And this is why I stay off Facebook

Within 5 minutes of scrolling, I am presented the very pregnant bellies of two friends from my high school class (one with #2, one with #3). People I really like. I wish them nothing but the best.  It's still a kick in the gut.

No, actually, I stay off FB because I suck at keeping up with it, I feel compelled to drink from the firehose and then get frustrated when I fail. But cripes, the constant stream of bellies and babies doesn't make it easier to go back.

On the other hand, my existential angst was nearly balanced out by  my genuine guffaw at this, also encountered via FB:
 






FB giveth and taketh away?

Not 11 weeks

Today I am officially precisely not 11 weeks pregnant. It's been two weeks since I took the misoprostol, three since the ultrasound where the RE said "I don't see a heartbeat".

Things are okay. I had a followup appointment two days after the misoprostol, and everything looked good and clear. That was the best I could've hoped for. My pee-sticks are still a lot darker than I'd like, but I guess it takes some women a really long time to clear out all the hCG. I can't start another cycle until my level is all the way down and I have another period, so I'm just spinnin' my wheels here. I have another followup on Friday. I imagine they'll start doing blood tests every week or two until I'm at zero.

Time floats by so aimlessly when you're unpregnant. Pregnant means that every day is an achievement, and is moving closer to Something Big. Unpregnant you're just waiting for something that may or may not happen. And if you can only conceive with fertility treatment, you're waiting to start waiting for something that may or may not happen.

I'm mostly back in the TTC mindframe (as opposed to the pregnant mindframe). I know how to do this; I've spent a lot more time trying to get pregnant than I have actually being pregnant.  But some part of me, maybe 10%, is still stunned and saying wtf happened here?  See, it all just seemed so right. The transfer was exactly on my birthday. The due date was exactly my mother's birthday. My BFF is pregnant right now, and we were going to be pregnant together. Some things are just meant to be, you know?

Some things, but apparently not this one.

A poem has been stuck in my mind: A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London. I don't know why. I have only a weak affinity for poetry, and almost none for Dylan Thomas; most of it just reads as word-salad to me. But this one has been drawing me back. I guess "unmourning water" is really a pretty good description of the resting place of those two tiny embryos, poor miniscule brine shrimp, released unto the municipal sewer system.

8w ultrasound

No heartbeat. Game over.

I'm okay. Disappointed, to put it mildly, but okay. For the past ten days I've been worrying about the fact that she thought it was likely identical twins -- two yolk sacs, one gestational sac  -- and I am not a great candidate to carry twins, for a variety of reasons. But in retrospect, it turned out not to be an issue, huh?

Sigh.

Now I just stop my meds and wait for it to... pass. I was pleased and surprised to be given prescription pain-relief. My last doc didn't offer me that, but then again the miscarriages were much earlier last time. I hope this doesn't hurt too much. My theory is that doing it naturally will be less painful than taking the misoprostol. We'll see.

Just... damn.

I didn't even know I was supposed to be worrying about that.

Turns out I have Asherman's Syndrome (a.k.a. intrauterine adhesions or scarring of the uterus.) Impossible to tell whether it was caused by the c-section and then went on to cause the miscarriage and subsequent D&C, or whether it was caused by the D&C.

There I was all worried about my estrogen and follicles, when I should have been worried about my uterus.

Well, fuck.

I'm not sure what comes next. The online Asherman's support group say that it's very important to be treated by an experienced surgeon. There's one a few states away, near where my sister lives. I could go up there, I guess. I don't know. Maybe I should do a freeze-all cycle first. I'm 38.5 and not getting any younger. I don't know. It's all so exhausting to think about.

I would just like one fucking thing to be easy, thanks.

6w5d? 33dpo?

I don't know how to refer to myself. Thank goodness I haven't needed any unrelated medical contact, because I don't know how I'd answer the question "are you pregnant?"

Yes, but not usefully so?
No, in the sense that you should feel free irradiating me or giving me whatever teratogenic drugs you want, because the embryo no longer gets a vote?
Yes, in the sense that any test I'm given will instantly come up positive?

33dpo is good, I guess, because it's a reference to an event that definitely happened, rather than a state that implies something is going to happen.

No news. No spotting. Peesticks are mocking me. So, you wanted them nice and dark, huh? I get repeat bloodwork on Friday; if things haven't substantially improved, I'll have to book the D&C for Monday or Tuesday. I'm getting past the point where watchful waiting is prudent. If we could be certain it's in my uterus then waiting would be fine, but we're not. If I have the D&C we'll find out fairly quickly whether or not that's where my little zombie child has set up shop.

I called and ask a few questions, and I'm surprised? pleased? dismayed? to learn that they do D&Cs under general anesthetic. I didn't have a general for any of the egg retrievals, just a lovely, lovely IV twilight sleep. I had kind of thought and hoped it would be the same for this. I do like the idea of just really not being there for it. I've had friends who've had D&Cs under locals tell me in no uncertain terms that it is not a pleasant experience. OTOH, I've never had general; for my c-section it was a jacked-up epidural plus, I dunno, something else that made me super woozy but didn't actually knock me out. The general does make it seem like a bigger deal.

I've decided that I like the term pregnancy wastage. It sounds like what it is: a waste. A waste of time, effort, money, pain.

Things're okay. The last time I was in this position, in March of '08, it was pretty much "bottomless pit of despair". Now there's still some despair, but the pit has a bottom.  I am longing for this to be physically over, all of the phone calls and hold music and blood draws and small pains and indignities and reminders and hormones. I know I'll feel better then.

Just waiting, now.

Thank you, everyone, for your kind commiserations. It really does help.

I'm pretty okay. I talked with my RE last night, and he agreed that there was no real reason to keep taking the PIO. We'll be checking my hcg again on Friday; hopefully it will be going down on its own in a peaceable, orderly fashion. Hopefully then my progesterone will also fall; even though I'm no longer supplementing it, since I did ovulate my body is likely producing some on its own and I won't bleed until it shuts down production.

Last night, I:

1. Had a glass of wine;
2. Let myself use my laptop in my favorite position, with it balanced on my stomach otter-fashion;
3. Did not have a 1.5" needle jammed into my ass.

So the evening was not without its redeeming features. This morning, I had real coffee, with real caffeine.

I don't know. Three chemical pregnancies, one with a barely-there beta, two with decent enough but non-doubling betas. Once might be misfortune, but twice starts to look like carelessness. Chromosomal issues? Immune issues? Does it matter? Should I just keep slinging embryos in there and wait for one to stick? Obviously one did stick, three years ago.

I'm tired. I'm sad. I'm displeased that I have such a strong feeling of anger towards myself for being optimistic, for believing that dark line 4dp5dt, for typing information into a due-date calculator. Part of me says "Oh, really, you knew better than that. An old campaigner like you should know by now that two lines on a pee-stick do not necessarily equal a gurgling infant nine months later."

But... I don't want to be that person. I don't think there's anything particularly evolved about being cynical and pessimistic. Optimism is the more difficult path, and the better one. I should be proud that I managed to be so excited and happy. But I can't help looking back and wincing at myself, shouting back into time shut up shut up shut up close that browser window, girl, you're not going to need that mei tai.

Maybe it's my Jewish cultural conditioning, the idea that rejoicing about anything is like waving a red flag at the evil spirits and saying "come get me". Maybe it's an ugly streak of my psyche that snottily finds anything preferable to being a fool.

Beta #4

567, for a doubling time of.... 105 hours.

Yeah, it's over.

Thanks for stopping by, hope.

I guess, technically speaking, this will be a chemical, not a miscarriage. Hurts a lot more than the last one did, though.

I can't believe how well and truly fooled I was by that early, dark test.  Bitter!me says: I can't believe I fell for that.

Now I just have to hope it's not ectopic.

I fucking hate the next few steps, to wit:

1. The passing of the physical products of conception
2. The bills for the failed cycle come rolling in.

Fuck.