BFN

Well- I gave it all I could. Can't say I didn't do everything humanly possible to bring a mini me into this world. For the first time ever I was 5 days late and actually beginning to fantasize again. Joke's on me, it seems.

I'll take that hope into my next chapter. I started BCP today for an August "alternative family building activity" (is that cryptic enough for the non-knowers?).

Wish me luck. I'll need all of you to lean on as I grieve, accept things things I cannot change, heal, move on, and become ready to receive new life within me- all in 8 weeks and counting...

Healing Ritual

I went to a memorial service today. It was for two beautiful twins, Matthew and Ashley, who died too soon, at 5 months in utero. I met the mother and father soon after Sally Ann died, at a baby loss group. Even then, though obviously distraught, the dead baby mama had a composure about her that I envied. I never did learn that composure and, even today, when I talk about Sally Ann, it is with tear-filled eyes and a bit of stuttering.

It has been a year since the twins died and, in a grand cathedral mass, we joined together to honor lives cut short- lives that had little living, but had no shortage of love during their lifetimes. We were there for a formal memorial to validate that yes- these children lived and breathed just like as you and I do, even if it were for only a moment.

I watched in awe at the rituals that the priest performed. This is alien territory for me, being somewhat of a heathen myself. But it made my think about how this ritual, this rite of passage, this formal ceremony was creating healing. I looked at this dead baby mama and, for the first time, saw tears streaming down her face. She let go and publicly grieved the loss of her hopes and dreams. She was vulnerable. There was healing that was occurring right in front of my eyes.

I wondered as I cried- because I always cry- if there is something equally as special and fitting of the anniversary of my Sally Ann's birth/death. Although I am extremely outgoing and social by nature, I am also surprisingly a private person- so my ritual would be something different. What would help me to heal? It won't be about closure, because that will never happen. I can never feel complete about what happened. Don't tell me it was God's will. Don't tell me that things happen for a reason.

I'd like to put it out there to other dead baby mamas and friends of ours- what kind of rituals did you do or would you suggest for me to honor the legacy of love that Sally Ann gave to me? How might I memorialize and give back to the universe the lifetime of love that she and I shared for all too short a time.

I miss you Sally Ann.

I'm Not Alone

I joined a group of other women contemplating and using DE. The idea is to discuss issues, concerns, mind trips, etc, that come up while testing the waters of this option. It is led by a professional and she can keep me reeled in when I get too close the edge.

I was reading another woman's blog this afternoon and she hit the nail on the head- my life has been about waiting for the last 4+ years- waiting until I have a baby. Do I expect this flawed road to change any time soon? No- but isn't acknowledging your problem the first step in recovery?

In any case, this DE option has begun looking more and more attractive, though I am not ready to commit to it on this blog, if that makes any sense. It's just too private and raw for me right now. I don't like putting myself out there all vulnerable when I can be wounded by family and well-meaning friends.

Which brings me to my family. Many of you read of the debacle a few months back when a family member backed out as a donor for me. Well- they (that part of the family)have cut me off and are not speaking with me. They are angered that I publicly shared my dirty laundry on this blog (forget about the fact that this is an anonymous blog and I didn't mention who the donor was and most of the people I know don't even know this blog exists). Well- they want nothing to do with me because I am a "user" - not once an apology about backing out. In fact, they maintain that she was disqualified by the program, even though we call know (and the fertility program confirmed) that is not the case.

It is just so surreal- I lose out on my life's dream AGAIN, and then I am the bad guy. You know what- I'm over you, you mean people. Think and say what you like. It's your loss, not mine. And let's add insult to injury why don't I? I think the reason that my family member wanted to donate for me was not because she cared about me. It's because she saw $$$ signs. I was very grateful and offered to give her 6K towards some outstanding loans that she had. She had the nerve to counter and ask me for 26k. Can you imagine? What kind of donation does that make? When I respectfully declined (6K is a very generous amount to give a family member- most accept nothing for this gift and the Society American Society for Reproductive Medicine recommends payments of 3.5-5K since it is for the effort, not the egg), I believe that was the beginning of the end for that opportunity.

Anyway, don't we feel much better getting that off our chests? I have just woken from a nap where a huge tiger was chasing me through a crowd of people. It was sort of transfixed on me, almost not noticing the people it ran past while gaining speed on me. What does this have to do with what I just said? I am not sure, but I woke up feeling like blogging about the above- so be it. I guess it's my way of coping and making sense of it all. And because this blog is for ME- and no one else, thank you- that's all that matters.

Getting over Mother's Day

It has taken about this long to decide where to go from here. Mother's day was surreal this year. The first mother's day without my baby- last year I was pregnant on this day, which distracted me from the fact that it was the first mother's day without my mother. But what do you do on a very special day, as a motherless child and as a mother without her child?

I kept myself busy, wishing well to those on my husband's side of the family. We took his mom out to brunch and did the gift thing. It wasn't until a stranger smiled at me and said happy mother's day that I realized how sad I still am. I have gotten very good at keeping the tears stuffed inside so I just smiled back.

What do you say to a mother who has lost her baby? I think for most people, they don't consider me a mother. There was no tangible thing for them to see, to hold, and to remember. But there is for me. I went through 18 hours of labor. I held my baby who died in childbirth. I will always remember. I will always mourn my precious Sally Ann.
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On a separate note, I received a wonderful card the other day. I wrote my previous post that I committed a random act of kindness- I had donated my extra fertility meds to a stranger that was unable to afford IVF because her insurance did not cover it and the cost is about 5K. I hadn't thought I would need it since I was moving on to donor egg- so I showed up on her doorstep with the possible help to have a child. The moment was profound. It was an end of my dream and the beginning of hers. Well, she wrote me to say she was pregnant and she thanked me for the gift I was able to give.

I was so happy for her and I pray that hers is an easy, uneventful pregnancy.

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I have so much more to report on, but I suddenly am teary-eyed. I write this blog to share my feelings and experiences, to get it out rather than keeping it bottled up. I also hope that my words help someone else that may feel the same.

I haven't written recently because I wondered if writing was keeping me stuck in this place of grief. On the contrary, I realize it is great, healing therapy. I feel worse, more sad, more grief stricken, when I do not write. So I will keep writing, more often than once per month. If you see that I haven't written in while, please reach out to check in. Please don't let me hide out.

Some Knit, Others Scrapbook...

What seems to most women like such a natural part of life has become the challenge of my life. I am consumed with it. "Don't you have a hobby you can do?" a friend asked me earlier, trying to coach me to get my mind off this ever-present task. Working on getting and staying pregnant is my hobby. And it takes so much time out of my day, I really don't have time for anything else.

I like to read, and often read more than one book at a time. Currently, I am reading two books on fertility, one Wayne Dyer book on being present in life (like that will happen any time soon), and I just finished An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination, a book on a woman's experience of delivering a stillborn baby at term. I'm not nearly the fun, cool woman I once was, am I? Jeez- I don't think I would want to hang with me at a party. How depressing would that be? Don't worry- I won't be at a party near you. I can count the number of social gatherings I have been to since the baby died on one hand. Ok, actually, half a hand. 3 in six months.

Where has my life gone? 4 years ago, I was happy as a clam (what does that even mean anyway?). I was filled with hope, and knew that life was going my way. Now I am here, at this cross-roads, and I don't know how the fuck I got here. Life is so short and I wonder how I will feel down the road at all the pain and suffering I put myself through. Will it be worth it? Will I regret it? Now is not the time for these sort of questions.

I want a baby. Is that too much to ask for? I want to nurture and love and teach- I want to mother children, watching them grow into men and women. I want to pass on the legacy that was passed on to me. Is that legacy biological, necessarily? I don't even know any more.

I carry around a box of "miracle cards" that a friend gave me for the holidays. Every time I get to this point, I reach for one and pop open the surprise little saying that has the power to make me smile or cheer me up. Here's the one I opened today:

"How simple it is to see that we can only be happy now, and that there will never be a time when it is now now." Gerald Jampolsky (founder of the center for attitudinal healing, aka CorStone)

How fitting. I know it's just a choice, but it doesn't seem so easy right now.

New Year's Resolution-Renewed Hope

The Definition of Hope
"A confident desire: a feeling that something desirable is likely to happen; likelihood of success: to want or expect something: to have a wish for something to happen or be true, especially something that seems possible or likely." (Encarta)

It is tough to stay in that place of hope. I have been down it so many times before. I am currently waiting on the two week period between IUI and discovery- today is day 10 post insemination. I wonder- when will it be my time? Is this my time? I have almost become numb from the process.

I started spotting yesterday- I can't tell the difference between implantation bleeding that I experienced last April and the onset of my menses. All will be known soon enough. I think I may take a pregnancy test tomorrow.

I guess what's different now is that I feeling a bit run down. It's been almost 4 years since I began this journey. Someone recently said to me that it is easier to think about DE when your back is up against the wall. I know what she means. If I had agreed to DE three years ago when it first came up, I would have a two year old by now. My mother would have met my baby before she died. Ahh, would of, could of, should of. Silly me. No need to go down that road again.

This "doom and gloom" I am sharing is not what it seems. My new year's resolution is to get back on the hope bandwagon- to believe that I can have what I want, even if the picture isn't exactly what I had planned. What I truly know now is that this year I will become pregnant, no matter what it takes. I am not quite ready to move on to DE yet, but I am damn close.

Let's not forget 2008. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I had my dreams answered with the surprise pregnancy. Wow I was so happy. G*d how happy my baby daughter made me. Then the loss of Sally Ann was definitely the worst thing that has ever happened in my life. In an instant, my hopes and dreams were gone. G*d that really sucked ass.

The only thing I can hold on to is what she taught me in her short life within me- things like unconditional love, my willingness to protect my child at all costs, the utter love between myself and my husband. I would be remiss if I didn't mention that she also taught me that I can get pregnant when I had pretty much given up on that possibility. And her death uncovered a rare clotting disorder that I have. That knowledge could have actually helped to save my life.

The legacy of my Sally Ann will live on in my heart forever and my best tribute to her is to be the best mom I can be. That is how I will honor her memory.

Today is my due date

As I sit here watching the snow flurries drop, I feel like I am in someone else's life. Today is December 20th, 2008, the date that I was supposed to lay eyes on my first baby, entering my world, my baby girl's first day on planet earth.

While I know that chances are slim that babies actually are born on their due date, never in a million years did I think my baby would be born 4 months too soon. 2nd trimester premature rupture of membranes (water break) is extremely rare. They tell you you're clear after the first trimester- statistics regarding loss of any kind past the first 12 weeks is down around the 1-2% mark. I mean what are the odds that I have trouble conceiving AND a second trimester loss? My thoughts on this are now much more black and white- chance of loss is 50%- you either give birth or you end up with a dead baby.

Finding out that I am prone to blood clots and that may have been the cause of the amniotic rupture only sickens me more. Should of, would of, could of. How come no one suggested me seeing a specialist? How come the gene mutation was not tested for at the onset of the uterus blood clot and then easily treated? How in the world did I think going to Puerto Rico was a good idea after being on bed rest for 2 months? How come the doctor allowed me to go? How come I never learned Spanish? Should of, would of, could of. I can drive myself mad if I go down this road.

How did I get to this place? I will be back at the doctor's in Boston tomorrow morning for an ultrasound and blood work. today is cycle day 8. This IUI could be be the start of another life. Or can it be that my first pregnancy, my special Sally Ann, would be my only biological child? I just can't believe it- that my life would go down like that.

I have a strong desire inside to be a mother. I have always had that deep, passionate will to raise a child in this world. Now I need to re-examine what that looks like. What is motherhood? What was the need I had really? Was it to raise a little human and pass the legacy of love, compassion, strength and integrity into the world? Was it to know that my genes and DNA live on past when my body turns to dust? This story line is so much heavier that I expected. What happened to what they told us in school? If you don't use protection it is an accident that you don't get pregnant. I can't believe that bullshit. Come to find out it is actually, in the best of circumstances, a difficult task.

Oh well. I called myself resilient back in August when I started this blog. I don't feel so much today. I am actually more on the weepy side. The anticipation of today, however, was much worse. Today gives me some sort of twisted closure.

Does one ever get over the loss of a child? Of course not, but there is a closing of the circle, as there will be for each milestone that will come between now and July 26th, 2009. Christmas, Passover, Mother's Day, Father's day. The anniversary of my water breaking. Sally Ann's birth and death.

Grant me the serenity to accept this thing I cannot change.

What would life be like without a plan B?

I went to my doctor yesterday to check in and talk about my progress over the past couple of months. I may be pregnant and will know in about a week and a half, but it is always good to talk about plan B. What will happen if I am not?

"There is NO plan B."

"Excuse me?"

Given my response to the FSH IUI's, even in the one that got me pregnant last March, I am not a candidate for in vitro. Each time, I started out strong but at the time of ovulation, I have one or two mature follicles. Given that not all follicles survive the retrieval and petri dish process, she wouldn't want to take any chances with the one to two good ones I had each cycle. Therefore, IUI is all I can do a this point.

I was kind of at a loss for words- flabbergasted. I didn't expect that response and the only thing that came to mind was "oh shit." The expected tears came shortly thereafter.

Dr I.S. recommends that I go through 6 IUI cycles total, if I can emotionally handle it, and then we can decide if it is time to find another approach, depending on my responses to those cycles.

I have been pretty depressed in the last 24 hours. Not really what I wanted to hear. And while I recognize that I may very well be prego now, I need to re-evaluate what I really, truly want in my life. G-d what a fucking mind trip roller coaster ride. Happy Holidays!

Which brings me to the question of the day:

Would a child by an egg donor be any less special to me?

I was caressing my dog Lola yesterday morning and her eyes were gazing up to mine. My heart cracks wide open for my loving, little mutt. If I feel this much love for a dog, imagine how much I would feel for a baby I carried in my belly for 9 months, breast fed and raised?

So I guess what I am asking your opinion on is, should I wait the 6 months and then decide on this or should I just say fuck it and do it now? The doctor all but guarantees me a baby with this method. My uterus is beautiful and she isn't concerned at all with my carrying the baby to term.

I really want to mother a child. Of course I want a genetic mix of hubby and myself. It is just that life is so short and I have spent quite a bit of it being sad. I just don't know how much more I should risk.

I welcome your candid thoughts on this controversial subject.

Feeling kind of so-so

Lots have been going through my mind in the last few days. Last week was Yom Kippur-the holiest day in the jewish year- a day to reflect, to repent for your sins, and to mourn for the dead. I was unprepared for the flood of emotion that would come up for me. Mother-daughter stuff. I remembered back to last year when I was inconsolable around the loss of my mother and here I am now, with two losses. How ironic. Part of the day also focuses on setting yourself for what you wish for in the coming year- how you would like that unfolding to be.

I wish for a baby. I wish I become a mother. Soon. Please, please, please.

The Club No One Wants To Join

Women like me who have had premature preterm rupture of membranes (PPROM) have a cute little name we use- PPROM Queens. It kind of lightens up the reality of what happened. It almost sounds like a sorority except no one ever asked to join it.

I have encountered so many wonderful and caring women since I started this blog- for this I am ever so grateful. I have met women who have had almost the exact thing happen to them (not the puerto rico nightmare, but the PPROM part). I have come to know women who have experienced the many possible things that can sadly cause a pregnancy to end with "fetal demise." I have also met women who had normal pregnancies, only to watch their special babies die days or weeks after birth. No matter when or how it happened, we are bonded together in this surreal space. We are women who all experience that raw feeling- emptiness, dread, longing- and yearning for what might have been.

A woman with a dead baby- we sit together behind a curtain. I never even thought I would be part of this club and didn't really care to peak behind the curtain to see what was there.

I think that the whole topic makes people uncomfortable. What do you say to her? What if I say the wrong thing? Maybe I should leave her alone until she is ready- she knows I am here for her. All these concerns have the opposite effect that was intended. In fact, they actually increase the woman's loneliness and isolation. But even with all the support and love in the world, the road is a lonely one that must be travelled alone. I am on that road now and wonder where it will lead.

I am so open and ready to hear about how others have coped with this kind of loss. What can I do to get out of my own way so that I don't make Sally Ann's memory something that overwhelmingly pains me? I want to be able to think of her and smile, knowing that she gave me the most special of gifts-hope.

What suggestions do you women out there have for me? My enquiring mind wants to know.

"Every time I think I'm out, they pull me back in"

Imagine if you will, an anguish so fierce, you can feel it from 10 feet away. There is quite an awesome amount of uncontrolled power in a grieving woman who has lost a child. It is almost akin to a wild animal.

Picture ear-piercing shrieks, breaking down in tears repeatedly, even threatening to quit: that was my day at work.

I started off on the wrong foot when my therapist had to cancel. I was, at first, ok with the missed appointment. As the feelings began to quickly overwhelm me, I should have focused my rage and blame on her- that could have been a healthy exercise. Instead, I chose to direct it to those I came into contact first: my boss, an employee, and a couple co-workers. I then found out that my reproductive endocrinologist will need me to wait another month, until October, to begin again. I will need to have some tests done prior to restarting fertility treatment and they want me to wait a month before doing this. I had my heart set on next month. It was like my happy red balloon was busted- here I am again with no control over my own life.

My husband called at a good stopping point in my rage to let me know he may need to take a leave of absence to get through this. Oh yeah- now I remember we are supposedly in this together. I keep forgetting and thinking it is all about me. At least that's what it feels like. How can he seem so calm and feel so bad?

I have come to realize tonight that the healing process is not a stepwise progression as I had thought it might be- and counted on to be. I imagined each day I would be slowly plugging away, taking one step in front of the other, feeling a little bit better and a little bit better. Then one day in the not too distant future I would be talking about how far I have come.

Rather than that, the process seems to be much more of a spiral. To be sure, there will be times when the hurt is less, when I actually feel happy (or at least calm). And then there be a point when I will circle back to a place of pain and trauma. The spiral, however, doesn't mean I am back at square one. I see it more like a tornado or a coil: I spiral back, but I now find myself in a new place, a slightly changed woman from the last time I was immersed in the grief.

I am grateful for the little things- like that the day is coming to a close. The anti-anxiety pills come in handy on a night like tonight. It may be a band aid, but it sure works in a pinch.