I won't hold you in suspense. My nuchal test went just fine this morning. At 12 weeks, 2 days, we are measuring perfectly.
CRL: 65 mm
BPD: 19mm
NT: 1.3 mm
The maximum they like to see at this crown rump length and gestational age is 2.7 mm, at least according to my sneak peeking at the giant book filled with tables of measurements in the genetics department. I looked up my age, gestation, etc. etc. and then took out my camera phone and started snapping away at all the pertinent numbers. (Had to remember them somehow, right?)
The blood tests are coming, but at this point, they are less relevant than the nuchal. Truthfully, the PAPP-A and the beta hcg tell you a lot more about the placenta's condition than the chromosomes. Same for the 15 week bloods which are considered useless for chromosomes by Dr. Genetics, who I saw yesterday at BAMH - (Big Ass Mean Hospital). He really is a kind and lovely person, so odd he works there, then again his department used to be located in City Name hospital and got merged during the Mike Harris years. He's been underfunded and overworked ever since, because stupid BAMH wanted the quality & prestige of the program, but really hates properly funding the lab or the docs. (Sigh, the two ARE related....)
So we are doing loads of blood tests for my placenta, and in 2 weeks I'm getting a special anatomical scan they do at 14 weeks using the dildocam so that we can get a better look at everything. They did scan a few things today, and there was lots of movement!!!! Good tone, good flexion, all the lovely bits located in the right place. We saw five little toes on one foot, the other was kicking to much to count. The brain had ventricles, nicely separated, filling out all the space right, no fluid. (I'm paranoid about this, due to our past experience with hydrocephalus in Matthew. ) Face, nose, mouth, lots of things to see and they all looked good. We can't see everything perfectly yet like at an 18 week US, but the clarity was pretty kick ass, FWIW.
Soooo, Dr.Genetics was awesomely reassuring yesterday. He says that although my risk was much higher years ago, at this age, and with the heartrate and growth of the baby so far I'm simply comparable to my 39 year old peers. (See there IS a point to getting all those early ultrasounds. Now we have cumulative evidence we can use to calculate my risk. And I like the reassurance of knowing my risks are getting lower, thanks!) He thinks the real risk is to my placenta, and we had several animated discussions about whether my gene (PAI-1 4G/4G) has a proven correlation to placental problems. Although the evidence isn't as definitive as he would like, he does agree that there are lots of studies on it that are very convincing.
My amnio is likely set for Dec. 20th, and if I get a FISH test I'll know for Christmas, one way or another, all the answers I'm seeking.
Anyway, enough for now. I promised a friend I'd visit her, and I need to get my butt in gear!
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Amazing how your friends can ride to the rescue
I was so depressed this morning I didn't even look at the newspaper. And Megan, who commented on my blog's last post, (second Megan in comments-two different Megans) just mentioned that the Globe and Mail has a story about Infertility Bloggers, and some of my most favourite women are mentioned! Gil, and Mel, and Julie, and Tertia are all quoted. (Megan, by the way, if you do feel like pointing out this story to the PMO and the communications people there, it might be a good thing, especially considering the Feds have a long way to go when it comes to treating bereaved moms and the infertile decently. Email me, we can chat! I am full of good ideas.)
After last night, I felt like I'd been kicked in the head, and after reading this, and all of your lovely supportive comments, (and emails) damn I feel better. After all, if Gil can be brave, then maybe I can be a little less freaked out right? And maybe, just maybe I can try to remember that there are so many infertiles in the Liberal Party that trying to figure out which one is me, might be harder than I thought. (Okay, everyone else is in the closet besides me and Dion, but STILL, it might be difficult. ) And if they do things that are unfriendly, then maybe that makes them the big assholes, right?
Sigh....hoping, but I do feel a touch better.
I have to go see my genetics doc right now, and figure out if the odds of having another Trisomy 18 baby, at my age and with my shitty old ovaries are "maybe", "possibly", or "totally fucking guaranteed." Dr.Eyebrows says DHEA improves egg quality, but who the hell knows, right?
Oh, and bonus! I have to go alone, Mr.Cotta just called to say that he has to go run and urgently deal with a crisis with a client. Nice---I'm facing a firing squad, and he's going to hold some rich dudes hand. Lovely. No where the hell did I put that valium? Fuck, fuck, fuck.
After last night, I felt like I'd been kicked in the head, and after reading this, and all of your lovely supportive comments, (and emails) damn I feel better. After all, if Gil can be brave, then maybe I can be a little less freaked out right? And maybe, just maybe I can try to remember that there are so many infertiles in the Liberal Party that trying to figure out which one is me, might be harder than I thought. (Okay, everyone else is in the closet besides me and Dion, but STILL, it might be difficult. ) And if they do things that are unfriendly, then maybe that makes them the big assholes, right?
Sigh....hoping, but I do feel a touch better.
I have to go see my genetics doc right now, and figure out if the odds of having another Trisomy 18 baby, at my age and with my shitty old ovaries are "maybe", "possibly", or "totally fucking guaranteed." Dr.Eyebrows says DHEA improves egg quality, but who the hell knows, right?
Oh, and bonus! I have to go alone, Mr.Cotta just called to say that he has to go run and urgently deal with a crisis with a client. Nice---I'm facing a firing squad, and he's going to hold some rich dudes hand. Lovely. No where the hell did I put that valium? Fuck, fuck, fuck.
So need some help with the paranoia
I had a visitor today from Canada's political scene, in fact, from Ottawa. I think it was a fellow infertile, and no, it wasn't any of the regular visitors I have who work in government departments. I don't mind you guys, because most of you seem to be bloggers or fellow moms, or infertiles just surfing by. No---this was a visitor from a very political place. And the only posts they looked at were the posts that they thought they could use to identify me. Most infertiles never notice my political posts, and most political visitors never look at my infertile posts. But this was different. They searched for specific details about the real me.
Worst part? They didn't identify themselves by email or comment, and they might be a friend or a political enemy, or shit, a frenemy. I'm stressed and I'd like to blog about something else causing me severe anxiety, but I'm kind of freaked now. Because someday, someone is going to come up behind me and say, "I know you are Aurelia, and I'm going to expose you," and because I react badly to blackmail, well, I'll just tell them to do whatever, and let the chips fall where they may.
Which sounds very nonchalant, and really, I feel sick.
I hope I'm wrong, and I don't know what to do. There's no way of knowing who saw that screen even if I track the IP address to the exact office. And of all the weeks to do this to me, this has to be the worst one possible.
So, I'm now tired and paranoid, and miserable. Help.
Worst part? They didn't identify themselves by email or comment, and they might be a friend or a political enemy, or shit, a frenemy. I'm stressed and I'd like to blog about something else causing me severe anxiety, but I'm kind of freaked now. Because someday, someone is going to come up behind me and say, "I know you are Aurelia, and I'm going to expose you," and because I react badly to blackmail, well, I'll just tell them to do whatever, and let the chips fall where they may.
Which sounds very nonchalant, and really, I feel sick.
I hope I'm wrong, and I don't know what to do. There's no way of knowing who saw that screen even if I track the IP address to the exact office. And of all the weeks to do this to me, this has to be the worst one possible.
So, I'm now tired and paranoid, and miserable. Help.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
brain fuzz
I am once again sucking at comments. I managed to make a few good ones here and there, but once again, am staring at 20 open tabs, and hundreds of unread feeds. I love everything you are all writing, I'm just a dork this weekend for comments.
I think all the blood and oxygen is going to my uterus and not my brain. Good for the ute, but geez, can't I have a little bit so I don't make a total ass of myself?
I went to see Motherisk for an in-person appointment on Friday, and forgot to write about it.
Remind me later. I know I won't friggin' remember.
I think all the blood and oxygen is going to my uterus and not my brain. Good for the ute, but geez, can't I have a little bit so I don't make a total ass of myself?
I went to see Motherisk for an in-person appointment on Friday, and forgot to write about it.
Remind me later. I know I won't friggin' remember.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
The Game of Risk
Thursday I bought maternity clothes as you know.
Today, I bought pillows for the new couch and drapery rods for the living room and the hallway, after months of wavering on colors and fabrics and styles, not to mention my attempts to hire professionals to make drapes! No luck then, but I think I just might have found the right ones.
Friday I spent the entire day at the Ashley Sale shopping for so much stuff that I had to store boxes of it, until I got to the cash register and set my debit card on fire to pay for it all. (Kidding actually, debit was fine...discounts are shockingly fabulous there.) I bought several gift boxes of Riedel stemless wine glasses, silver picture frames, Oilily wallets and cosmetic bags, toys for the kids, designer mats for front walk, Christmas decorations, a La Crueset ceramic kettle for Mr.Cotta, a crystal flower vase, and 8 full place settings of Wedgewood Strawberry & Vine China.
My funny little husband had a slight urrrkk when I came home, until I pointed out the several broken plates we have thrown out this past year, the banged up ancient half-rusted kettle he has used for years, the bent portrait frames on the piano, and the dollar store crap decorating our house. I cajoled him a bit, and last night, we eventually both had fun throwing out the junk, and replacing it with some much much better quality items.
Ironic moment of the day? Wearing maternity clothes, I was ten times more comfortable than normal, but also obviously pregnant, as in, all the salespeople made sure I had help carrying things out. (I worked it, I'll admit it. Gotta be some advantages, right?) So pregnant-looking that when I picked up Maddie in the morning to go there, I walked in, twinkle in my eye and said, "Mr. Cotta thinks we can hide the pregnancy for another couple of months or so from our family. What do you think?" and she fell over laughing. In fact, she laughed so hard, she almost peed her pants, and I laughed right along with her.
I know he's afraid to tell people, because he's afraid of failing again, in front of the whole world. Public failure really is the hardest thing to endure. I'm afraid of failing too, and the public aspect is something I'll have to deal with as a woman more than him. But I'm a tiny person, and my stomach is proportionately bigger than the rest of me. Right now, I look further along than my kid's piano teacher, a first-timer currently 22 weeks pregnant. She's barely looking more than plump.
We're all in now, every card dealt, all bets on the table. On a business level my husband can understand taking huge risks and losing a lot of deals, but sometimes, just sometimes getting huge rewards in return for taking all those risks. He has to go up against lots of other people who never have to take risks and just get handed everything as a matter of course. Like the "Lucky Sperm Club" - AKA trust fund babies. Or the normals, 9 to 5 jobbers with steady incomes who have a pension & benefits, 2 kids and a dog, or my faves, the Golden Boys, who are simply always in the right place at the right time, and get handed opportunities like gifts. We've never been those people in any aspect of our lives, personal or professional.
We gambled hugely when we had our two boys, and it paid off. We risked with Matthew and Mira and Georgia, and so so many other cycles in between and they all ended in disaster. Once again, we aren't part of the Lucky Sperm Club, or the Golden ones, and I'm sure as hell not normal.
But this year has been different, really truly different. Two years ago this time, we were close to bankruptcy, and this year everything shifted, dramatically. For six months I've had money in the bank, specifically for shopping, just sitting there, and I've surfed loads of websites, gone shopping in lots of stores and managed to buy only a bed, a sofa, and this computer, after agonizing over each and every one of them, as if merely purchasing things would tempt fate and ruin any possibility of our finances staying intact. (Okay, we got a TV too, but that was Mr.Cotta's decision.)
And this year my health improved, and I discovered DHEA and started the new regime, and after months of it managed to ovulate, and get pregnant. I'm taking a very different tack with this pregnancy, heparin, progesterone, aspirin, and all. So the question is, will any of it matter a damn?
Will the risk pay off? Will this all be worth it in the end, or am I just a fool?
This Wednesday is my nuchal test, and it was good news with Mac, and good news with Georgia, but terrible news with Mira. I can't help but remember the negative moment somehow, the damn technician refusing to show me the screen. And I can't help but wonder if the good news with Georgia was almost like a nasty setup for the disastrous ultrasound on amnio day with her. Lying there on that table, thinking about all the terrible news that could result from an amniocentesis, never believing that the bad news could happen even before the needle went near my uterus.
In the last week, I finally broke through some of my financial magical thinking and managed to spend a little without heaving in terror.
So at what point in this pregnancy do you think I'll be able to break through my baby related magical thinking and finally stop heaving in terror? 12 weeks? 16 weeks? 18 Weeks? 21 weeks? 32 weeks?
I'm thinking it may take even longer. But at least I can shop my way through the risk, right? I hope....
Today, I bought pillows for the new couch and drapery rods for the living room and the hallway, after months of wavering on colors and fabrics and styles, not to mention my attempts to hire professionals to make drapes! No luck then, but I think I just might have found the right ones.
Friday I spent the entire day at the Ashley Sale shopping for so much stuff that I had to store boxes of it, until I got to the cash register and set my debit card on fire to pay for it all. (Kidding actually, debit was fine...discounts are shockingly fabulous there.) I bought several gift boxes of Riedel stemless wine glasses, silver picture frames, Oilily wallets and cosmetic bags, toys for the kids, designer mats for front walk, Christmas decorations, a La Crueset ceramic kettle for Mr.Cotta, a crystal flower vase, and 8 full place settings of Wedgewood Strawberry & Vine China.
My funny little husband had a slight urrrkk when I came home, until I pointed out the several broken plates we have thrown out this past year, the banged up ancient half-rusted kettle he has used for years, the bent portrait frames on the piano, and the dollar store crap decorating our house. I cajoled him a bit, and last night, we eventually both had fun throwing out the junk, and replacing it with some much much better quality items.
Ironic moment of the day? Wearing maternity clothes, I was ten times more comfortable than normal, but also obviously pregnant, as in, all the salespeople made sure I had help carrying things out. (I worked it, I'll admit it. Gotta be some advantages, right?) So pregnant-looking that when I picked up Maddie in the morning to go there, I walked in, twinkle in my eye and said, "Mr. Cotta thinks we can hide the pregnancy for another couple of months or so from our family. What do you think?" and she fell over laughing. In fact, she laughed so hard, she almost peed her pants, and I laughed right along with her.
I know he's afraid to tell people, because he's afraid of failing again, in front of the whole world. Public failure really is the hardest thing to endure. I'm afraid of failing too, and the public aspect is something I'll have to deal with as a woman more than him. But I'm a tiny person, and my stomach is proportionately bigger than the rest of me. Right now, I look further along than my kid's piano teacher, a first-timer currently 22 weeks pregnant. She's barely looking more than plump.
We're all in now, every card dealt, all bets on the table. On a business level my husband can understand taking huge risks and losing a lot of deals, but sometimes, just sometimes getting huge rewards in return for taking all those risks. He has to go up against lots of other people who never have to take risks and just get handed everything as a matter of course. Like the "Lucky Sperm Club" - AKA trust fund babies. Or the normals, 9 to 5 jobbers with steady incomes who have a pension & benefits, 2 kids and a dog, or my faves, the Golden Boys, who are simply always in the right place at the right time, and get handed opportunities like gifts. We've never been those people in any aspect of our lives, personal or professional.
We gambled hugely when we had our two boys, and it paid off. We risked with Matthew and Mira and Georgia, and so so many other cycles in between and they all ended in disaster. Once again, we aren't part of the Lucky Sperm Club, or the Golden ones, and I'm sure as hell not normal.
But this year has been different, really truly different. Two years ago this time, we were close to bankruptcy, and this year everything shifted, dramatically. For six months I've had money in the bank, specifically for shopping, just sitting there, and I've surfed loads of websites, gone shopping in lots of stores and managed to buy only a bed, a sofa, and this computer, after agonizing over each and every one of them, as if merely purchasing things would tempt fate and ruin any possibility of our finances staying intact. (Okay, we got a TV too, but that was Mr.Cotta's decision.)
And this year my health improved, and I discovered DHEA and started the new regime, and after months of it managed to ovulate, and get pregnant. I'm taking a very different tack with this pregnancy, heparin, progesterone, aspirin, and all. So the question is, will any of it matter a damn?
Will the risk pay off? Will this all be worth it in the end, or am I just a fool?
This Wednesday is my nuchal test, and it was good news with Mac, and good news with Georgia, but terrible news with Mira. I can't help but remember the negative moment somehow, the damn technician refusing to show me the screen. And I can't help but wonder if the good news with Georgia was almost like a nasty setup for the disastrous ultrasound on amnio day with her. Lying there on that table, thinking about all the terrible news that could result from an amniocentesis, never believing that the bad news could happen even before the needle went near my uterus.
In the last week, I finally broke through some of my financial magical thinking and managed to spend a little without heaving in terror.
So at what point in this pregnancy do you think I'll be able to break through my baby related magical thinking and finally stop heaving in terror? 12 weeks? 16 weeks? 18 Weeks? 21 weeks? 32 weeks?
I'm thinking it may take even longer. But at least I can shop my way through the risk, right? I hope....
Thursday, November 22, 2007
A Happy Thankful Day
At the ultrasound this morning, the baby, (now named DinkyPie by the Boys, yes, I know....but they get to contribute something here, so I can't say no), anyway, DinkyPie was moving, but only after we joggled and jostled my stomach ridiculously. Turns out that although I ate a sugary breakfast, it was 2 hours before the appointment, and my apple juice bought in the lobby hadn't hit my stomach yet.
So DinkyPie slept and slept, until roughly woken up, by me laughing at Mr.Cotta. My crazy husband was wearing a red clown nose he had hidden in his coat pocket just in case I needed to be jollied out of the doldrums.
And DinkyPie kicked it's little legs!!!!
That put me in a really great mood for the rest of the day. So much so, that I decided to simply give in and buy some actual maternity clothes, especially pants. I had taken my old maternity clothes out of storage on Monday, and went through all the boxes of stuff. I discovered lots of good things, like two different dressy party outfits, one for winter, one for summer, several maternity tops, all in good condition, and still in fashion, lots of floaty summer dresses I pray I'll still need next spring and lots of little things, like skirts and underwear and things like bra extenders & tights, and of course, an all weather coat in case of rain or wind.
A pretty good haul acquired over 5 pregnancies with weight gain----until I took inventory of the pants. All narrow at the bottom & totally unusably ugly; the piece de resistance? A pair of shiny polyester stirrup pants! 1990's here we come baby! Sigh....
The only nice ones were one pair of boot cut black jersey pants, which I had loaned out to a friend, and got back----with the crotch worn out, completely, like with a giant see-through thin spot/almost hole. And no, I'm not going to even THINK about how that occurred. Shudder. Tossed in the garbage....
I've been wearing a couple of larger pairs of pants I bought with JuliaKB when she and Niobe came up to visit Toronto. Very trendy and nice that day, but lately, they were getting a bit small. Like, I couldn't do them up, I could only fasten the tops with an elastic through the button hole, and if I bent over the wrong way, serious plumber butt was at risk. So that plan could not continue.
So, with today's perfect U/S report in hand, I went off shopping to the maternity store and spent waaaayyyyyy too much money. Like enough to jinx/magical think/freak out everyone reading and myself too. I'll probably wig out tomorrow, and it's your job to remind me that my placenta doesn't give a damn if I've bought out half the store, right? RIGHT, RIGHT?
Best case scenario, I'll be comfortable, and look nice, and today, no worst case scenarios discussed. I've been giggling like a idiot ALL day, I'd like this nice warm fuzzy feeling to continue.
Of course, the Doctor and the ultrasound tech at my appointment were acting surprised that I was stressed, trying to be reassuring, "of course it's fine, good strong heartbeat, blah, blah, blah," and I had to remind them that for me the most stressful time is coming, since my latest history is losses at 12 weeks, and 15 weeks (discovered at 16 weeks). Well, today we're just not thinking about that right now. That can wait for next week, right?
Today is for being thankful for kicking legs and warmly covered butts.
And tomorrow is for shopping at the Ashley Sale. Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!
So DinkyPie slept and slept, until roughly woken up, by me laughing at Mr.Cotta. My crazy husband was wearing a red clown nose he had hidden in his coat pocket just in case I needed to be jollied out of the doldrums.
And DinkyPie kicked it's little legs!!!!
That put me in a really great mood for the rest of the day. So much so, that I decided to simply give in and buy some actual maternity clothes, especially pants. I had taken my old maternity clothes out of storage on Monday, and went through all the boxes of stuff. I discovered lots of good things, like two different dressy party outfits, one for winter, one for summer, several maternity tops, all in good condition, and still in fashion, lots of floaty summer dresses I pray I'll still need next spring and lots of little things, like skirts and underwear and things like bra extenders & tights, and of course, an all weather coat in case of rain or wind.
A pretty good haul acquired over 5 pregnancies with weight gain----until I took inventory of the pants. All narrow at the bottom & totally unusably ugly; the piece de resistance? A pair of shiny polyester stirrup pants! 1990's here we come baby! Sigh....
The only nice ones were one pair of boot cut black jersey pants, which I had loaned out to a friend, and got back----with the crotch worn out, completely, like with a giant see-through thin spot/almost hole. And no, I'm not going to even THINK about how that occurred. Shudder. Tossed in the garbage....
I've been wearing a couple of larger pairs of pants I bought with JuliaKB when she and Niobe came up to visit Toronto. Very trendy and nice that day, but lately, they were getting a bit small. Like, I couldn't do them up, I could only fasten the tops with an elastic through the button hole, and if I bent over the wrong way, serious plumber butt was at risk. So that plan could not continue.
So, with today's perfect U/S report in hand, I went off shopping to the maternity store and spent waaaayyyyyy too much money. Like enough to jinx/magical think/freak out everyone reading and myself too. I'll probably wig out tomorrow, and it's your job to remind me that my placenta doesn't give a damn if I've bought out half the store, right? RIGHT, RIGHT?
Best case scenario, I'll be comfortable, and look nice, and today, no worst case scenarios discussed. I've been giggling like a idiot ALL day, I'd like this nice warm fuzzy feeling to continue.
Of course, the Doctor and the ultrasound tech at my appointment were acting surprised that I was stressed, trying to be reassuring, "of course it's fine, good strong heartbeat, blah, blah, blah," and I had to remind them that for me the most stressful time is coming, since my latest history is losses at 12 weeks, and 15 weeks (discovered at 16 weeks). Well, today we're just not thinking about that right now. That can wait for next week, right?
Today is for being thankful for kicking legs and warmly covered butts.
And tomorrow is for shopping at the Ashley Sale. Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Hey lend a hand
My friend LAS is in a lot of pain right now. She is coming up on the one year anniversary of surviving breast cancer (Dec.12th?) and the one year anniversary of getting sober. (And still hoping her fertility hasn't been cacked by the chemo so she can find an egg someday.)
Sorting out the friendships, and the ex-friends, and the crappy family issues is really really getting to her. So give her a written hug. If I could fly out there right now and give her a real one, I would. But all I can do is send her some words.
Take care hon. Life gets better, really.
Sorting out the friendships, and the ex-friends, and the crappy family issues is really really getting to her. So give her a written hug. If I could fly out there right now and give her a real one, I would. But all I can do is send her some words.
Take care hon. Life gets better, really.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
communication conundrum
*Updated below*
You'd think it was mercury retrograde or something with all the broken telephone going on here abouts.
First I am dying in suspense waiting to see how Catherine is doing, and whether or not she did get the c-section today, or they waited!!!!! She was one of the very first bloggers I ever read, and I found the entire world of blogging through her sidebar I think. And now, after 2 stillbirths, and a mountain of hell, she is supposed to be having Baby Myles, safe and sound today, and I'm totally impatient to find out how it's all going!!!! I may break the refresh button on my browser soon.
I spoke to a friend of mine, who inadvertently or not, managed to tell me that she thought the school Kaz was applying to was for kids who were "not as smart", that ultrasounds hurt babies, that ADD & LD can be treated with "mental training", and to generally imply once again that the way she is raising her kids is better than the way I'm raising mine. I finally told her I had to go, I think I'll call back again when she stops having PMS. Sigh....
And now, I have received several calls from the same high risk team at the big hospital I don't like (new name Big Ass Mean Hospital see below), telling me that they have set up multiple appointments with some OB I've never heard of, and appointments with cardiologists (?) and hematologists(?), and integrated prenatal screenings with other clinics I've never ever heard of, all without my knowledge. I keep trying to cancel the appointments and tell them I ALREADY have a high-risk OB and an appointment for a nuchal test, and an appointment for an amniocentesis but they really don't seem to want to listen. Instead the just keep tsking me and telling me they know what I need, and I should just show up and do what I'm told.
I had to muffle my laughter, since doing what I was told and assuming Doctors have brains, just got me dead babies in the past. And you know, I'm hoping for a live one at this point, so I just might question a few of these guys. Maybe?
So if any of you have ever heard of those stories about waiting lists, I'm thinking that this just might be the reason why that happens. Yes, you heard it here first, my name has spontaneously appeared on every damn appointment list in town, including ones for hips, MRIs, brain surgery, and obstetrics. I'm trying to cover my bases, and therefore screwing it up for all of you!
I have to phone everybody back now, again, and cancel for the 4th or 5th time. Sigh....
So, this morning I spoke to the scumbag Triage nurse for the special pregnancy program at the Big Ass Mean Hospital (BAMH), and she yelled at me continuously for 10 minutes while complaining bitterly that she had done all this work setting up appointments and that she did not believe that I was being taken care of properly. And everytime I did explain that I already had a cardiologist, and I didn't need to see a hematologist because the last two hematologists I saw knew nothing about my genetic fibrolynitic disorder and still had the nerve to bill OHIP for a consult, yet, ended the interview saying, "Well, thanks anyway, I've learned a lot from you today, Ms. Cotta."
Umm, yah---and exactly why wasn't I paid for this instead of you asshole?
So, Nurse Scumbag was even more unhappy about that and decided that I should simply come in on Thursday anyway and see this other high-risk Doc and consult with him and clear it all, because after all, what if I had missed something? This from the hospital that always treats me like crap whenever my babies die....and certainly does nothing to prevent them from dying, because you know, they tend to MISS the signs until it's too late. Stupid bastards.....anyway, I'm going to get to see my placental specialist at 16 weeks (note to those of you keeping score at home-by 16 weeks a placenta has long ago fully formed and cannot be fixed, or healed or altered in any way - much too late for them to see me or help me.) Again, I am so so glad that except for a few consult appointments, I'm going to be at my favourite Women's Hospital. It isn't perfect, but it's a hell of a lot better than this craphole.
I've been crying now for an hour since she yelled at me. I'm tired. I need to lie down with a cold cloth on my face.
You'd think it was mercury retrograde or something with all the broken telephone going on here abouts.
First I am dying in suspense waiting to see how Catherine is doing, and whether or not she did get the c-section today, or they waited!!!!! She was one of the very first bloggers I ever read, and I found the entire world of blogging through her sidebar I think. And now, after 2 stillbirths, and a mountain of hell, she is supposed to be having Baby Myles, safe and sound today, and I'm totally impatient to find out how it's all going!!!! I may break the refresh button on my browser soon.
I spoke to a friend of mine, who inadvertently or not, managed to tell me that she thought the school Kaz was applying to was for kids who were "not as smart", that ultrasounds hurt babies, that ADD & LD can be treated with "mental training", and to generally imply once again that the way she is raising her kids is better than the way I'm raising mine. I finally told her I had to go, I think I'll call back again when she stops having PMS. Sigh....
And now, I have received several calls from the same high risk team at the big hospital I don't like (new name Big Ass Mean Hospital see below), telling me that they have set up multiple appointments with some OB I've never heard of, and appointments with cardiologists (?) and hematologists(?), and integrated prenatal screenings with other clinics I've never ever heard of, all without my knowledge. I keep trying to cancel the appointments and tell them I ALREADY have a high-risk OB and an appointment for a nuchal test, and an appointment for an amniocentesis but they really don't seem to want to listen. Instead the just keep tsking me and telling me they know what I need, and I should just show up and do what I'm told.
I had to muffle my laughter, since doing what I was told and assuming Doctors have brains, just got me dead babies in the past. And you know, I'm hoping for a live one at this point, so I just might question a few of these guys. Maybe?
So if any of you have ever heard of those stories about waiting lists, I'm thinking that this just might be the reason why that happens. Yes, you heard it here first, my name has spontaneously appeared on every damn appointment list in town, including ones for hips, MRIs, brain surgery, and obstetrics. I'm trying to cover my bases, and therefore screwing it up for all of you!
I have to phone everybody back now, again, and cancel for the 4th or 5th time. Sigh....
So, this morning I spoke to the scumbag Triage nurse for the special pregnancy program at the Big Ass Mean Hospital (BAMH), and she yelled at me continuously for 10 minutes while complaining bitterly that she had done all this work setting up appointments and that she did not believe that I was being taken care of properly. And everytime I did explain that I already had a cardiologist, and I didn't need to see a hematologist because the last two hematologists I saw knew nothing about my genetic fibrolynitic disorder and still had the nerve to bill OHIP for a consult, yet, ended the interview saying, "Well, thanks anyway, I've learned a lot from you today, Ms. Cotta."
Umm, yah---and exactly why wasn't I paid for this instead of you asshole?
So, Nurse Scumbag was even more unhappy about that and decided that I should simply come in on Thursday anyway and see this other high-risk Doc and consult with him and clear it all, because after all, what if I had missed something? This from the hospital that always treats me like crap whenever my babies die....and certainly does nothing to prevent them from dying, because you know, they tend to MISS the signs until it's too late. Stupid bastards.....anyway, I'm going to get to see my placental specialist at 16 weeks (note to those of you keeping score at home-by 16 weeks a placenta has long ago fully formed and cannot be fixed, or healed or altered in any way - much too late for them to see me or help me.) Again, I am so so glad that except for a few consult appointments, I'm going to be at my favourite Women's Hospital. It isn't perfect, but it's a hell of a lot better than this craphole.
I've been crying now for an hour since she yelled at me. I'm tired. I need to lie down with a cold cloth on my face.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Busy times, much confusion
I kept wanting to post all weekend, but I wasn't quite sure what to write about. I have about twenty different things I want to cover, but none of them seem to come out right, and frankly this blog is beginning to be a bit too negative even for my taste! And it's not over just yet.
I know all of you understand why I feel rather anxious, and maybe you are happy to read me anyway, but there are a few other factors going on as well. Things I seem to not quite get out.
I actually owe several of you emails, some from weeks ago, and I'm slowly answering them, please don't assume I'm ignoring you!
So, under the category of stress, not pregnancy-related:
Like my kids are generally happy about this pregnancy and life in general and I know that my post last week maybe made it sound like they were completely traumatized. Well, they aren't, they just aren't sure what to think about it all. And before you assume it's because I told them too soon, or because they are older, well, not quite. All of our families, the elderly & senile, the seemingly unfeeling relative, and the tiniest babies we are around, can sense our stress and pick it up like sponges. It affects everything, all the time. Kids know when something is up, and react just like we do, even if they don't have the words for it.
Right now, Kaz is worried about writing the SSAT and getting into this high school, and frankly, I'm not even quite sure why we're bothering to apply, I mean, why add to the stress right now? Who cares? He can apply next year, or the year after. Meanwhile, hockey started this week and he's convinced he isn't as good as he was. Poor guy, he's been off the ice for ages, so naturally he'll need a few weeks to get better. I'm going to get him into a goalie camp for Christmas break and maybe a few weekend sessions. He'll feel better when he sees some success.
Mac's teacher is driving me up a wall, because she isn't teaching the right curriculum, yet tells the principal she is. (She thinks it's too hard for the kids, and worries it will hurt their feelings if they don't get every question right, so she is dumbing it down.) He's bored out of his mind, and is acting up, and she's so focused on encouraging their self-esteem and not being too hard on the poor little dears, they are walking all over her. I know she doesn't see it this way----but for pete's sake, after all these years I think I know a little something about this. And based on everything I've read, children don't learn from false praise, they learn from being praised when they succeed. If they make mistakes, tell them how to fix it, and try again. Re-teach it if you have to, but don't just let them slide----I mean, how does that solve anything? At the same time, punishing them for acting up when they are bored to tears isn't very productive either. I can't be all wrong about this?
Renovations are taking longer than ever, because my husband doesn't even want to talk to an architect or get things going unless we have every dime we need in the bank already---stupid, since architects take time to design, and municipal housing authorities take even longer to approve this stuff. So why not work on the slow stuff while we save up the cash? Worst comes to worst, we decide not to go ahead, and we've only wasted my time and a few thousand bucks. Best case scenario, we are ready to tear down on a dime.
We can't go on vacation anywhere out of town due to Mr.Cotta's veto, and I really really wanted to go somewhere warm and sunny this winter. (We've never gone on a nice vacation, anywhere, EVER, except for cottages, which are NOT vacations as you all know.) I mean, I know we can't go to South America and explore the jungle, but somewhere first world? Like Florida, or Arizona, or a resort somewhere nice and warm? Holy mackerel, I'm sure you guys could give me great names of U.S. hospitals just in case I needed one, right? Bahamas and some of the islands in the Caribbean have great facilities, if you have the insurance. And as long as I'm in the second trimester, my Doc has no problem with me traveling. Frankly, as long as I keep taking these shots and my progesterone, why not?
Well, Mr.Cotta is extremely paranoid. He doesn't want me to do anything! Well, except domestic stuff, which is far more strenuous than sitting beside a pool, I think. Hmmm, laundry, chauffeuring children and making dinner vs. hanging out in a cabana with my feet up? Yep, staying home sounds veeerrry relaxing. *eyeroll*
The furniture debate is still alive and well, since the coffee table just left, and we need a new entertainment/stereo table as well. Shopping is much harder than I ever thought. Everything seems to be bad quality these days, even in the expensive stores. I'm still working on this one.
And last bitch of the day, I'm having problems with scheduling and confusion around the house. My calendar and contacts haven't been updated properly, and I can't seem to get any proper help organizing paper, and getting it all inputted electronically. My organizer is great with non-paper stuff, but she doesn't do paper, and I really really need to hire an office temp or something. Because right now, I'm completely lost, and I am horribly bad at doing this myself. I always say I will, and then I don't. Time to give up and ask for help.
Thank you for listening to this grumpy bitch session. Done for today, okay?
I know all of you understand why I feel rather anxious, and maybe you are happy to read me anyway, but there are a few other factors going on as well. Things I seem to not quite get out.
I actually owe several of you emails, some from weeks ago, and I'm slowly answering them, please don't assume I'm ignoring you!
So, under the category of stress, not pregnancy-related:
Like my kids are generally happy about this pregnancy and life in general and I know that my post last week maybe made it sound like they were completely traumatized. Well, they aren't, they just aren't sure what to think about it all. And before you assume it's because I told them too soon, or because they are older, well, not quite. All of our families, the elderly & senile, the seemingly unfeeling relative, and the tiniest babies we are around, can sense our stress and pick it up like sponges. It affects everything, all the time. Kids know when something is up, and react just like we do, even if they don't have the words for it.
Right now, Kaz is worried about writing the SSAT and getting into this high school, and frankly, I'm not even quite sure why we're bothering to apply, I mean, why add to the stress right now? Who cares? He can apply next year, or the year after. Meanwhile, hockey started this week and he's convinced he isn't as good as he was. Poor guy, he's been off the ice for ages, so naturally he'll need a few weeks to get better. I'm going to get him into a goalie camp for Christmas break and maybe a few weekend sessions. He'll feel better when he sees some success.
Mac's teacher is driving me up a wall, because she isn't teaching the right curriculum, yet tells the principal she is. (She thinks it's too hard for the kids, and worries it will hurt their feelings if they don't get every question right, so she is dumbing it down.) He's bored out of his mind, and is acting up, and she's so focused on encouraging their self-esteem and not being too hard on the poor little dears, they are walking all over her. I know she doesn't see it this way----but for pete's sake, after all these years I think I know a little something about this. And based on everything I've read, children don't learn from false praise, they learn from being praised when they succeed. If they make mistakes, tell them how to fix it, and try again. Re-teach it if you have to, but don't just let them slide----I mean, how does that solve anything? At the same time, punishing them for acting up when they are bored to tears isn't very productive either. I can't be all wrong about this?
Renovations are taking longer than ever, because my husband doesn't even want to talk to an architect or get things going unless we have every dime we need in the bank already---stupid, since architects take time to design, and municipal housing authorities take even longer to approve this stuff. So why not work on the slow stuff while we save up the cash? Worst comes to worst, we decide not to go ahead, and we've only wasted my time and a few thousand bucks. Best case scenario, we are ready to tear down on a dime.
We can't go on vacation anywhere out of town due to Mr.Cotta's veto, and I really really wanted to go somewhere warm and sunny this winter. (We've never gone on a nice vacation, anywhere, EVER, except for cottages, which are NOT vacations as you all know.) I mean, I know we can't go to South America and explore the jungle, but somewhere first world? Like Florida, or Arizona, or a resort somewhere nice and warm? Holy mackerel, I'm sure you guys could give me great names of U.S. hospitals just in case I needed one, right? Bahamas and some of the islands in the Caribbean have great facilities, if you have the insurance. And as long as I'm in the second trimester, my Doc has no problem with me traveling. Frankly, as long as I keep taking these shots and my progesterone, why not?
Well, Mr.Cotta is extremely paranoid. He doesn't want me to do anything! Well, except domestic stuff, which is far more strenuous than sitting beside a pool, I think. Hmmm, laundry, chauffeuring children and making dinner vs. hanging out in a cabana with my feet up? Yep, staying home sounds veeerrry relaxing. *eyeroll*
The furniture debate is still alive and well, since the coffee table just left, and we need a new entertainment/stereo table as well. Shopping is much harder than I ever thought. Everything seems to be bad quality these days, even in the expensive stores. I'm still working on this one.
And last bitch of the day, I'm having problems with scheduling and confusion around the house. My calendar and contacts haven't been updated properly, and I can't seem to get any proper help organizing paper, and getting it all inputted electronically. My organizer is great with non-paper stuff, but she doesn't do paper, and I really really need to hire an office temp or something. Because right now, I'm completely lost, and I am horribly bad at doing this myself. I always say I will, and then I don't. Time to give up and ask for help.
Thank you for listening to this grumpy bitch session. Done for today, okay?
Friday, November 16, 2007
A man stands up
You know what I find mystifying? That Brenda Batisse is still not getting the help she needs, yet her friends and relatives have LOTS of time to google and blog search for their own names and hers. The number of searches with her name or theirs is enormous. Their narcissism is pretty pathetic actually.
Back on this post, someone left a comment, go look and then read my reply.
Anonymous, I assume you are the boyfriend in question, or a friend or an associate, because none of the men I know in real life would ever have the nerve to make such a pathetic excuse. A real man stands up. He doesn't weasel out of his duty to his family.
So, shut up. We all have to work, but if you have to go out of town, and leave your very far along pregnant girlfriend all alone, then you make sure she has people with her who will watch her and take care of her if she goes into labour early, or has, ohhh, I don't know, ANY problem at all. Obviously no one did. Brenda was abandoned.
You can't just have a baby die at home, go through labour & delivery like that, and not have anyone figure it out. Anything past the first trimester----the whole world knows it, either through the pain, or the blood, or the altered mental status of the woman concerned. For pete's sake, my neighbours, my friends, my associates know everything about my pregnancy just by looking at me. They hear everything, know everything, and I'm in faceless, depersonalized Toronto, for pete's sake! Small towns are supposed to be even worse for nosy neighbours.
The fact is that she didn't feel she could depend on this guy and share the truth, or she would have. Even if she didn't want to call anyone, doctors have lists of people they call in case of emergency labour or a mother or baby death, (They may not say it out loud to pregnant women, but that's why they ask for those names and numbers.) The sheer volume of forms I have already filled out this pregnancy alone with names, phone numbers, contacts is ridiculous, and I'm only 10 weeks along.
The Doctor had to have known something was wrong when she stopped showing up for OB visits. You get measured & examined every single time. And pregnant women don't just disappear and not go to appointments, so why wasn't her Doctor trying to find her?
If the hospital did not call the family, or the boyfriend or the emergency contacts, and get her some help when she was obviously in shock, and mentally traumatized from the loss, then they were negligent. At minimum, the hospital would've needed the father's or family's help to make funeral arrangements, sign legal papers, for birth and death registration, and stillbirth certificates, because it's not a like a body can just disappear.
If the hospital simply ignored all that then the hospital and her Doctor should be sued to within an inch of their lives.
But the lawyers aren't doing that, so that tells me that something else, that something awful is going on in that family.
Again, Brenda needs help, and maybe the system doesn't want to hold her boyfriend or her family or her hospital or her community responsible. They just want to heap blame on her head, and escape any moral or legal responsibility.
Well, tough shit, not on this blog.
HERE, the boyfriend and every other jerk who abandoned her in her time of need takes equal blame, and Brenda gets forgiveness.
Now, get off the net, and go pay attention to your family.
Back on this post, someone left a comment, go look and then read my reply.
Anonymous, I assume you are the boyfriend in question, or a friend or an associate, because none of the men I know in real life would ever have the nerve to make such a pathetic excuse. A real man stands up. He doesn't weasel out of his duty to his family.
So, shut up. We all have to work, but if you have to go out of town, and leave your very far along pregnant girlfriend all alone, then you make sure she has people with her who will watch her and take care of her if she goes into labour early, or has, ohhh, I don't know, ANY problem at all. Obviously no one did. Brenda was abandoned.
You can't just have a baby die at home, go through labour & delivery like that, and not have anyone figure it out. Anything past the first trimester----the whole world knows it, either through the pain, or the blood, or the altered mental status of the woman concerned. For pete's sake, my neighbours, my friends, my associates know everything about my pregnancy just by looking at me. They hear everything, know everything, and I'm in faceless, depersonalized Toronto, for pete's sake! Small towns are supposed to be even worse for nosy neighbours.
The fact is that she didn't feel she could depend on this guy and share the truth, or she would have. Even if she didn't want to call anyone, doctors have lists of people they call in case of emergency labour or a mother or baby death, (They may not say it out loud to pregnant women, but that's why they ask for those names and numbers.) The sheer volume of forms I have already filled out this pregnancy alone with names, phone numbers, contacts is ridiculous, and I'm only 10 weeks along.
The Doctor had to have known something was wrong when she stopped showing up for OB visits. You get measured & examined every single time. And pregnant women don't just disappear and not go to appointments, so why wasn't her Doctor trying to find her?
If the hospital did not call the family, or the boyfriend or the emergency contacts, and get her some help when she was obviously in shock, and mentally traumatized from the loss, then they were negligent. At minimum, the hospital would've needed the father's or family's help to make funeral arrangements, sign legal papers, for birth and death registration, and stillbirth certificates, because it's not a like a body can just disappear.
If the hospital simply ignored all that then the hospital and her Doctor should be sued to within an inch of their lives.
But the lawyers aren't doing that, so that tells me that something else, that something awful is going on in that family.
Again, Brenda needs help, and maybe the system doesn't want to hold her boyfriend or her family or her hospital or her community responsible. They just want to heap blame on her head, and escape any moral or legal responsibility.
Well, tough shit, not on this blog.
HERE, the boyfriend and every other jerk who abandoned her in her time of need takes equal blame, and Brenda gets forgiveness.
Now, get off the net, and go pay attention to your family.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
The long long day
Today we had an ultrasound at 8:15 am, (I did NOT make the appointment time, btw) meaning that in order to drop the kids off at school and get parked and into the high-risk fetal assessment unit, we had to arrange for the kids to be watched at school extra early, eat breakfast, get dressed, and pack skating equipment, hockey equipment, lunches, homework, and gym clothes, in the car by 7:30 am.
Gahhhhhhhhhhhh, too much stress. I have only been in the house for a few minutes today. Not enough rest.
We finally arrive for the US a few minutes late, and the nasty receptionist makes us wait 10 minutes longer, then allows another woman who came later to go in front of us! And she was only there for a vanity scan, with her parents! Plus she was 30 weeks pregnant, pretty damn viable compared to me, her baby was moving a lot, perfectly fine, AND she had the nerve to complain that since she had only had coffee for breakfast so she wasn't sure they could do the scan, and she refused to go drink some juice because she wasn't sure she could get anything kosher. I mean, FUCK, last time I checked it was pretty damned unlikely that orange juice could break a dietary law, and frankly the life and health of your baby should always out rank a religious rule, but if you are THAT committed to a Kosher diet, perhaps you could make sure there were some snacks in your Prada purse or the pockets of your designer maternity outfit?
Or say....maybe just because you are lucky enough to be 30 weeks pregnant with a live baby and perfectly capable of eating, you COULD EAT FUCKING BREAKFAST YOU UNGRATEFUL HO.
You may wonder how I handled this, and no I didn't say what I wanted to, instead I just started to cry right there in the waiting room. Really really cry. My sweet husband held my hand, and patted my shoulder, and many many many minutes later we finally got in to see our ultrasound tech.
The baby has a heartrate of 178 bpm, and is now 3.67 cm long. Which is good, and my own blood pressure is good, and Fred the fibroid is the same or ever so slightly shrinking. The baby was not moving at all, which freaked me out, since it should be moving on ultrasound at 10 weeks, 3 days, but everyone said he/she was sleeping.
So I'm hoping.
In the meantime, I've decided I'm no longer going to wait in any of the damn waiting rooms they have there. I'd rather stand in the hallway. Unless----they start a waiting room for pregnant women who actually give a shit about the life and health of their babies, as opposed to the waiting rooms they have now, which are filled with women who only care about their clothes or squealing about the cute 3D pictures they want to get.
I don't wish these women or their babies a fate like mine, but in all honesty, someone needs to slap some sense into them. They simply don't get it, and they never ever will, and my resentment at their overwhelming sense of privilege sucks all the happiness out the few moments of joy I actually get in this pregnancy.
I have to find a way to ignore them or someday I will slap them IN REAL LIFE. And this baby will be born in prison. Shit.
Gahhhhhhhhhhhh, too much stress. I have only been in the house for a few minutes today. Not enough rest.
We finally arrive for the US a few minutes late, and the nasty receptionist makes us wait 10 minutes longer, then allows another woman who came later to go in front of us! And she was only there for a vanity scan, with her parents! Plus she was 30 weeks pregnant, pretty damn viable compared to me, her baby was moving a lot, perfectly fine, AND she had the nerve to complain that since she had only had coffee for breakfast so she wasn't sure they could do the scan, and she refused to go drink some juice because she wasn't sure she could get anything kosher. I mean, FUCK, last time I checked it was pretty damned unlikely that orange juice could break a dietary law, and frankly the life and health of your baby should always out rank a religious rule, but if you are THAT committed to a Kosher diet, perhaps you could make sure there were some snacks in your Prada purse or the pockets of your designer maternity outfit?
Or say....maybe just because you are lucky enough to be 30 weeks pregnant with a live baby and perfectly capable of eating, you COULD EAT FUCKING BREAKFAST YOU UNGRATEFUL HO.
You may wonder how I handled this, and no I didn't say what I wanted to, instead I just started to cry right there in the waiting room. Really really cry. My sweet husband held my hand, and patted my shoulder, and many many many minutes later we finally got in to see our ultrasound tech.
The baby has a heartrate of 178 bpm, and is now 3.67 cm long. Which is good, and my own blood pressure is good, and Fred the fibroid is the same or ever so slightly shrinking. The baby was not moving at all, which freaked me out, since it should be moving on ultrasound at 10 weeks, 3 days, but everyone said he/she was sleeping.
So I'm hoping.
In the meantime, I've decided I'm no longer going to wait in any of the damn waiting rooms they have there. I'd rather stand in the hallway. Unless----they start a waiting room for pregnant women who actually give a shit about the life and health of their babies, as opposed to the waiting rooms they have now, which are filled with women who only care about their clothes or squealing about the cute 3D pictures they want to get.
I don't wish these women or their babies a fate like mine, but in all honesty, someone needs to slap some sense into them. They simply don't get it, and they never ever will, and my resentment at their overwhelming sense of privilege sucks all the happiness out the few moments of joy I actually get in this pregnancy.
I have to find a way to ignore them or someday I will slap them IN REAL LIFE. And this baby will be born in prison. Shit.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
9 days is too long
My Doctor switched me to Thursdays for my ultrasound for the next two weeks, and then I'll have an appointment with him afterwards. Actually, my appointment is with another doctor for this week, because the original one is on vacation.
Again more change....not my strong suit. Cack....
So, I haven't had an ultrasound for 8 days and 8 hours now, not that I'm counting the time or anything. It's supposed to be 7 days in a week people. I have to wait 7 whole days, and I've managed to wait that long by saying, "Hey, one day at a time, right, it's only 7 days, then 6 days, then 5 days....and then I have to restart my anxiety clock!!!! WTF!" And last night I was completely convinced I was no longer pregnant, even though I was kind of uncertain about my stomach, so uncertain that this morning I felt sick.
And this afternoon, even sicker, so sick I had to stop google chatting. Guess the little bean is still in there.
This post was going to be longer, but I just moved most of it to a word document because I'm a little nervous about it, and I need to rewrite it about seventy or eighty times. Yes, I am a tiny bit stressed over here. How about a joke to lighten the mood?
Last night, I heard that Nancy Grace has given birth to twins at the age of 48. And I don't like her courtroom reporting/antics to begin with, so I turn to Mr.Cotta and raved and ranted "Yet another famous woman telling the public it was her own eggs, all natural, etc. etc. when no infertile gets pregnant over the age 44 without donor egg"!
"It's impossible! Medically impossible!"
His deadpan reply, "I know a woman with diagnosed premature ovarian failure, no eggs left, who got pregnant with her own eggs after everyone said it couldn't happen."
Shutting up now.
Again more change....not my strong suit. Cack....
So, I haven't had an ultrasound for 8 days and 8 hours now, not that I'm counting the time or anything. It's supposed to be 7 days in a week people. I have to wait 7 whole days, and I've managed to wait that long by saying, "Hey, one day at a time, right, it's only 7 days, then 6 days, then 5 days....and then I have to restart my anxiety clock!!!! WTF!" And last night I was completely convinced I was no longer pregnant, even though I was kind of uncertain about my stomach, so uncertain that this morning I felt sick.
And this afternoon, even sicker, so sick I had to stop google chatting. Guess the little bean is still in there.
This post was going to be longer, but I just moved most of it to a word document because I'm a little nervous about it, and I need to rewrite it about seventy or eighty times. Yes, I am a tiny bit stressed over here. How about a joke to lighten the mood?
Last night, I heard that Nancy Grace has given birth to twins at the age of 48. And I don't like her courtroom reporting/antics to begin with, so I turn to Mr.Cotta and raved and ranted "Yet another famous woman telling the public it was her own eggs, all natural, etc. etc. when no infertile gets pregnant over the age 44 without donor egg"!
"It's impossible! Medically impossible!"
His deadpan reply, "I know a woman with diagnosed premature ovarian failure, no eggs left, who got pregnant with her own eggs after everyone said it couldn't happen."
Shutting up now.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Did you know?
...that all the answers to life can be found in Postsecret and The West Wing series?
Just kidding....sort of.
This Sunday's Post Secret was pretty good, I always get something out of it, even if the postcards of the week don't necessarily fit my particular life stress. And every once in awhile, I get a hit of joy.
This week, there was a postcard that quoted the book of Isaiah "I will even make a way in the wilderness." Someone had written on it, "My Pastor always talks about how if people would find God, they wouldn't need pills. I'm Bipolar, but took his advice....My Pastor is an idiot!!!"
And all I could think of is, yes, that pastor is an idiot. That poor person must have gone through hell off their meds.
Well there is an email reply today to that post card which I just loved.
Subject: God, not pills
Sometimes, God answers by giving us the tools to take care of ourselves.
Yes, yes he just might. I've found some good Doctors, fragmin, baby aspirin, antibiotics, and progesterone as some of my tools. I didn't have them before, and lots of people keep telling me they think it's unnatural to take them now. I can't tell you how many idiotic doctors have told me that progesterone causes masculinization of female babies genitals, something totally untrue, and completely awful to imply since a lack of progesterone can cause miscarriage and prematurity.
And implying (even based on crappy science) that it's better to be dead than intersex or transexual is disgusting.
Baby aspirin is completely safe throughout pregnancy and can reduce the risk of miscarriage and preeclampsia. Extremely large doses aspirin and NSAIDS are different and can cause problems, but again, they are different drugs. And Fragmin? Low molecular weight heparin is incredibly safe during pregnancy, and unlike regular heparin, poses no risk of osteoporosis, something I'd be hyperalert to but still willing to risk. Meanwhile, I have friends who know nothing about medicine freaking out on me telling me how terribly dangerous heparin is, and that I could die of a hemorragic stroke, simply by taking it. My eyerolling is going right to the back of my head at this point people.
Odd part is that on the heparin, I have only a couple of bruises, no major bleeding during blood draws, and no bleeding during dental work. Except for the tiredness, I feel fantastic compared to my usual pregnancy hell. Normally, I'd be on the floor sick as a dog, but I'm not. Any chance the fragmin is making my blood clot normally during pregnancy, and if I was pregnant without it, I'd have too many clots, like I did with my last two losses?
I can't help but think, that maybe just maybe something is going to go right this time. Whether I credit doctors or DHEA or dumb luck, or God, or fate, something is very very different and I can't ignore that real physical change in my body this time.
Do I wish I'd had it before? Absolutely....but I can't change the past, and I can't change the fact that my Doctors didn't realize I needed it. Maybe they needed to listen to research and years of medical experience more and to idiots like this preacher less. Maybe conventional wisdom that says all medication is bad, and especially for pregnant women and the mentally ill, is just convention, and not any freakin' wisdom at all.
Maybe the right medication in the right circumstances is the best thing we can do for our health and our lives and by snubbing our noses at science and knowledge we are turning our backs on the greatest gift God has ever given us.
The gifts of intelligence and common sense.
Just kidding....sort of.
This Sunday's Post Secret was pretty good, I always get something out of it, even if the postcards of the week don't necessarily fit my particular life stress. And every once in awhile, I get a hit of joy.
This week, there was a postcard that quoted the book of Isaiah "I will even make a way in the wilderness." Someone had written on it, "My Pastor always talks about how if people would find God, they wouldn't need pills. I'm Bipolar, but took his advice....My Pastor is an idiot!!!"
And all I could think of is, yes, that pastor is an idiot. That poor person must have gone through hell off their meds.
Well there is an email reply today to that post card which I just loved.
Subject: God, not pills
Sometimes, God answers by giving us the tools to take care of ourselves.
Yes, yes he just might. I've found some good Doctors, fragmin, baby aspirin, antibiotics, and progesterone as some of my tools. I didn't have them before, and lots of people keep telling me they think it's unnatural to take them now. I can't tell you how many idiotic doctors have told me that progesterone causes masculinization of female babies genitals, something totally untrue, and completely awful to imply since a lack of progesterone can cause miscarriage and prematurity.
And implying (even based on crappy science) that it's better to be dead than intersex or transexual is disgusting.
Baby aspirin is completely safe throughout pregnancy and can reduce the risk of miscarriage and preeclampsia. Extremely large doses aspirin and NSAIDS are different and can cause problems, but again, they are different drugs. And Fragmin? Low molecular weight heparin is incredibly safe during pregnancy, and unlike regular heparin, poses no risk of osteoporosis, something I'd be hyperalert to but still willing to risk. Meanwhile, I have friends who know nothing about medicine freaking out on me telling me how terribly dangerous heparin is, and that I could die of a hemorragic stroke, simply by taking it. My eyerolling is going right to the back of my head at this point people.
Odd part is that on the heparin, I have only a couple of bruises, no major bleeding during blood draws, and no bleeding during dental work. Except for the tiredness, I feel fantastic compared to my usual pregnancy hell. Normally, I'd be on the floor sick as a dog, but I'm not. Any chance the fragmin is making my blood clot normally during pregnancy, and if I was pregnant without it, I'd have too many clots, like I did with my last two losses?
I can't help but think, that maybe just maybe something is going to go right this time. Whether I credit doctors or DHEA or dumb luck, or God, or fate, something is very very different and I can't ignore that real physical change in my body this time.
Do I wish I'd had it before? Absolutely....but I can't change the past, and I can't change the fact that my Doctors didn't realize I needed it. Maybe they needed to listen to research and years of medical experience more and to idiots like this preacher less. Maybe conventional wisdom that says all medication is bad, and especially for pregnant women and the mentally ill, is just convention, and not any freakin' wisdom at all.
Maybe the right medication in the right circumstances is the best thing we can do for our health and our lives and by snubbing our noses at science and knowledge we are turning our backs on the greatest gift God has ever given us.
The gifts of intelligence and common sense.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Every post
...I write lately seems to start with I'm tired, or I'm cranky, or I feel like crap.
But, it's true. I'm completely beyond exhausted, and I feel like a really ungrateful bitch not to be enjoying every second of this pregnancy after wanting it for so long. I mean, aren't I supposed to be running through a field of buttercups wearing a lovely white eyelet dress, and a straw hat, singing joy and happiness at every turn?
Instead I'm periodically breaking into tears, sobbing like a fool, over whether or not the potatoes will cook in time for the meat and grilled veg. Not that I can eat said meal....everything I eat tastes like paste, except for Halloween candy, and lemon pudding. I don't have nausea and vomiting per se, just an incredibly bad taste in my mouth at all times. I even went to the dentist to get a cleaning, thinking hey, maybe I just have a cavity, or some buildup? Nope... and funnily enough, even though I'm on all these blood thinners, I hardly bled compared to how I usually bleed after someone has poked at my gums with sharp instruments.
Worst neurosis? Last night, I couldn't sleep a wink because Kaz was out at a sleepover and he had left our house crying for various reasons. First he thought his favourite TV show couldn't tape because we had lost the TV clicker, then he didn't want to bring a very special & expensive model set and the other boy was pressuring him to bring it. Kaz didn't know how to say no to the kid, so he was bringing it, head held low, and I stopped him, pulled him aside quietly, and asked him if he wanted me to say no, and be the bad guy.
He looked relieved, so I did. I took the set out of his arms, put it back in his room, and told him to tell his friend that Kaz had a mean mother. Trouble was, part of the model set was already in the other kid's car, and I couldn't get it back, but at least it was in one piece, and it could come back that way the next morning, which it did.
The other kid is really a nice kid btw, Kaz is just reluctant to tell other people how he feels. He's very quiet and even stoic, until he falls apart, like last night. And the big thing that made him fall apart, wasn't toys or TV shows.
It was the new baby, or rather, what might happen with the new baby, and the uncertainty. I don't think he really wanted anyone to know about my pregnancy, because he knows the odds are slim it will work out. He remembers every loss, every time he got his hopes up, and every time it didn't work. At 11, he's an old soul, and he's no fool.
I didn't want to tell him yet, but he walked in on me weeks ago injecting heparin, and rather than telling my son a lie, like "Momma's doing drugs", I told him the far scarier truth, that I'm pregnant again, and Christ knows what will happen this time, but I'm taking medication, and here's hoping! He's been running around ever since, trying to help me carry things, lifting things, making dinner, offering to come with me to ultrasounds, support me during labour; completely invested in the process.
And then last week, Mac overheard a phone conversation I was having with a Doctor's office regarding appointment times---and figured it all out in three seconds flat. One minute after that he was already having anxiety about whether or not he was ready to be a Big Brother, where would the baby sleep, what toys he should get out of the basement....also getting ahead of himself and totally over invested in the process.
Yes, they are related to me, why do you ask?
Anyway, I thought they were doing okay, but then Mac tells Kaz's friend I'm pregnant and Kaz didn't want him to know yet and erupts in tears right there in the car, and is overly sensitive the rest of the night. The friend was very nice about it, very cool, still Mac shouldn't have said anything.
I felt absolutely awful, just terrible the entire night because I kept worrying that he needed to talk to me or be with me, or ask me something, and he was not with me. Anyway, we've talked some more today, and he seems fine, but I wonder.
The next time someone tells you that we're lucky, parents who have living children after infertility and loss, just remind them, it's not just about the adults, but our surviving children. They don't get a free pass from grief and anguish and worry. Even if we never tell them, the littlest ones can sense stress, they pick it up like sponges from the atmosphere around us. And if we do share and are open, is that any better? I felt I should tell them the truth in age appropriate ways, in ways they can understand, so I did. And now I can't unring the bell.
Even if this pregnancy works out, I wonder how much I've damaged my boys in my quest to have the big family I've always dreamed of. When I saw the tears dripping down my little boy's face, the guilt and blame were overwhelming.
I should've told him I was doing heroin when I had the chance.
But, it's true. I'm completely beyond exhausted, and I feel like a really ungrateful bitch not to be enjoying every second of this pregnancy after wanting it for so long. I mean, aren't I supposed to be running through a field of buttercups wearing a lovely white eyelet dress, and a straw hat, singing joy and happiness at every turn?
Instead I'm periodically breaking into tears, sobbing like a fool, over whether or not the potatoes will cook in time for the meat and grilled veg. Not that I can eat said meal....everything I eat tastes like paste, except for Halloween candy, and lemon pudding. I don't have nausea and vomiting per se, just an incredibly bad taste in my mouth at all times. I even went to the dentist to get a cleaning, thinking hey, maybe I just have a cavity, or some buildup? Nope... and funnily enough, even though I'm on all these blood thinners, I hardly bled compared to how I usually bleed after someone has poked at my gums with sharp instruments.
Worst neurosis? Last night, I couldn't sleep a wink because Kaz was out at a sleepover and he had left our house crying for various reasons. First he thought his favourite TV show couldn't tape because we had lost the TV clicker, then he didn't want to bring a very special & expensive model set and the other boy was pressuring him to bring it. Kaz didn't know how to say no to the kid, so he was bringing it, head held low, and I stopped him, pulled him aside quietly, and asked him if he wanted me to say no, and be the bad guy.
He looked relieved, so I did. I took the set out of his arms, put it back in his room, and told him to tell his friend that Kaz had a mean mother. Trouble was, part of the model set was already in the other kid's car, and I couldn't get it back, but at least it was in one piece, and it could come back that way the next morning, which it did.
The other kid is really a nice kid btw, Kaz is just reluctant to tell other people how he feels. He's very quiet and even stoic, until he falls apart, like last night. And the big thing that made him fall apart, wasn't toys or TV shows.
It was the new baby, or rather, what might happen with the new baby, and the uncertainty. I don't think he really wanted anyone to know about my pregnancy, because he knows the odds are slim it will work out. He remembers every loss, every time he got his hopes up, and every time it didn't work. At 11, he's an old soul, and he's no fool.
I didn't want to tell him yet, but he walked in on me weeks ago injecting heparin, and rather than telling my son a lie, like "Momma's doing drugs", I told him the far scarier truth, that I'm pregnant again, and Christ knows what will happen this time, but I'm taking medication, and here's hoping! He's been running around ever since, trying to help me carry things, lifting things, making dinner, offering to come with me to ultrasounds, support me during labour; completely invested in the process.
And then last week, Mac overheard a phone conversation I was having with a Doctor's office regarding appointment times---and figured it all out in three seconds flat. One minute after that he was already having anxiety about whether or not he was ready to be a Big Brother, where would the baby sleep, what toys he should get out of the basement....also getting ahead of himself and totally over invested in the process.
Yes, they are related to me, why do you ask?
Anyway, I thought they were doing okay, but then Mac tells Kaz's friend I'm pregnant and Kaz didn't want him to know yet and erupts in tears right there in the car, and is overly sensitive the rest of the night. The friend was very nice about it, very cool, still Mac shouldn't have said anything.
I felt absolutely awful, just terrible the entire night because I kept worrying that he needed to talk to me or be with me, or ask me something, and he was not with me. Anyway, we've talked some more today, and he seems fine, but I wonder.
The next time someone tells you that we're lucky, parents who have living children after infertility and loss, just remind them, it's not just about the adults, but our surviving children. They don't get a free pass from grief and anguish and worry. Even if we never tell them, the littlest ones can sense stress, they pick it up like sponges from the atmosphere around us. And if we do share and are open, is that any better? I felt I should tell them the truth in age appropriate ways, in ways they can understand, so I did. And now I can't unring the bell.
Even if this pregnancy works out, I wonder how much I've damaged my boys in my quest to have the big family I've always dreamed of. When I saw the tears dripping down my little boy's face, the guilt and blame were overwhelming.
I should've told him I was doing heroin when I had the chance.
Friday, November 09, 2007
A Tantrum
Dear friends, to understand this post, you need to read it as if it was written while I was having a temper tantrum, just like a two year old, lying on the floor, flailing my hands and feet, and yelling. It was written yesterday and not posted til now.
"My little headache is getting bigger. I can barely see this screen, my eyes are blurring now. I managed a few comments today and some reading blogs but not much.
I'm beginning to realize that my issue around these Doc is not so much what they do, as it is, who they are.
They are NEW.
I don't like change. I don't like anything different or odd or anything I'm unprepared for in any way. It's sort of my ADD, and sort of my general discomfort with male Doctors. I am STILL unclear as to why men practice OB/Gyn or infertility medicine. I think they must get bored looking at all the hoo-haas, so what is it?
In times of crisis, I need comfort and familiarity. I want to eat mashed potatoes and hide in my house and only go to places I have been many times before. I really really don't want to have to break in a new doctor once again, and a new therapist.
With my GP, Dr.J. I don't have to explain anything ever. She knows me perfectly. But she isn't delivering babies anymore because she wants to do something else, like not stay up all night or something. She can still see me as a GP, but not for the big stuff, like my ultrasounds, or for my delivery. And I hate that. Magical thinking be damned, I want her, and she just has to be there, and gahhhhhhhhhh, this sucks.
As for therapists, more gahhhhhh the woman who knew me really well moved to the East Coast 3 years ago, and Dr.M, who took forever to get to know me, and finally does, works for a program that is not allowed any repeat clients.
So any therapist I see, will have to educated completely about ADD, about complicated grief, and perinatal bereavement. You see, none of these subjects are discussed in any therapy training programs, since ADD is an imaginary disease, that only young hyper boys and drug-seeking adults get; complicated grief is easily conquered if we "just get over it" maybe take a bunch of ADs or something; and of course, what's a baby death? Bahhh, nothing big....
Right?
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I just don't have the energy to train a bunch of new doctors right. I am to tired, I hate this, I want to everything to be easier. I just don't want to be me right now. I want to be the innocent stupid little first time preggo that I was pregnant.
I want to go back in time."
I still feel this way, but I'm less tired and cranky than I was last night when I wrote this. We have a day off school today and we're all going to the Royal Winter Fair together. Hopefully, thinking about something besides my uterus will keep me calm. See you later.
"My little headache is getting bigger. I can barely see this screen, my eyes are blurring now. I managed a few comments today and some reading blogs but not much.
I'm beginning to realize that my issue around these Doc is not so much what they do, as it is, who they are.
They are NEW.
I don't like change. I don't like anything different or odd or anything I'm unprepared for in any way. It's sort of my ADD, and sort of my general discomfort with male Doctors. I am STILL unclear as to why men practice OB/Gyn or infertility medicine. I think they must get bored looking at all the hoo-haas, so what is it?
In times of crisis, I need comfort and familiarity. I want to eat mashed potatoes and hide in my house and only go to places I have been many times before. I really really don't want to have to break in a new doctor once again, and a new therapist.
With my GP, Dr.J. I don't have to explain anything ever. She knows me perfectly. But she isn't delivering babies anymore because she wants to do something else, like not stay up all night or something. She can still see me as a GP, but not for the big stuff, like my ultrasounds, or for my delivery. And I hate that. Magical thinking be damned, I want her, and she just has to be there, and gahhhhhhhhhh, this sucks.
As for therapists, more gahhhhhh the woman who knew me really well moved to the East Coast 3 years ago, and Dr.M, who took forever to get to know me, and finally does, works for a program that is not allowed any repeat clients.
So any therapist I see, will have to educated completely about ADD, about complicated grief, and perinatal bereavement. You see, none of these subjects are discussed in any therapy training programs, since ADD is an imaginary disease, that only young hyper boys and drug-seeking adults get; complicated grief is easily conquered if we "just get over it" maybe take a bunch of ADs or something; and of course, what's a baby death? Bahhh, nothing big....
Right?
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I just don't have the energy to train a bunch of new doctors right. I am to tired, I hate this, I want to everything to be easier. I just don't want to be me right now. I want to be the innocent stupid little first time preggo that I was pregnant.
I want to go back in time."
I still feel this way, but I'm less tired and cranky than I was last night when I wrote this. We have a day off school today and we're all going to the Royal Winter Fair together. Hopefully, thinking about something besides my uterus will keep me calm. See you later.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
An interesting meeting with a Doc
I'm a little unsure of my objectivity about the meeting I just had with this really nice high-risk OB.
He's kind, well-recommended, well-published, at my favourite hospital, willing to do whatever I need in terms of ultrasounds, prenatal care, amnio, phoning me with any results, and he passed my screening when I checked him out on Google and ten different other search engines and Lexis-Nexis. Plus he gets ADD because of some family issues and told me so, which really rocks. Makes life soooo much easier.
I was a bit hysterical during the visit and kind of lost it when he asked about delivery and inductions. I broke down when I told him I didn't really believe that I would make it that far, so I couldn't have that conversation yet. He agreed we could leave it alone for now. I forgot to tell him several important medical things, and I'm emailing him the pathology reports I left at home.
I think I was in denial about being in an OB's office and pregnant. There were a couple of innocent little preggos in the waiting room having some silly conversation about how much weight they gained and whether their hair still looked good. I REALLY wanted to tell them they were lucky they didn't have dead babies, so fuck their hair, but I held back. I thought it was admirable of me. Yes?
Anyway, my hysteria and temporary brain freeze convinced him I was in need of mental support. (Shit, failed the public nutbar test again...) I couldn't mention blogging, so I told him about my last Doc, who I did EMDR with, but she isn't allowed to see me because of program rules, so that won't work. He's referring me to another shrink who deals with reproductive life stresses, etc. but I'm not sure I feel like doing that, because I can honestly say that Dr.M. was the ONLY mental health professional I've ever met who wasn't mentally off themselves. It's like they all go into the profession to try and figure out why they are so fucked up, and come out thinking they are "cured", when really they are just in denial again. Plus, I have to deal with anti-ADD attitudes every time I meet a new Doc and I'm not sure I have the energy. Sigh....I'm taking this one under advisement.
You may be wondering, why do background checks? Well, I've met some wonderful Docs and some BAD Docs, and while every OB on earth makes mistakes and every OB has been sued, how they handle issues can really make a difference to a patient. As the wife of a lawyer I've learned that lawsuits never give you a sense of emotional satisfaction, and sure as hell never give you a sense of justice. (Money you can get, but that doesn't replace a dead baby.) Aaah, now honest admissions of guilt and apologies? The earnest pledge to learn from mistakes and do better the next time? Those are the things that have helped me to heal and move on when someone has wronged me in the past. Hiding, lying, obfuscating, dismissing my pain, always seems to leave me damaged and angry.
Seems obvious, no? Sigh, not always to members of the medical profession.
Anyway, I know some other people who have seen this Doc, including some women who have had successful pregnancies and a few who have had losses. And they all say that he is open and honest about what has happened and why, decisions that were made, and why others were not. In a high-risk OB practice, there will be dead babies, because not every pregnancy can be saved. And not every spur of the moment decision under stress will not always be right. It is inevitable that Doctors will be wrong.
When he made a mistake during a pregnancy with my close friend from my bereavement group, he admitted it, and deeply sincerely apologized. She went back to him for her subsequent pregnancies, both successful and it all went well. I've never heard of another person ever having an issue with him, and it may be irrelevant.
But this is my tiny sticking point. He DID make a mistake. A tiny one, one that any Doc could make, and it resulted in a miscarriage. And there are no perfect Doctors, anywhere. After many years of attending bereavement support groups and reading stories online, I know that I won't find a perfect one. I've heard the names of every Doctor & hospital in Toronto now slammed and blamed for killing someone's baby. It's like we all need someone to focus our anger on, logic be damned, and so we pick a random medical person who may have said or done something shitty, and we zero in on them like a laser beam. (And sometimes ignore the other medical or non-medical person who actually DID fuck up...)
That anger is not helpful for me anymore. I need to leave that kind of stress behind and focus on the here and now.
I need a doctor and this one fits the bill, now if I could just get over my magical desire to find THE PERFECT ONE.
Any assvice? I need it.
He's kind, well-recommended, well-published, at my favourite hospital, willing to do whatever I need in terms of ultrasounds, prenatal care, amnio, phoning me with any results, and he passed my screening when I checked him out on Google and ten different other search engines and Lexis-Nexis. Plus he gets ADD because of some family issues and told me so, which really rocks. Makes life soooo much easier.
I was a bit hysterical during the visit and kind of lost it when he asked about delivery and inductions. I broke down when I told him I didn't really believe that I would make it that far, so I couldn't have that conversation yet. He agreed we could leave it alone for now. I forgot to tell him several important medical things, and I'm emailing him the pathology reports I left at home.
I think I was in denial about being in an OB's office and pregnant. There were a couple of innocent little preggos in the waiting room having some silly conversation about how much weight they gained and whether their hair still looked good. I REALLY wanted to tell them they were lucky they didn't have dead babies, so fuck their hair, but I held back. I thought it was admirable of me. Yes?
Anyway, my hysteria and temporary brain freeze convinced him I was in need of mental support. (Shit, failed the public nutbar test again...) I couldn't mention blogging, so I told him about my last Doc, who I did EMDR with, but she isn't allowed to see me because of program rules, so that won't work. He's referring me to another shrink who deals with reproductive life stresses, etc. but I'm not sure I feel like doing that, because I can honestly say that Dr.M. was the ONLY mental health professional I've ever met who wasn't mentally off themselves. It's like they all go into the profession to try and figure out why they are so fucked up, and come out thinking they are "cured", when really they are just in denial again. Plus, I have to deal with anti-ADD attitudes every time I meet a new Doc and I'm not sure I have the energy. Sigh....I'm taking this one under advisement.
You may be wondering, why do background checks? Well, I've met some wonderful Docs and some BAD Docs, and while every OB on earth makes mistakes and every OB has been sued, how they handle issues can really make a difference to a patient. As the wife of a lawyer I've learned that lawsuits never give you a sense of emotional satisfaction, and sure as hell never give you a sense of justice. (Money you can get, but that doesn't replace a dead baby.) Aaah, now honest admissions of guilt and apologies? The earnest pledge to learn from mistakes and do better the next time? Those are the things that have helped me to heal and move on when someone has wronged me in the past. Hiding, lying, obfuscating, dismissing my pain, always seems to leave me damaged and angry.
Seems obvious, no? Sigh, not always to members of the medical profession.
Anyway, I know some other people who have seen this Doc, including some women who have had successful pregnancies and a few who have had losses. And they all say that he is open and honest about what has happened and why, decisions that were made, and why others were not. In a high-risk OB practice, there will be dead babies, because not every pregnancy can be saved. And not every spur of the moment decision under stress will not always be right. It is inevitable that Doctors will be wrong.
When he made a mistake during a pregnancy with my close friend from my bereavement group, he admitted it, and deeply sincerely apologized. She went back to him for her subsequent pregnancies, both successful and it all went well. I've never heard of another person ever having an issue with him, and it may be irrelevant.
But this is my tiny sticking point. He DID make a mistake. A tiny one, one that any Doc could make, and it resulted in a miscarriage. And there are no perfect Doctors, anywhere. After many years of attending bereavement support groups and reading stories online, I know that I won't find a perfect one. I've heard the names of every Doctor & hospital in Toronto now slammed and blamed for killing someone's baby. It's like we all need someone to focus our anger on, logic be damned, and so we pick a random medical person who may have said or done something shitty, and we zero in on them like a laser beam. (And sometimes ignore the other medical or non-medical person who actually DID fuck up...)
That anger is not helpful for me anymore. I need to leave that kind of stress behind and focus on the here and now.
I need a doctor and this one fits the bill, now if I could just get over my magical desire to find THE PERFECT ONE.
Any assvice? I need it.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
9 weeks, 1 day
Yep, the fetbryo is still alive, little heart beating away. Today it was 2.5 cm for CRL (Crown rump length), and 163 bpm. Fred the fibroid is shrinking ever so slightly, so it many be possible that it will not interfere from here on out. Of course, the shrinking is causing me some slight pain, since it's happening at the same time that my uterus is growing.
But that's okay, as long as I know it's Fred!
Best part of the US? The baby was moving! Tiny little flutters, little bits moving here and there. Very very encouraging, since movement is a good sign of development. Next week or the week after we should be able to get lots more movement, if things continue on properly.
They were able to use the US machine abdominally and get clear pictures, which was interesting. I'm not sure if I like that or not, since between the UTI I still seem to have and my perennially small bladder, transvaginal is less painful than having someone push on my body like a squishy overfilled water balloon.
Of course, transvaginal can be slightly creepy if you aren't used to it, or if you have an US operator who is driving you crazy with the poking and prodding etc.
So, hey, any preferences out there? Which one do you guys like better, and when, and why: dildocam or probe on the tummy?
But that's okay, as long as I know it's Fred!
Best part of the US? The baby was moving! Tiny little flutters, little bits moving here and there. Very very encouraging, since movement is a good sign of development. Next week or the week after we should be able to get lots more movement, if things continue on properly.
They were able to use the US machine abdominally and get clear pictures, which was interesting. I'm not sure if I like that or not, since between the UTI I still seem to have and my perennially small bladder, transvaginal is less painful than having someone push on my body like a squishy overfilled water balloon.
Of course, transvaginal can be slightly creepy if you aren't used to it, or if you have an US operator who is driving you crazy with the poking and prodding etc.
So, hey, any preferences out there? Which one do you guys like better, and when, and why: dildocam or probe on the tummy?
Monday, November 05, 2007
I have someone new to admire
There was a story in the paper recently about a woman who kidnapped a newborn baby from a hospital, and the circumstances of the kidnapper, who turned out to be a grieving woman who had just lost a pregnancy, and has....oh how can I put this? ZERO social and family support.
A lovely quote from a family member:"We think she must have had a miscarriage or lost it somehow, and it really screwed her up emotionally,” Dean Presseault says.
First of all Dean, a miscarriage happens BEFORE 20 weeks, and this woman was close to nine months along, which is a stillbirth. A pregnancy loss, completely unacknowledged by family and friends, and dismissed as nothing, isn't some minor league twisted ankle.
IT'S THE NFL YOU JACKASS.
And last time I checked, "screwed up emotionally" isn't in the DSM-IV anywhere. You know, in case you were thinking of attempting some compassion. Her aunt was talking today about her "difficult"past. Sigh....someone needs to tell these people to stop talking to the media and get her a lawyer, something no one has bothered to do. Reality is that this poor woman most likely knew she couldn't depend on her family or boyfriend to be there for her, or offer any support at all, so she hid the loss and lost her mind. Who can blame her?
The weekend update discusses how her boyfriend is being let out of jail since police think he wasn't involved. Yep, the guy was so close and loving and kind to the mother of his child, that he had no clue she had lost a baby. Hmmm, can any of you imagine your significant other not touching your stomach, not knowing that far along? Or perhaps the hospital she lost the baby at never called him, the most likely emergency contact, because hey, who cares about women with dead babies, right? They don't need compassion or dignity at aaaaaallllll.......
As you can see, my sarcasm dial has been cranked pretty high today.
So it was wonderful to read a Letter to the Editor in the Globe today that actually was brilliant, kind, and intelligent, unlike say...ALL of the media coverage to date.
It was written by Jennifer Cypher, my new hero.
I've been cared for after a loss, and I've been abandoned, and trust me, it makes a huge difference in how you react in the long-term. This letter is just about the only thing I've read that has even touched that concept.
I'm very glad the baby is back with it's own Mom and Dad, now I just hope the justice system can treat Brenda Batisse with compassion and decency. Cause both moms lost babies, and only one is getting her own child back.
A lovely quote from a family member:"We think she must have had a miscarriage or lost it somehow, and it really screwed her up emotionally,” Dean Presseault says.
First of all Dean, a miscarriage happens BEFORE 20 weeks, and this woman was close to nine months along, which is a stillbirth. A pregnancy loss, completely unacknowledged by family and friends, and dismissed as nothing, isn't some minor league twisted ankle.
IT'S THE NFL YOU JACKASS.
And last time I checked, "screwed up emotionally" isn't in the DSM-IV anywhere. You know, in case you were thinking of attempting some compassion. Her aunt was talking today about her "difficult"past. Sigh....someone needs to tell these people to stop talking to the media and get her a lawyer, something no one has bothered to do. Reality is that this poor woman most likely knew she couldn't depend on her family or boyfriend to be there for her, or offer any support at all, so she hid the loss and lost her mind. Who can blame her?
The weekend update discusses how her boyfriend is being let out of jail since police think he wasn't involved. Yep, the guy was so close and loving and kind to the mother of his child, that he had no clue she had lost a baby. Hmmm, can any of you imagine your significant other not touching your stomach, not knowing that far along? Or perhaps the hospital she lost the baby at never called him, the most likely emergency contact, because hey, who cares about women with dead babies, right? They don't need compassion or dignity at aaaaaallllll.......
As you can see, my sarcasm dial has been cranked pretty high today.
So it was wonderful to read a Letter to the Editor in the Globe today that actually was brilliant, kind, and intelligent, unlike say...ALL of the media coverage to date.
It was written by Jennifer Cypher, my new hero.
After children die
Toronto -- Re Woman Charged With Abduction Was Pregnant (Nov. 3): I have had one miscarriage, and one of my children died shortly after birth. My heart stood still when I heard the reports of the baby abducted on Thursday. I felt sure that the woman involved had had losses of her own.
Supports for parents who have lost children are lacking, and our culture is unable to deal with child death on almost any level. Our midwives and doctors were wonderful, and we had a lot of support from family and friends, but extended professional help was extremely difficult to find.
Most people would rather do almost anything than hang around with people who have dead children.
I loved the last line the best.I've been cared for after a loss, and I've been abandoned, and trust me, it makes a huge difference in how you react in the long-term. This letter is just about the only thing I've read that has even touched that concept.
I'm very glad the baby is back with it's own Mom and Dad, now I just hope the justice system can treat Brenda Batisse with compassion and decency. Cause both moms lost babies, and only one is getting her own child back.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Fuzzy thinking
Many fuzzy bunnies have been hopping around my head. I'm wiped tired, and unable to string a decent sentence together.
There are a dozen things I want to blog about and comment about, but none of them make any damn sense, because I want to blog about them, but I don't want anyone to KNOW I'm blogging about them. Kind of difficult on the internet, no?
Like some crazy Jesus freaks I found on the net, who believe in dominating their wives and hurting them and the wives think it's OKAY because they deserve it. (And no, this isn't consensual sex play, this has no safe words, it's just creepy.) Stockholm Syndrome personified. The ultimate trainwreck of all time. I swear if I could find these women in real life, I'd call 911 in a heartbeat. Blech, I have to stop thinking about this.
And then there is the infamous journalist wannabe mommyblogger who now has a kid going to school. She blogs under her own name, and unlike with us pseudononymous bloggers, I think she has a certain responsibility to shut up when she blogs about someone she knows, because she and her blog target could be recognized by others. I take great care to not identify anyone by name unless they are a public figure and a fair target. IMO, any logical person would try to be nice to the other parents, and say nothing about the teachers and school on her blog that wasn't perfectly lovely.
But not her....instead my dear friend got blogged about and denigrated for asking this woman to be the parent class rep. and possibly volunteer for various school trips, skating, etc. Now, lots of parents don't volunteer at the school, and lots of people don't want to be involved, but what's the harm in politely asking? They asked everybody else. Like SHE'S so special?
I guess to a woman who truly never wanted to be pregnant or have a child and has written about her disgust and dislike for the entire process in the newspapers for years, it makes sense that she wouldn't actually want to be involved with her kid's school. And no---she didn't write the stuff we write, like wow, I love my kids, but geez this part is hard/frustrating/boring, yadda, yadda. Instead she has used her kid for column and book fodder like so much trash. Like? She hired a nanny full-time right away so wouldn't have to actually change a diaper or make a bottle, and wrote about it. She refused to even attempt breastfeeding because she didn't want saggy breasts. (She has them anyway...she'd fail the pencil test by a mile.) She asked for a medically unnecessary c-section because she didn't want to her vagina to stretch out. (Who cares about the whole dead baby risk of medically unneeded c-sections, having a dead kid is no big whoop, right my friends? *eyeroll*) Once, as a bet, a bunch of us scanned through all her columns and books, and did not read one complimentary, kind, loving word about her daughter until the kid was nine months old!
This woman truly makes motherhood sound worse than the Bataan Death March.
Anyway, some of you will know who I'm talking about, if you want confirmation, leave your email in the comments, or email me and ask. Don't write her name in the comments. I'm not linking to her---because someday her daughter will learn how to use Google, and discover Mommy Dearest never actually gave a shit about her except to make a quick buck. Well, it won't be from this blog.
And yes, in case you are wondering, my daughter Mira would be the same age as her daughter is now, except that she died. The irony.....
There are a dozen things I want to blog about and comment about, but none of them make any damn sense, because I want to blog about them, but I don't want anyone to KNOW I'm blogging about them. Kind of difficult on the internet, no?
Like some crazy Jesus freaks I found on the net, who believe in dominating their wives and hurting them and the wives think it's OKAY because they deserve it. (And no, this isn't consensual sex play, this has no safe words, it's just creepy.) Stockholm Syndrome personified. The ultimate trainwreck of all time. I swear if I could find these women in real life, I'd call 911 in a heartbeat. Blech, I have to stop thinking about this.
And then there is the infamous journalist wannabe mommyblogger who now has a kid going to school. She blogs under her own name, and unlike with us pseudononymous bloggers, I think she has a certain responsibility to shut up when she blogs about someone she knows, because she and her blog target could be recognized by others. I take great care to not identify anyone by name unless they are a public figure and a fair target. IMO, any logical person would try to be nice to the other parents, and say nothing about the teachers and school on her blog that wasn't perfectly lovely.
But not her....instead my dear friend got blogged about and denigrated for asking this woman to be the parent class rep. and possibly volunteer for various school trips, skating, etc. Now, lots of parents don't volunteer at the school, and lots of people don't want to be involved, but what's the harm in politely asking? They asked everybody else. Like SHE'S so special?
I guess to a woman who truly never wanted to be pregnant or have a child and has written about her disgust and dislike for the entire process in the newspapers for years, it makes sense that she wouldn't actually want to be involved with her kid's school. And no---she didn't write the stuff we write, like wow, I love my kids, but geez this part is hard/frustrating/boring, yadda, yadda. Instead she has used her kid for column and book fodder like so much trash. Like? She hired a nanny full-time right away so wouldn't have to actually change a diaper or make a bottle, and wrote about it. She refused to even attempt breastfeeding because she didn't want saggy breasts. (She has them anyway...she'd fail the pencil test by a mile.) She asked for a medically unnecessary c-section because she didn't want to her vagina to stretch out. (Who cares about the whole dead baby risk of medically unneeded c-sections, having a dead kid is no big whoop, right my friends? *eyeroll*) Once, as a bet, a bunch of us scanned through all her columns and books, and did not read one complimentary, kind, loving word about her daughter until the kid was nine months old!
This woman truly makes motherhood sound worse than the Bataan Death March.
Anyway, some of you will know who I'm talking about, if you want confirmation, leave your email in the comments, or email me and ask. Don't write her name in the comments. I'm not linking to her---because someday her daughter will learn how to use Google, and discover Mommy Dearest never actually gave a shit about her except to make a quick buck. Well, it won't be from this blog.
And yes, in case you are wondering, my daughter Mira would be the same age as her daughter is now, except that she died. The irony.....
Friday, November 02, 2007
taking care
I'm not sure if it's normal pregnancy blahs, or if I'm feeling extra stressed or even some depression, but I'm just not doing a very good job at keeping myself together.
Mentally I'm full of fuzz. I'm losing appointments, not filling out my calendar, not paying bills, getting everyone into school late....
Emotionally I'm alternating between goofy moments where I wander around baby stores and stare at things to buy, and sit here saddened beyond reason convinced I'm about to miscarry.
Physically, I'm taking all the medication I'm supposed to, but I seem to have a UTI of some sort of non-specific bacterial origin. Both urine samples came back showing multiple bacteria, possibly contamination, but enough bacteria that it's unlikely my screw-up, more like a lab screwup. The UTI seems to be causing soreness, and cramping and tugging around my uterus. It's not round ligament pain, because I know what that is, more like tiny electric shocks in my cervix and little stabbing pains. I thought it was just Fred the Fibroid, but now---time to take some antibiotics I think.
And I seem to have some sort of insomnia. Which makes me paranoid. I'm tired all day, but late at night, I wake up.
So I just sat in front of my Golite for an hour. I need to reset my clock, get a little less depressed, get some quality sleep. Everyday, everyday, I need to keep on an even keel.
Mentally I'm full of fuzz. I'm losing appointments, not filling out my calendar, not paying bills, getting everyone into school late....
Emotionally I'm alternating between goofy moments where I wander around baby stores and stare at things to buy, and sit here saddened beyond reason convinced I'm about to miscarry.
Physically, I'm taking all the medication I'm supposed to, but I seem to have a UTI of some sort of non-specific bacterial origin. Both urine samples came back showing multiple bacteria, possibly contamination, but enough bacteria that it's unlikely my screw-up, more like a lab screwup. The UTI seems to be causing soreness, and cramping and tugging around my uterus. It's not round ligament pain, because I know what that is, more like tiny electric shocks in my cervix and little stabbing pains. I thought it was just Fred the Fibroid, but now---time to take some antibiotics I think.
And I seem to have some sort of insomnia. Which makes me paranoid. I'm tired all day, but late at night, I wake up.
So I just sat in front of my Golite for an hour. I need to reset my clock, get a little less depressed, get some quality sleep. Everyday, everyday, I need to keep on an even keel.
late again
I was thinking about posting for NaBloPoMo, but then I realized that every single deadline I've ever been given in life I've missed.
So here we are, Nov.2nd, my first post, a day late. Can you say, "ADD"?
To be honest, I'm a little blah. Only two comments on my last post? I haven't had that few in a quite a wee while. I guess you guys really really don't enjoy when I talk politics, or relate the personal to politics.
I know---you're into va-jay-jays more. Don't worry, I'm sure there will be a crisis with my uterus of death soon.
I'm too tired to delete that right now. Yes more "inappropriate verbal impulsivity".
Sooo, yes, my new couch arrived, and so did the coffee table. The couch is great. We may need to buy another section to insert on one end, because we have the space. I'm waiting to decide. The coffee table is going back to the store. I'm supposed to assemble it myself! And it was supposed to be real wood, and it's got a chipboard core! For $600 freakin' dollars? No, no, no, if I want off-gassing chipboard, made in China, that I have to bloody well assemble myself I'm going to Ikea and paying waaaaay less than that, thanks.
Oh, the kids had great fun on Halloween, and are now crashing from the sugar high from hell. They wandered around tonight, whining, crying, and sadly moaning about various inconsequential things, and finally went to bed after I pointed out that eating a hundred pounds of sugar in 24 straight hours might be affecting their mood, and perhaps they'd like to sleep it off?
Maybe?
This weekend the Halloween Fairy comes to my house, and intends on buying as much candy as she can afford. Bribery, theft, and pointed negotiating skills are involved as she seeks to reduce the family dental bill to a figure BELOW the gross national deficit of the U.S. of A. (You'd be stunned to know just how much candy an 11 year old boy can collect in a giant Costco reusable bag. I'm going to have pay through the nose.)
And since the FoodBank won't take this crap, it will go in the garbage unless some willing soul wants it. (They insist on real food donations only, guess my Marie Antoinette impression will have to wait....)*
*I'm giving them a cash donation, equivalent to the amount of money the freakin' Tories are trying to give us as a tax break. Makes me feel slightly better, anyway.
So here we are, Nov.2nd, my first post, a day late. Can you say, "ADD"?
To be honest, I'm a little blah. Only two comments on my last post? I haven't had that few in a quite a wee while. I guess you guys really really don't enjoy when I talk politics, or relate the personal to politics.
I know---you're into va-jay-jays more. Don't worry, I'm sure there will be a crisis with my uterus of death soon.
I'm too tired to delete that right now. Yes more "inappropriate verbal impulsivity".
Sooo, yes, my new couch arrived, and so did the coffee table. The couch is great. We may need to buy another section to insert on one end, because we have the space. I'm waiting to decide. The coffee table is going back to the store. I'm supposed to assemble it myself! And it was supposed to be real wood, and it's got a chipboard core! For $600 freakin' dollars? No, no, no, if I want off-gassing chipboard, made in China, that I have to bloody well assemble myself I'm going to Ikea and paying waaaaay less than that, thanks.
Oh, the kids had great fun on Halloween, and are now crashing from the sugar high from hell. They wandered around tonight, whining, crying, and sadly moaning about various inconsequential things, and finally went to bed after I pointed out that eating a hundred pounds of sugar in 24 straight hours might be affecting their mood, and perhaps they'd like to sleep it off?
Maybe?
This weekend the Halloween Fairy comes to my house, and intends on buying as much candy as she can afford. Bribery, theft, and pointed negotiating skills are involved as she seeks to reduce the family dental bill to a figure BELOW the gross national deficit of the U.S. of A. (You'd be stunned to know just how much candy an 11 year old boy can collect in a giant Costco reusable bag. I'm going to have pay through the nose.)
And since the FoodBank won't take this crap, it will go in the garbage unless some willing soul wants it. (They insist on real food donations only, guess my Marie Antoinette impression will have to wait....)*
*I'm giving them a cash donation, equivalent to the amount of money the freakin' Tories are trying to give us as a tax break. Makes me feel slightly better, anyway.
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