hope with the weight of what has happened, but we have mountains of love and support to give and I know that in time we can revisit happier things. In the meantime we have very heavy hearts.
Not too long ago a friend (you will learn I'm not one to use the term acquaintance, it doesn't fit in my vocabulary) of mine was coming back to town for a weekend. I hadn't seen him in quite a while and figured if he was just going to set up shop somewhere for the evening I'd like to swing by just to say hello. Turns out he was coming in town for some more significant reasons and needed to limit to visit to family and closer friends than I was, which I fully understood. What I wasn't expecting was the sort of reprimand I got from him wondering why I thought we were so close that I could get to be included. The thing is I don't think that we are that close, and if I'd known the real reason for his coming to town I wouldn't have presumed to think it would be my place to be included, but I consider him a friend and I care enough to want to make an effort, even if it's just for a moment to say hi, offer a hug and be on my way again. While I was caught off guard by his comments, and more than a little hurt, I still care and would love to offer that hug if his next trip to the area isn't so important.
I hope that that is a kind of mentality I can help inspire in you. Even people that are further to the outside of our close friendship circle deserve love and support and it is one of my greatest joys to give it every chance I can, whether it's for someone I see on a regular basis or only share Facebook messages with every once in a blue moon. People are important, their joys and struggles are significant, and if there is one thing I have appreciated so much this week it's that life is too short to not fill it with all of the love that we have and more. I am far from perfect but I want to strive to give all that I can to the people who grace my life, I pray one day you will experience the same desire.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Good Renovations!
We haven't had a lot of updates in these parts, mostly because we've been holding our breath...
Somewhere around the end of May/beginning of June Clif pulled his "you're glowing" line on me (what can I say, the guy is a pregnancy whisperer). I thought he must be out of his mind as I was sure we had somehow managed to miss out on our perfect timing for the month of May. Still in denial several days later I took a test anyway and was shocked at our amazing luck but found I didn't feel much in the way of happiness or excitement, just a slight worry at what was to come.
Since this would be the 3rd attempt at a 1st trimester in just over a year I was not particularly thrilled with the idea of slogging through the exhaustion, tenderness and nausea I'd become so familiar with only to worry about having yet another failure. The first few weeks as my symptoms started to ramp were alright, laced with jokes of how we'd renovated baby's home and for the next nine months he/she better Love It then List It. The humor was silly but it helped battle the edge of dread I felt like I was always fighting.
Week 6 through 8 were by far the hardest. Right around week 6 I called the midwives to schedule our appointment, but told them I didn't want to come in until well after week 8 based on our previous experience, though I admitted I doubted my ability to make it that long without getting some bits of reassurance. The midwives, being so wonderful, scheduled me to come in around week 10 but told me if at the end of June I couldn't stand it they would fit me in for a Peace of Mind visit to help take the edge off. I spent every single night, and many times a day, in prayer for faith, strength, peace, acceptance of whatever may happen and hope that things would be ok. My anxieties were always there and any moment I didn't feel nauseous I fought not to panic about the possible worst case scenario. Finally I decided I needed that peace of mind and saw the midwives at the very end of June. They couldn't fit me in for a full appointment but were able to see us for an ultrasound, just to check on what was going on. I held my breath, bracing for the news, until the technician told us we had a viable pregnancy that measured at 8 weeks, exactly what we were hoping for. There was so much more to see than there had been before and the flickering heartbeat was even more reassuring after learning that having a heartbeat at 7 weeks or later dropped the chance of miscarriage to less than 10% (before we'd seen the heartbeat at 6 weeks, not knowing 7 was really the magic number).
That ultrasound was a HUGE factor in making me feel more comfortable, I'm thankful they gave me the option. I was still worried but significantly less so than I'd been the two weeks before and glad to be sleeping easier at night. I was even bold enough to feel ready for the nausea to go away, though it was my constant reminder that something good must be going on. The raging hormones have also been a nice indicator. Poor Clif, in the span of an hour he watched me go from feeling fine, to frustrated, to hysterical sobbing (over ice cream... /ashamed), to anger and back to fine. I love his patience, humor and guts, especially when he told me that while only slightly sorry for it he found the mood swings rather entertaining. I also love, and am so thankful for, how wonderfully he takes care of me. I am truly blessed.
While we aren't out of the first trimester quite yet, we feel very reassured by the progress we have made. Our last two tries were so much alike in the timing of their losses even getting to 8 weeks was a huge step, much less the just over 10 we are at now. Our midwife reassured us she felt we were in a pretty safe spot and didn't see any particular reason we should keep from sharing our excitement. Being able to share it has had a big impact on me finally feeling excited, eager, giddy and joyous about this pregnancy. My nausea isn't bothering me as much today but I'm not spiraling into the depths of despair. I'm happy and smiling and so ready for the next steps. There is a part of me that is disappointed I didn't write a post for exactly how I was feeling between weeks 6 and 8 at the time, but on the other hand there isn't any reason to dwell on that negativity. I'm glad that I can reflect on it now from a much more stable and happy place.
Fingers crossed tight and continuing to pray every night as we chunk along this journey.
Somewhere around the end of May/beginning of June Clif pulled his "you're glowing" line on me (what can I say, the guy is a pregnancy whisperer). I thought he must be out of his mind as I was sure we had somehow managed to miss out on our perfect timing for the month of May. Still in denial several days later I took a test anyway and was shocked at our amazing luck but found I didn't feel much in the way of happiness or excitement, just a slight worry at what was to come.
Since this would be the 3rd attempt at a 1st trimester in just over a year I was not particularly thrilled with the idea of slogging through the exhaustion, tenderness and nausea I'd become so familiar with only to worry about having yet another failure. The first few weeks as my symptoms started to ramp were alright, laced with jokes of how we'd renovated baby's home and for the next nine months he/she better Love It then List It. The humor was silly but it helped battle the edge of dread I felt like I was always fighting.
Week 6 through 8 were by far the hardest. Right around week 6 I called the midwives to schedule our appointment, but told them I didn't want to come in until well after week 8 based on our previous experience, though I admitted I doubted my ability to make it that long without getting some bits of reassurance. The midwives, being so wonderful, scheduled me to come in around week 10 but told me if at the end of June I couldn't stand it they would fit me in for a Peace of Mind visit to help take the edge off. I spent every single night, and many times a day, in prayer for faith, strength, peace, acceptance of whatever may happen and hope that things would be ok. My anxieties were always there and any moment I didn't feel nauseous I fought not to panic about the possible worst case scenario. Finally I decided I needed that peace of mind and saw the midwives at the very end of June. They couldn't fit me in for a full appointment but were able to see us for an ultrasound, just to check on what was going on. I held my breath, bracing for the news, until the technician told us we had a viable pregnancy that measured at 8 weeks, exactly what we were hoping for. There was so much more to see than there had been before and the flickering heartbeat was even more reassuring after learning that having a heartbeat at 7 weeks or later dropped the chance of miscarriage to less than 10% (before we'd seen the heartbeat at 6 weeks, not knowing 7 was really the magic number).
That ultrasound was a HUGE factor in making me feel more comfortable, I'm thankful they gave me the option. I was still worried but significantly less so than I'd been the two weeks before and glad to be sleeping easier at night. I was even bold enough to feel ready for the nausea to go away, though it was my constant reminder that something good must be going on. The raging hormones have also been a nice indicator. Poor Clif, in the span of an hour he watched me go from feeling fine, to frustrated, to hysterical sobbing (over ice cream... /ashamed), to anger and back to fine. I love his patience, humor and guts, especially when he told me that while only slightly sorry for it he found the mood swings rather entertaining. I also love, and am so thankful for, how wonderfully he takes care of me. I am truly blessed.
While we aren't out of the first trimester quite yet, we feel very reassured by the progress we have made. Our last two tries were so much alike in the timing of their losses even getting to 8 weeks was a huge step, much less the just over 10 we are at now. Our midwife reassured us she felt we were in a pretty safe spot and didn't see any particular reason we should keep from sharing our excitement. Being able to share it has had a big impact on me finally feeling excited, eager, giddy and joyous about this pregnancy. My nausea isn't bothering me as much today but I'm not spiraling into the depths of despair. I'm happy and smiling and so ready for the next steps. There is a part of me that is disappointed I didn't write a post for exactly how I was feeling between weeks 6 and 8 at the time, but on the other hand there isn't any reason to dwell on that negativity. I'm glad that I can reflect on it now from a much more stable and happy place.
Fingers crossed tight and continuing to pray every night as we chunk along this journey.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Woods? What Woods?
You mean those woods we are out of for the foreseeable future?
I went back for my recheck appointment and got to see the images from the surgery. I was not exactly prepared for the amount of crystal clear, high definition detail they were going to have but it was fascinating to see the before and after view of the correction, see that everything else looked normal and healthy and they provided a great deal of relief.
An even bigger relief was hearing that my doctor didn't feel compelled to have a second HSG done. I kid you not, I almost jumped out of the chair to do a little jig. If it came down to a choice between skipping the HSG but significantly chancing a higher likelihood of another miscarriage and 6 more months or more wasted, or getting it done and possibly finding that the correction didn't take or we needed to do something else and save a little bit of time, I'd have opted for the HSG. As it turns out the idea of going back in for more radiographs after is to make sure enough tissue was removed, which my doctor already felt pretty good about, so it was much easier to say thanks, but no thanks.
Right now we have 2 months of heal-time ahead then back to the drawing board. I love my new doctor and her staff, they have me as a permanent patient now, but I'll be glad if for several months to come the only time I see them is when I stick my head in to say hi when I'm checking in for my appointments with the Midwives. There is always a chance that even though we've fixed a problem we might still have some trouble, but after what we've made it through so far I am confident I'll be able to take that possibility in stride and have a group of . In the meantime, I have a whole lot of hope and eagerness.
I went back for my recheck appointment and got to see the images from the surgery. I was not exactly prepared for the amount of crystal clear, high definition detail they were going to have but it was fascinating to see the before and after view of the correction, see that everything else looked normal and healthy and they provided a great deal of relief.
An even bigger relief was hearing that my doctor didn't feel compelled to have a second HSG done. I kid you not, I almost jumped out of the chair to do a little jig. If it came down to a choice between skipping the HSG but significantly chancing a higher likelihood of another miscarriage and 6 more months or more wasted, or getting it done and possibly finding that the correction didn't take or we needed to do something else and save a little bit of time, I'd have opted for the HSG. As it turns out the idea of going back in for more radiographs after is to make sure enough tissue was removed, which my doctor already felt pretty good about, so it was much easier to say thanks, but no thanks.
Right now we have 2 months of heal-time ahead then back to the drawing board. I love my new doctor and her staff, they have me as a permanent patient now, but I'll be glad if for several months to come the only time I see them is when I stick my head in to say hi when I'm checking in for my appointments with the Midwives. There is always a chance that even though we've fixed a problem we might still have some trouble, but after what we've made it through so far I am confident I'll be able to take that possibility in stride and have a group of . In the meantime, I have a whole lot of hope and eagerness.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Post-Op
Since the procedure on Monday there has been a significant amount of re-acquainting and heart-felt bonding time. With my belly button.
Let's start at the very beginning (and try not to burst into iconic song), when Clif, my parents and I all woke up well before the sun to check in at the hospital for my appointment. While I was ecstatic to have been bumped up to the early appointment, Clif was significantly less thrilled as he'd been busy teaching and not sleeping hardly at all since the end of last week. The fact that he was obviously working hard to get dressed and mobile was made much less worrisome by the support of my parents who made the early morning haul from Arlington to be with us both. I was glad to have them there for my personal support, but in some ways even more glad they would be there with and for Clif. Besides, as Mom has said before, doctors can spout off news so fast it's nice to have multiple pairs of ears listening to increase the chance of actually understanding what was said.
We were pretty much the only people in the building aside from the tech who checked me in and a security officer, which equated to next to no wait time before I was called back. Clif was allowed with me and kept me company/napped as each of the people who'd be taking care of me through various stages of the process stopped by to introduce themselves and ask me the same questions the one before had, though I didn't mind the procedure of repetition. Then there were IVs, fluids, antibiotics, backless gowns, crazy pressure thigh-highs, a princess band aid, non-stick socks, and some killer premeds that made me all dizzy and trippy in roughly 0.3 seconds. I vaguely remember asking the nurse if she had medicated me and her chuckled response, rolling down the hall while breathing through the subsequent wooziness and valiantly counting the number of people in the room 4 times to make sure I would remember when I woke up. There were 10 (!) and I have no idea what more than half of them were in there for. I remember getting wheeled up to the operating table and having enough mental capacity to tell the nurse that she should have someone stand opposite me since last time I had to scoot myself over I almost pitched off the other side. At least I'm pretty sure that's what I said... if you've not experienced it yourself those premeds are not entirely unlike a reaaaaaallllly successful 21st birthday bash, if you get my drift, and if you still don't just help yourself to a bottle of champagne and you should be close. Regardless I somehow managed to get on the table and the nurse stuck a pillow behind my head just as it hit the table...
I woke up much faster and feeling more clear-headed from this procedure than the "twilight" sedation I had for the D&C. While it was still difficult to wake up I didn't feel as much pressure to hurry the process, besides they had me on a nasal cannula with oxygen and were monitoring me carefully until my blood pressure came down (it was pretty high) so I had time to chill. I remember trying to be honest, rather than stoic, with the nurse about my pain level and let her know I thought it might be getting a little bit more intense but was still under 5 on the 1-10 scale. She gave some IV pain meds since it was still placed and I was as good to go as I was going to get. I managed to get dressed without falling over, a challenge, I assure you, and made it into the wheelchair for transport to the car.
On the way home the family caught me up on the news: the doctor confirmed and then easily corrected the uterine septum and removed the small growth she suspected she would find. They got to see the pictures, I am looking forward to seeing them myself at my post-op visit in a couple of weeks. I managed to make it to Panera so Clif and Dad could pick up lunch, but not the 2-3 minutes longer it would have taken to get home before being sick. Yay anesthesia side effects! Luckily after two rapid fire open doored roll-throughs at the side of the curb in the busy right hand turn lane I felt much better. At home I forced down a couple bites of soup, passed out in spectacular nap-jerk fashion (sorry for the arm flailing, Mom) and woke up to practically inhale the rest of my lunch that the doctor had ordered my family to make sure I ate.
The abdominal pain I had been expecting has been more discomfort and ache akin to muscle exhaustion from too much working out than anything else. The pain I was not adequately expecting was in my right neck and shoulder from breathing off the remaining COs from the laporoscopy. I knew to expect it but I didn't appreciate the amount of pain and discomfort it would be. Luckily an experienced friend told me to heat it which helped immeasurably. I've also been studying my belly button, trying to figure out what exactly happened there. So far as best as I can figure they must have gone in then super glued their way back out as I can't find any sign of suture or closure strip. I have definitely spent more deep, emotional time with my belly button in the past two days than I have in a very, VERY long time. In fact, I may not ever have spent as much emotional time with it and I'm sure it appreciates my efforts.
Today I feel... off. Like things aren't exactly where or how they should be and my muscles can't decide if they want to be completely relaxed or militantly engaged and it's very confusing to my brain. Also like my belly button was glued closed, which is unnerving. I'll be taking it easy the rest of the week, doctor's orders, then should expect at least a month to heal completely. I have a bunch more questions but they are fairly minor compared to what they have been. What I'm the most excited about is the very big answer we have received, the big problem we have fixed and, most importantly, the success we can now hopefully have as a result.
Fingers are crossed and prayers are flying but we are well on our way.
Let's start at the very beginning (and try not to burst into iconic song), when Clif, my parents and I all woke up well before the sun to check in at the hospital for my appointment. While I was ecstatic to have been bumped up to the early appointment, Clif was significantly less thrilled as he'd been busy teaching and not sleeping hardly at all since the end of last week. The fact that he was obviously working hard to get dressed and mobile was made much less worrisome by the support of my parents who made the early morning haul from Arlington to be with us both. I was glad to have them there for my personal support, but in some ways even more glad they would be there with and for Clif. Besides, as Mom has said before, doctors can spout off news so fast it's nice to have multiple pairs of ears listening to increase the chance of actually understanding what was said.
We were pretty much the only people in the building aside from the tech who checked me in and a security officer, which equated to next to no wait time before I was called back. Clif was allowed with me and kept me company/napped as each of the people who'd be taking care of me through various stages of the process stopped by to introduce themselves and ask me the same questions the one before had, though I didn't mind the procedure of repetition. Then there were IVs, fluids, antibiotics, backless gowns, crazy pressure thigh-highs, a princess band aid, non-stick socks, and some killer premeds that made me all dizzy and trippy in roughly 0.3 seconds. I vaguely remember asking the nurse if she had medicated me and her chuckled response, rolling down the hall while breathing through the subsequent wooziness and valiantly counting the number of people in the room 4 times to make sure I would remember when I woke up. There were 10 (!) and I have no idea what more than half of them were in there for. I remember getting wheeled up to the operating table and having enough mental capacity to tell the nurse that she should have someone stand opposite me since last time I had to scoot myself over I almost pitched off the other side. At least I'm pretty sure that's what I said... if you've not experienced it yourself those premeds are not entirely unlike a reaaaaaallllly successful 21st birthday bash, if you get my drift, and if you still don't just help yourself to a bottle of champagne and you should be close. Regardless I somehow managed to get on the table and the nurse stuck a pillow behind my head just as it hit the table...
I woke up much faster and feeling more clear-headed from this procedure than the "twilight" sedation I had for the D&C. While it was still difficult to wake up I didn't feel as much pressure to hurry the process, besides they had me on a nasal cannula with oxygen and were monitoring me carefully until my blood pressure came down (it was pretty high) so I had time to chill. I remember trying to be honest, rather than stoic, with the nurse about my pain level and let her know I thought it might be getting a little bit more intense but was still under 5 on the 1-10 scale. She gave some IV pain meds since it was still placed and I was as good to go as I was going to get. I managed to get dressed without falling over, a challenge, I assure you, and made it into the wheelchair for transport to the car.
On the way home the family caught me up on the news: the doctor confirmed and then easily corrected the uterine septum and removed the small growth she suspected she would find. They got to see the pictures, I am looking forward to seeing them myself at my post-op visit in a couple of weeks. I managed to make it to Panera so Clif and Dad could pick up lunch, but not the 2-3 minutes longer it would have taken to get home before being sick. Yay anesthesia side effects! Luckily after two rapid fire open doored roll-throughs at the side of the curb in the busy right hand turn lane I felt much better. At home I forced down a couple bites of soup, passed out in spectacular nap-jerk fashion (sorry for the arm flailing, Mom) and woke up to practically inhale the rest of my lunch that the doctor had ordered my family to make sure I ate.
The abdominal pain I had been expecting has been more discomfort and ache akin to muscle exhaustion from too much working out than anything else. The pain I was not adequately expecting was in my right neck and shoulder from breathing off the remaining COs from the laporoscopy. I knew to expect it but I didn't appreciate the amount of pain and discomfort it would be. Luckily an experienced friend told me to heat it which helped immeasurably. I've also been studying my belly button, trying to figure out what exactly happened there. So far as best as I can figure they must have gone in then super glued their way back out as I can't find any sign of suture or closure strip. I have definitely spent more deep, emotional time with my belly button in the past two days than I have in a very, VERY long time. In fact, I may not ever have spent as much emotional time with it and I'm sure it appreciates my efforts.
Today I feel... off. Like things aren't exactly where or how they should be and my muscles can't decide if they want to be completely relaxed or militantly engaged and it's very confusing to my brain. Also like my belly button was glued closed, which is unnerving. I'll be taking it easy the rest of the week, doctor's orders, then should expect at least a month to heal completely. I have a bunch more questions but they are fairly minor compared to what they have been. What I'm the most excited about is the very big answer we have received, the big problem we have fixed and, most importantly, the success we can now hopefully have as a result.
Fingers are crossed and prayers are flying but we are well on our way.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Just Keep Swimming
I'm one step and a whole basket full of frustrations closer to being done with this accidental effort to rack up frequent flier miles at the hospital and doctor's office.
My pre-op appointment with my doctor was on Tuesday and I found out upon arrival it would be a "here's your paper thin lap sheet" kind of visit. By now I am embarrassingly good at these. It was also a thorough set of stats kind of day, so naturally I wore boots and socks over tight jeans I had to get into and out of multiple times for accurate height, weight and previously mentioned lap sheet time. For my surgery I'm wearing flip flops, watch me.
The doctor explained in more detail exactly what would happen with the surgical procedure. I would be fully anesthetized and positioned on the table (this surprised me a bit as she explained for my D&C I'd been mildly sedated, corrected to more significantly sedated so they could maintain my airway with an object I surely would have objected to otherwise. I was knocked completely out, is what I'm saying, and I can't fathom how this surgery will feel any different than that one...). They would start by making a very small incision in the lowest part of my belly button to fill me with gas to allow space and room to maneuver. They would then increase the incision size a little bit to fit the laparoscope, **at which point she would be able to determine my uterus shape and be able to decide if she would go to cut back the septum or if there is a significant, over-pronounced heart shape, in which case she would abandon the efforts for septum correction. I would then be dilated to allow one of two devices for the cutting; the scissors are smaller but take a little bit longer to cut, the curly looking thing (pretty close to how she described it) was a little bit bigger but made for a quicker procedure. Since the sepate tissue should be fairly lacking in blood vessels there should be little to no bleeding so no suturing of any variety needed. She would try to release as much of the gas as possible and close my belly button incision with one dissolving suture. The rest of the gas she said I would breath off throughout the rest of the day and I may experience some neck and shoulder pain as a result. I should also expect some abdominal pain or discomfort and cramping and need to avoid strenuous activity for a week and allow about a month for healing, at which point, I am already dreading, we will do a second HSG (because the fist one was so much fun) to confirm the correction.
I told my doctor that I would be going to the hospital right after my appointment as they told me the night before they needed to do an EKG. She was surprised they wanted to do one, given my age and relative health history, but because my height and weight put me in a certain portion of the BMI chart I was automatically required to have one. In addition the hospital said they needed a beta pregnancy test (blood test), despite having been on birth control for a month and my doctor confirming the start of my new cycle. I hedged with her twice that I really hoped to avoid the additional testing but she didn't pick up on it and I had a headache, felt vaguely unwell and didn't have it in me to try to refuse the tests, if I even knew who else to talk to about trying to argue my case for not needing one.
I've gotten pretty good at checking in at the hospital and it went fairly quickly. I found my way down the hall to an incredibly nondescript lab door and luckily bumped into a technician right inside who told me what to do with the file folder I'd been given, then sat to wait. A woman came out to ask me if my doctor had done my EKG, to which I blinked in sufficiently baffled manner and finally stuttered that the EKG was the reason I was even there. A few more minutes later she called me back and spent just about 5 minutes with me, 30 seconds of which comprised the actual EKG test, about a minute to hook up the leads, 30 seconds or so to rip them back off, the rest of the time she lamented not knowing when she would be given a day off. I was then ushered to the technician who would draw blood for the completely unnecessary pregnancy test and who, upon being told I was somewhat needle phobic, decided to hit a far more uncomfortable vein location more towards the top of my arm at my elbow, the most bizarre blood draw location I've yet to experience. Kudos, dude.
By the time I was finished with the run around I felt angry, frustrated and defeated. Angry at myself for giving in and just going along with everything rather than taking more of a stand for myself, frustrated at the history of irresponsible, sue-happy idiots who have helped shape the legal insanity we all have to deal with and defeated in the face of the big picture of illogical craziness.
All that said I'm thankful to have health insurance that gives us the chance to have these procedures, without which we might not ever be successful. I'm glad that we've come so far and thrilled that it's almost over (I hope!). My daily prayer is for continued faith that we are in the midst of a plan for us and that years down the road we'll be able to look back on this time and see how we wouldn't have gotten there without going through these challenging steps. One day we'll suddenly see how it was all worth it, in the meantime we'll just keep swimming...
**There is still some question as to which state my uterus is in. All of these terms have been tossed around and used somewhat interchangably, so this is described as best as I understand:
1) Septate uterus - there may be minimal heart shaping (the top wall of the uterus should be fairly straight and look like the base of an upside down triangle, mine may look more like the top of a Valentine heart) and a septum, or wall of useless tissue, chillin' in the middle. This can cause a significant increase of miscarriages as the pregnancy may implant on the septate tissue that does not provide blood or nutrients, which would result in loss of the fetus.
2) Heart-shaped/bicornate - the Valentine heart shaping is very pronounced or there are almost two separate compartments of the uterus. This is actually a slightly better case as even though there is a dip in the wall, all walls available for implanting are sufficiently blood supplied to feed the pregnancy. The downfall to this situation is we will be back to the drawing board for a reason I seem to be having difficulty keeping it.
My pre-op appointment with my doctor was on Tuesday and I found out upon arrival it would be a "here's your paper thin lap sheet" kind of visit. By now I am embarrassingly good at these. It was also a thorough set of stats kind of day, so naturally I wore boots and socks over tight jeans I had to get into and out of multiple times for accurate height, weight and previously mentioned lap sheet time. For my surgery I'm wearing flip flops, watch me.
The doctor explained in more detail exactly what would happen with the surgical procedure. I would be fully anesthetized and positioned on the table (this surprised me a bit as she explained for my D&C I'd been mildly sedated, corrected to more significantly sedated so they could maintain my airway with an object I surely would have objected to otherwise. I was knocked completely out, is what I'm saying, and I can't fathom how this surgery will feel any different than that one...). They would start by making a very small incision in the lowest part of my belly button to fill me with gas to allow space and room to maneuver. They would then increase the incision size a little bit to fit the laparoscope, **at which point she would be able to determine my uterus shape and be able to decide if she would go to cut back the septum or if there is a significant, over-pronounced heart shape, in which case she would abandon the efforts for septum correction. I would then be dilated to allow one of two devices for the cutting; the scissors are smaller but take a little bit longer to cut, the curly looking thing (pretty close to how she described it) was a little bit bigger but made for a quicker procedure. Since the sepate tissue should be fairly lacking in blood vessels there should be little to no bleeding so no suturing of any variety needed. She would try to release as much of the gas as possible and close my belly button incision with one dissolving suture. The rest of the gas she said I would breath off throughout the rest of the day and I may experience some neck and shoulder pain as a result. I should also expect some abdominal pain or discomfort and cramping and need to avoid strenuous activity for a week and allow about a month for healing, at which point, I am already dreading, we will do a second HSG (because the fist one was so much fun) to confirm the correction.
I told my doctor that I would be going to the hospital right after my appointment as they told me the night before they needed to do an EKG. She was surprised they wanted to do one, given my age and relative health history, but because my height and weight put me in a certain portion of the BMI chart I was automatically required to have one. In addition the hospital said they needed a beta pregnancy test (blood test), despite having been on birth control for a month and my doctor confirming the start of my new cycle. I hedged with her twice that I really hoped to avoid the additional testing but she didn't pick up on it and I had a headache, felt vaguely unwell and didn't have it in me to try to refuse the tests, if I even knew who else to talk to about trying to argue my case for not needing one.
I've gotten pretty good at checking in at the hospital and it went fairly quickly. I found my way down the hall to an incredibly nondescript lab door and luckily bumped into a technician right inside who told me what to do with the file folder I'd been given, then sat to wait. A woman came out to ask me if my doctor had done my EKG, to which I blinked in sufficiently baffled manner and finally stuttered that the EKG was the reason I was even there. A few more minutes later she called me back and spent just about 5 minutes with me, 30 seconds of which comprised the actual EKG test, about a minute to hook up the leads, 30 seconds or so to rip them back off, the rest of the time she lamented not knowing when she would be given a day off. I was then ushered to the technician who would draw blood for the completely unnecessary pregnancy test and who, upon being told I was somewhat needle phobic, decided to hit a far more uncomfortable vein location more towards the top of my arm at my elbow, the most bizarre blood draw location I've yet to experience. Kudos, dude.
By the time I was finished with the run around I felt angry, frustrated and defeated. Angry at myself for giving in and just going along with everything rather than taking more of a stand for myself, frustrated at the history of irresponsible, sue-happy idiots who have helped shape the legal insanity we all have to deal with and defeated in the face of the big picture of illogical craziness.
All that said I'm thankful to have health insurance that gives us the chance to have these procedures, without which we might not ever be successful. I'm glad that we've come so far and thrilled that it's almost over (I hope!). My daily prayer is for continued faith that we are in the midst of a plan for us and that years down the road we'll be able to look back on this time and see how we wouldn't have gotten there without going through these challenging steps. One day we'll suddenly see how it was all worth it, in the meantime we'll just keep swimming...
**There is still some question as to which state my uterus is in. All of these terms have been tossed around and used somewhat interchangably, so this is described as best as I understand:
1) Septate uterus - there may be minimal heart shaping (the top wall of the uterus should be fairly straight and look like the base of an upside down triangle, mine may look more like the top of a Valentine heart) and a septum, or wall of useless tissue, chillin' in the middle. This can cause a significant increase of miscarriages as the pregnancy may implant on the septate tissue that does not provide blood or nutrients, which would result in loss of the fetus.
2) Heart-shaped/bicornate - the Valentine heart shaping is very pronounced or there are almost two separate compartments of the uterus. This is actually a slightly better case as even though there is a dip in the wall, all walls available for implanting are sufficiently blood supplied to feed the pregnancy. The downfall to this situation is we will be back to the drawing board for a reason I seem to be having difficulty keeping it.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Surprise!
***In which there is more discussion of Girl Parts. Ewww!
I've been playing the waiting game for just over a week, which means to some extent I've been playing the stressing game. One of the good things about these experiences is I'm seriously honing my skills at the stressing game and developing a much thicker skin. As anyone who knows me well can attest, I am a bit prone to worrying, so anything that helps me learn how to relax and take things in stride is a huge step in a healthy direction.
Most of my stress has been surrounding the costs of the unknown further imaging needed to try to determine an appropriate surgical fix. I was hoping for just the ultrasound but feared that with my atrocious luck we'd have to add on the MRI only to find out in the end that I was a hopeless cause and there was no fix for me. I figure if I brace myself for the worst then I'm prepared if it happens, monumentally thrilled if it doesn't.
Guess who's monumentally thrilled?
I finally got my anxiously awaited call from the doctor yesterday, who had very unexpected news: she reviewed the images from the torture x-rays, I mean, the HSG, as well as the notes from the radiologist from our miscarriage confirm appointment (who was the first to raise a flag about our potential uterus woes) and determined the issue was not a bicournate uterus but a septate one instead. This means there are not two divergent horns connected by a small base, but a septum, or interior "wall", that is causing a bit of a divide. In other words we are much closer to a heart shaped uterus then complete crazy town and it seems to be easier to fix.
The Fix: the septum needs to be trimmed back to the uterus wall (imagine cutting wrapping paper but stopping just before you get all the way through - Gift Wrappers, you are welcome!), that means scissors by way of cervix. By now I'm not nearly as concerned about that as I am the laporoscopic camera and flashlight that will be inserted via belly button (*twitch*) as the guide my doctor uses to determine when she has cut far enough. The nice thing is that this should be a fairly quick(ish?) outpatient procedure and Clif will get the incredibly entertaining responsibility of waking me up afterwards. There has been no mention, but I am assuming they'll knock me out, they'll have to. Internal scissors aside I tend to want to violently fight people that make even the slightest effort to get in the vicinity of my belly button... After that I'll have about a month of heal time then we will take another trip to Torture Town thanks to a second HSG to make sure the correction held and it didn't try to grow back all catawompus. There is a very, very big part of me that really wants to ask if we can just skip that part, but at 4-6 months per attempt the smart thing is to make sure it's right rather than waste unnecessary time. Darn adult responsible thinking...
So, we're on to another waiting game, but this one will be much easier to play. I'm on some hormones to help thin things out while my doctor calculates the ideal time to schedule this procedure. Timing, I have learned, is precise and paramount. That's going to be a month right there then another one for healing. Bring it, May!
I've been playing the waiting game for just over a week, which means to some extent I've been playing the stressing game. One of the good things about these experiences is I'm seriously honing my skills at the stressing game and developing a much thicker skin. As anyone who knows me well can attest, I am a bit prone to worrying, so anything that helps me learn how to relax and take things in stride is a huge step in a healthy direction.
Most of my stress has been surrounding the costs of the unknown further imaging needed to try to determine an appropriate surgical fix. I was hoping for just the ultrasound but feared that with my atrocious luck we'd have to add on the MRI only to find out in the end that I was a hopeless cause and there was no fix for me. I figure if I brace myself for the worst then I'm prepared if it happens, monumentally thrilled if it doesn't.
Guess who's monumentally thrilled?
I finally got my anxiously awaited call from the doctor yesterday, who had very unexpected news: she reviewed the images from the torture x-rays, I mean, the HSG, as well as the notes from the radiologist from our miscarriage confirm appointment (who was the first to raise a flag about our potential uterus woes) and determined the issue was not a bicournate uterus but a septate one instead. This means there are not two divergent horns connected by a small base, but a septum, or interior "wall", that is causing a bit of a divide. In other words we are much closer to a heart shaped uterus then complete crazy town and it seems to be easier to fix.
The Fix: the septum needs to be trimmed back to the uterus wall (imagine cutting wrapping paper but stopping just before you get all the way through - Gift Wrappers, you are welcome!), that means scissors by way of cervix. By now I'm not nearly as concerned about that as I am the laporoscopic camera and flashlight that will be inserted via belly button (*twitch*) as the guide my doctor uses to determine when she has cut far enough. The nice thing is that this should be a fairly quick(ish?) outpatient procedure and Clif will get the incredibly entertaining responsibility of waking me up afterwards. There has been no mention, but I am assuming they'll knock me out, they'll have to. Internal scissors aside I tend to want to violently fight people that make even the slightest effort to get in the vicinity of my belly button... After that I'll have about a month of heal time then we will take another trip to Torture Town thanks to a second HSG to make sure the correction held and it didn't try to grow back all catawompus. There is a very, very big part of me that really wants to ask if we can just skip that part, but at 4-6 months per attempt the smart thing is to make sure it's right rather than waste unnecessary time. Darn adult responsible thinking...
So, we're on to another waiting game, but this one will be much easier to play. I'm on some hormones to help thin things out while my doctor calculates the ideal time to schedule this procedure. Timing, I have learned, is precise and paramount. That's going to be a month right there then another one for healing. Bring it, May!
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
And The Winner Is...
*parental guidance: the post in which there is some description and explanation. Nothing graphic but if you don't know me that well and would like to keep it that way, know me that well and don't care to know any further or are not interested in the details, feel free to skim liberally. These are things I wish I'd known before experiencing them and wish had been explained in more accurate light than I thought they were, so this post is for the full disclosure.
Check List
1.Genetic Incompatability - let's just call it that,
it seems to cover a multitude. Barring spontaneous issues we have
determined our genes like each other. Party!
2.Bad Blood - all of my blood is fine.
3.Hormone Crazy Town - see above.
4. Uterus of Doom - and the truth shall set you free! Or freak you the heck out, it all depends on your spin...
On Monday I took my floating President's Day holiday to participate in a rather unpleasant Procedure. At this point in the game all references to any Procedure will be capitalized to give due respect. This recent One was sufficiently horrific of it's own natural nature, the Potential Ones to Come don't sound any better, and so I shall take strides to not anger them further. Procedures (said with awe and reverence).
So, by now you've gathered a Hysterosalpingogram isn't exactly a pleasant fun happy time, especially when my body is so uncooperative we had to do the worst, most painful part of the Procedure three times. Three. I have a fairly high pain threshold so having to struggle to not scream at the doctor to get out of my business and cease the torture was a pretty significant moment for me. Important note: if your doctor suggests you take some Motrin before your appointment, don't be all stoic and "Oh, I'm used to cramps, I've got this", TAKE THE MOTRIN. I am not sure it would have helped the specific pain I experienced in those awful 5 minutes that felt like a lifetime of trying to get the balloon to stay inflated to hold the catheter in place, but I certainly didn't do myself any favors. My doctor, as well as the link above, indicated that the cramps experienced during the catheter placement would be tolerable and grossly downplayed the intensity of the experience. I was not prepared. Luckily once I had a moment to adjust to the placement the pain subsided considerably and I could calm down a bit.
All said and done, however, at least it was quick. About 30 minutes start to finish and at least half of that was being hustled around, changing and running into a door (yup, I totally did. With my face. There's a bruise). Lord love the women who were in there with me (my doctor, the radiologist and one or two nurses, I don't know if the second stayed) who weren't blind, could see how miserable I was and got the pictures taken in record time. I heard my doctor's comment of "well, that explains a lot" and felt a strange surge of relief thinking whatever it was we finally had an answer. I heard my doctor ask the radiologist if the hospital was equipped to do 3D Sonograms but no one seemed to know for sure. I don't know if everyone was triple booked or what, but the frantic run around pace didn't stop as people bustled back out of the room as quickly as I'd been bustled in. My doctor stayed and turned the screen to show me the live-time pictures of the confirmation we'd made that I have a bicornuate uterus (see also), at this point of unknown variety, hence the need for the Sonogram, then left with a promise to "call me soon".
When we first started out down the diagnostic path I was not ready to believe that my uterus was the problem. I was sure my fix would be with some supplemental progesterone and in March we could give it another go, sure the third time would be our charm. As we went further along I was more and more worried about having to face the issue that couldn't be fixed with pills. Though right now I am incredibly relieved and thankful for my health as determined by extensive lab work, thankful to have an answer, but the staggering number of questions that have manifested is overwhelming. For those of you who are gamer minded, it's like finishing a time consuming quest chain only to find at the end another 3 side-quests open up and you have no idea which one to start first (it's a stretch, go with it).
Where are we now? Waiting and wondering. Waiting for a call from my doctor who I think is trying to figure out how to get a 3D Sonogram scheduled so we know what flavor of bicornuate we're dealing with. Wondering if the ultrasound will definitely give us the information we need or if there's a chance we will still have to do an MRI and if it's enough of a dice roll should we just go straight to the MRI even though it's more expensive because doing both would be the most expensive option of all. Then what of that horn separation? Is it thin enough to give a quick snip and release or is it a more substantial division that would need more substantial surgery and time to heal? What are the risks of surgery and what kind of surgery are we talking about? Is laparoscopy an option or will we need to do something open-abdominal? Will I be bumped to the category of high risk pregnancy or just a high risk delivery? Am I already in that category? Will I come out of it? Will surgery even be an option at all when it's said and done? And even if we do a surgical correction will that REALLY fix the issue and increase our chance for success or are we wasting time trying when we really should be pursuing alternatives. Am I ready to handle the possibility that I might not be able to carry our child?
Things just got heavy.
Thank goodness I married such a wonderful man who could find a silver lining: now that we know I have a two-horned uterus we understand why I get so evil every three weeks.
Humor doesn't erase the seriousness of big issues, but it sure helps a lot. I've heard comments about my positive attitude through all of this, but I honestly couldn't imagine the alternative. Without hope and humor an already crummy situation would be downright miserable and suffocating. In the end things are going to happen as they will happen and all we can do is take each step along the way, praying for the best that is meant for us, whatever that might be.
Check List
1.
2.
3.
4. Uterus of Doom - and the truth shall set you free! Or freak you the heck out, it all depends on your spin...
On Monday I took my floating President's Day holiday to participate in a rather unpleasant Procedure. At this point in the game all references to any Procedure will be capitalized to give due respect. This recent One was sufficiently horrific of it's own natural nature, the Potential Ones to Come don't sound any better, and so I shall take strides to not anger them further. Procedures (said with awe and reverence).
So, by now you've gathered a Hysterosalpingogram isn't exactly a pleasant fun happy time, especially when my body is so uncooperative we had to do the worst, most painful part of the Procedure three times. Three. I have a fairly high pain threshold so having to struggle to not scream at the doctor to get out of my business and cease the torture was a pretty significant moment for me. Important note: if your doctor suggests you take some Motrin before your appointment, don't be all stoic and "Oh, I'm used to cramps, I've got this", TAKE THE MOTRIN. I am not sure it would have helped the specific pain I experienced in those awful 5 minutes that felt like a lifetime of trying to get the balloon to stay inflated to hold the catheter in place, but I certainly didn't do myself any favors. My doctor, as well as the link above, indicated that the cramps experienced during the catheter placement would be tolerable and grossly downplayed the intensity of the experience. I was not prepared. Luckily once I had a moment to adjust to the placement the pain subsided considerably and I could calm down a bit.
All said and done, however, at least it was quick. About 30 minutes start to finish and at least half of that was being hustled around, changing and running into a door (yup, I totally did. With my face. There's a bruise). Lord love the women who were in there with me (my doctor, the radiologist and one or two nurses, I don't know if the second stayed) who weren't blind, could see how miserable I was and got the pictures taken in record time. I heard my doctor's comment of "well, that explains a lot" and felt a strange surge of relief thinking whatever it was we finally had an answer. I heard my doctor ask the radiologist if the hospital was equipped to do 3D Sonograms but no one seemed to know for sure. I don't know if everyone was triple booked or what, but the frantic run around pace didn't stop as people bustled back out of the room as quickly as I'd been bustled in. My doctor stayed and turned the screen to show me the live-time pictures of the confirmation we'd made that I have a bicornuate uterus (see also), at this point of unknown variety, hence the need for the Sonogram, then left with a promise to "call me soon".
When we first started out down the diagnostic path I was not ready to believe that my uterus was the problem. I was sure my fix would be with some supplemental progesterone and in March we could give it another go, sure the third time would be our charm. As we went further along I was more and more worried about having to face the issue that couldn't be fixed with pills. Though right now I am incredibly relieved and thankful for my health as determined by extensive lab work, thankful to have an answer, but the staggering number of questions that have manifested is overwhelming. For those of you who are gamer minded, it's like finishing a time consuming quest chain only to find at the end another 3 side-quests open up and you have no idea which one to start first (it's a stretch, go with it).
Where are we now? Waiting and wondering. Waiting for a call from my doctor who I think is trying to figure out how to get a 3D Sonogram scheduled so we know what flavor of bicornuate we're dealing with. Wondering if the ultrasound will definitely give us the information we need or if there's a chance we will still have to do an MRI and if it's enough of a dice roll should we just go straight to the MRI even though it's more expensive because doing both would be the most expensive option of all. Then what of that horn separation? Is it thin enough to give a quick snip and release or is it a more substantial division that would need more substantial surgery and time to heal? What are the risks of surgery and what kind of surgery are we talking about? Is laparoscopy an option or will we need to do something open-abdominal? Will I be bumped to the category of high risk pregnancy or just a high risk delivery? Am I already in that category? Will I come out of it? Will surgery even be an option at all when it's said and done? And even if we do a surgical correction will that REALLY fix the issue and increase our chance for success or are we wasting time trying when we really should be pursuing alternatives. Am I ready to handle the possibility that I might not be able to carry our child?
Things just got heavy.
Thank goodness I married such a wonderful man who could find a silver lining: now that we know I have a two-horned uterus we understand why I get so evil every three weeks.
Humor doesn't erase the seriousness of big issues, but it sure helps a lot. I've heard comments about my positive attitude through all of this, but I honestly couldn't imagine the alternative. Without hope and humor an already crummy situation would be downright miserable and suffocating. In the end things are going to happen as they will happen and all we can do is take each step along the way, praying for the best that is meant for us, whatever that might be.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
The Learning Curve
I have learned a lot. Most importantly that the baby process is not as easy as 1+2=3. At least not always or for everyone. I think the first time success-ers are the lucky ones. The ones like me, who truck along in our blissful ignorance, have a much more challenging road to hoe. Even more so when we are oblivious to the pile of "what-ifs" we may be up against.
In my experience not many people are willing to share their pregnancy difficulties, and I don't blame them for keeping their privacy, but the advice and knowledge I have received from one-on-one supporters who have been there and done that is invaluable and, quite frankly, information I wish I'd had almost a year ago. When Clif and I decided to start trying to grow the family that was all there was to it; make the decision and start trying. If I had known then what I know now our approach might have been quite a bit different. Wishing I'd had that knowledge is a big part of the reason I asked Clif if I could go ahead and post this blog, even though we were having trouble. My hope is to have a bit of therapy, keep our friends and family in the loop and, maybe, help even one person out there who is in the same boat and feeling completely overwhelmed by something that turned out to be not so easy.
At our 8 1/2 week appointment with the midwives, when we found out we'd lost the second, I leaned very quickly to opting for the D&C procedure (last time we'd taken the medicated route). I wanted to try to save a little bit of time, get the process over with and move on down the road and the midwives wanted answers to our genetic makeup to see if that was contributing to our difficulty. I was not at all convinced that was the case but if they wanted it I was ready to trust they knew best, but by that evening I'd decided not to have the procedure in favor of the medicated route again. It was a shock when I received a call the next morning asking to do my pre-procedure questionnaire in preparation for my appointment the following morning.
Breaks. Procedure? Scheduled for Thursday morning? The midwives said I could see the doctor Wednesday afternoon to ask her advice for making the best decision and then she would try to fit me in her Friday schedule if she could. I didn't want to be hasty about having the D&C if there wasn't a great benefit to it and I had come up with so many questions, on top of feeling bolstered to just try one more time before pulling out the hoops to jump through. I felt a little bit panicked as I called the doctor's office to plead for them to let me talk to the doctor before they scheduled me. The nurse was wonderful, calming and assured me we could work it all out. They would hold my appointment but leave the option to cancel for whichever decision I made.
I'd gotten a lot of suggestions for things to ask the doctor when I saw her and I laid the questions and concerns on pretty thick. I said I was ready to give it one more go and questioned the information, or lack of, that could be gained by doing the D&C. If the info gathered was iffy or limited and it was a 'well, let's try it and see' situation I was backing out. She assured me we would be able to gather valuable information either way: a solution to a problem or ruling out an entire category of issues we wouldn't have to even think about any more. We had the opportunity to get some answers one way or the other and she very strongly suggested we take it. I felt confident in her analysis and agreed.
The morning of the D&C could almost be its own story but to sum it up it was much less terrifying than I thought it would be and full of kind hospital staff, drugs, a goody bag with staff-signed thank you card and hilarity. Have you ever met Tipsy Amy? You should see the Post Anaesthetised one...
My follow-up appointment was two weeks later. Unfortunately we didn't have any test results yet but what we lacked in those we made up for in more questions and confusion. The midwives were calling genetics, the radiologist who'd confirmed our miscarriage said my uterus was to blame, someone mentioned blood clots and several story-sharers were suggesting hormones as the culprits. When I asked the doctor about these posibilities she suggested she was happy to help me find some answers but I couldn't help feeling like she didn't know she was going to be the one doing that. My confusion grew not knowing if she is who I should be asking all of my questions or if I was supposed to see her for the tasks then go back to the midwives for the solution. I had no idea what the right procedure was or who I was supposed to be talking to about what and who was supposed to help me try to make sure our pending third attempt would be successful. Was there a right way to do all of this? No one seemed to be very forthcoming with those answers and I feel like I've been grasping for straws.
I'm due back in a week or so for some more blood work and I am prepared to get some solid answers and a plan of attack. Now that I've had a chance to process some I feel better prepared to take ownership of pulling this team together and getting something accomplished. For those of you who may be dealing with a similar circumstance and are also grasping at straws, here are the things I have learned along the way that are forming my next steps to success:
Check List
1.Genetic Incompatability - let's just call it that, it seems to cover a multitude. Barring spontaneous issues we have determined our genes like each other. Party!
2. Bad Blood - one suggestion was that I might be throwing tiny little clots that are causing a problem. Hopefully this will get answered in a couple of weeks.
3. Hormone Crazy Town - when I was in for the D&C my doctor mentioned in an off-hand manner that my progesterone was a bit low. I'm not sure why we haven't jumped on that bandwagon with a little more gusto but I'll be asking that question when I go in for bloodwork. So far her answer has been lose some weight, which, let's be honest, if I didn't struggle so hard with it that wouldn't be an issue in the first place, but thanks.
4. Uterus of Doom - there are a couple schools of thought here: the radiologist thinks this could be a real issue and wants to pop me in an MRI, the doctor rolled her eyes in a very doubtful manner and said MRI is overkill and we could do a much simpler dye test if I really wanted. She said even a decently heart-shaped uterus should correct itself during the course of pregnancy and didn't seem convinced that should be a big concern but for me it's still on the table.
We are supposed to wait for two cycles to let my body "normalize" before trying again. That's two months and it's been one. I have one left to get some answers before we get back on this crazy train.
In my experience not many people are willing to share their pregnancy difficulties, and I don't blame them for keeping their privacy, but the advice and knowledge I have received from one-on-one supporters who have been there and done that is invaluable and, quite frankly, information I wish I'd had almost a year ago. When Clif and I decided to start trying to grow the family that was all there was to it; make the decision and start trying. If I had known then what I know now our approach might have been quite a bit different. Wishing I'd had that knowledge is a big part of the reason I asked Clif if I could go ahead and post this blog, even though we were having trouble. My hope is to have a bit of therapy, keep our friends and family in the loop and, maybe, help even one person out there who is in the same boat and feeling completely overwhelmed by something that turned out to be not so easy.
At our 8 1/2 week appointment with the midwives, when we found out we'd lost the second, I leaned very quickly to opting for the D&C procedure (last time we'd taken the medicated route). I wanted to try to save a little bit of time, get the process over with and move on down the road and the midwives wanted answers to our genetic makeup to see if that was contributing to our difficulty. I was not at all convinced that was the case but if they wanted it I was ready to trust they knew best, but by that evening I'd decided not to have the procedure in favor of the medicated route again. It was a shock when I received a call the next morning asking to do my pre-procedure questionnaire in preparation for my appointment the following morning.
Breaks. Procedure? Scheduled for Thursday morning? The midwives said I could see the doctor Wednesday afternoon to ask her advice for making the best decision and then she would try to fit me in her Friday schedule if she could. I didn't want to be hasty about having the D&C if there wasn't a great benefit to it and I had come up with so many questions, on top of feeling bolstered to just try one more time before pulling out the hoops to jump through. I felt a little bit panicked as I called the doctor's office to plead for them to let me talk to the doctor before they scheduled me. The nurse was wonderful, calming and assured me we could work it all out. They would hold my appointment but leave the option to cancel for whichever decision I made.
I'd gotten a lot of suggestions for things to ask the doctor when I saw her and I laid the questions and concerns on pretty thick. I said I was ready to give it one more go and questioned the information, or lack of, that could be gained by doing the D&C. If the info gathered was iffy or limited and it was a 'well, let's try it and see' situation I was backing out. She assured me we would be able to gather valuable information either way: a solution to a problem or ruling out an entire category of issues we wouldn't have to even think about any more. We had the opportunity to get some answers one way or the other and she very strongly suggested we take it. I felt confident in her analysis and agreed.
The morning of the D&C could almost be its own story but to sum it up it was much less terrifying than I thought it would be and full of kind hospital staff, drugs, a goody bag with staff-signed thank you card and hilarity. Have you ever met Tipsy Amy? You should see the Post Anaesthetised one...
My follow-up appointment was two weeks later. Unfortunately we didn't have any test results yet but what we lacked in those we made up for in more questions and confusion. The midwives were calling genetics, the radiologist who'd confirmed our miscarriage said my uterus was to blame, someone mentioned blood clots and several story-sharers were suggesting hormones as the culprits. When I asked the doctor about these posibilities she suggested she was happy to help me find some answers but I couldn't help feeling like she didn't know she was going to be the one doing that. My confusion grew not knowing if she is who I should be asking all of my questions or if I was supposed to see her for the tasks then go back to the midwives for the solution. I had no idea what the right procedure was or who I was supposed to be talking to about what and who was supposed to help me try to make sure our pending third attempt would be successful. Was there a right way to do all of this? No one seemed to be very forthcoming with those answers and I feel like I've been grasping for straws.
I'm due back in a week or so for some more blood work and I am prepared to get some solid answers and a plan of attack. Now that I've had a chance to process some I feel better prepared to take ownership of pulling this team together and getting something accomplished. For those of you who may be dealing with a similar circumstance and are also grasping at straws, here are the things I have learned along the way that are forming my next steps to success:
Check List
1.
2. Bad Blood - one suggestion was that I might be throwing tiny little clots that are causing a problem. Hopefully this will get answered in a couple of weeks.
3. Hormone Crazy Town - when I was in for the D&C my doctor mentioned in an off-hand manner that my progesterone was a bit low. I'm not sure why we haven't jumped on that bandwagon with a little more gusto but I'll be asking that question when I go in for bloodwork. So far her answer has been lose some weight, which, let's be honest, if I didn't struggle so hard with it that wouldn't be an issue in the first place, but thanks.
4. Uterus of Doom - there are a couple schools of thought here: the radiologist thinks this could be a real issue and wants to pop me in an MRI, the doctor rolled her eyes in a very doubtful manner and said MRI is overkill and we could do a much simpler dye test if I really wanted. She said even a decently heart-shaped uterus should correct itself during the course of pregnancy and didn't seem convinced that should be a big concern but for me it's still on the table.
We are supposed to wait for two cycles to let my body "normalize" before trying again. That's two months and it's been one. I have one left to get some answers before we get back on this crazy train.
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