We got the beat!

I've been slow to post the past couple weeks. The symptoms started a few weeks ago. I noticed I was much more tired and even needed naps after work. Tim had to step up a bit on weekends and help with tidying the house while I rested. Food lost all it's appeal for awhile because flavors just weren't appealing. The indigestion and light nausea didn't help. I lost a couple pounds from the lack of eating.

I went to the doctor and had a six vials of blood drawn for a variety of tests. The results came back today telling me my blood type and saying that my red blood cell count is a little low; I'll have to retest. Other than that, my tests were clean.

This week, things seems to be better. My stomach growls and I eat. It's such a relief to be able to enjoy food again.

Even better, I went in for another test today. Because the person screening me was a technician, she was not allowed to describe to me anything she was doing or saw, but she implied that it would be easy for us to make the correct interpretation. Tim knew being there to support me was important. I also wanted him to experience things for himself so that he could enjoy the moment as much as me.

In the dark room, with my bursting bladder begging to go to the bathroom, we got to peak at a black and white tv monitor. I could tell by the smile on Tim's face that he saw what we had been hoping to confirm. After eight weeks of wondering and worrying, we got to see our little kiddo's heartbeat on the ultrasound.

I can't tell you how relived we are to be past that painful memory from February. This time around feels much more real. There are still tests to come. Given my advanced age (yes, that's how they refer to pregnant women over 35), the baby is not out of the woods until we complete the first trimester. Also, there are the genetic tests that come between weeks 11 and 15 to make sure our child will live a happy, healthy, and productive life. All we know now is that we have a beautiful human being growing inside me.

It is with this happy news that I must bring a little sad news. It's time to focus on the future, and I feel it's time to close this chapter of my life. My search has been fulfilled with a wonderful husband, home, and future child. It's what I've dream of much of my life. I'm hoping to get myself to return to the days when I kept a handwritten journal and chronicle bits about the new family we'll have come January.

I've met some amazing people here in blogland. You've given me laughs, insight, and support through the years. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and perspective on life and living. I still enjoy peaking into everyone's lives from time to time and still hope to because I always appreciate learning from others. If our paths should ever cross in the real world, I hope that somehow we'll know to connect.

I wish you all much love, peace, and happiness. (Wow, does that sound hippie or what - it must be the blouse I'm wearing ;) )

On the clock

During my follow up check after the D&C, we were given instructions about how to proceed. We were told I had to wait one menstrual cycle before we could try getting pregnant. That meant waiting until April.

Back in college, I was dating this Catholic guy. We argued and discuss our future. One topic that lacked agreement was sex and contraception. I didn't mind waiting (and am soooooo glad he was not my first guy), but I was concerned about not being able to use contraception. I could not fathom having an accidental third or fourth child someday. Even though he knew that even his parents kept condoms in their dresser drawer, he wanted to obey the rules.

While volunteering at the school hospital, the ex came across a box of workbooks kept in a storage room. No doubt the workbooks were intended for some health seminar specifically on natural contraception. The book talked about the rhythm method and provided instructions on how to practice it. Surprisingly, it all made good sense to me. Mainly because I had already suspected the nuances of my monthly cycle back in high school. I was lucky to have a very regular, 27.5 day cycle. I even had clear mucus that would appear about 10-14 into my cycle which I suspected indicated ovulation. Out of curiosity, I tried monitoring my temperature and changes in my body for a couple months. It's really cool that a woman's body makes a sudden increase (0.5 degree) when it's time to ovulate. The charting was easy and accurate as far as I could tell.

I knew the minute Tim and I were ready to start trying, I would use this method to predict ovulation. Fortunately, I'm still mostly regular though I sense there are months I don't ovulate at all given my "advanced age" (as people in the medical community say). I started recording my temperature as soon as the D&C was over. I was excited to see a decline in my temperature as my period approached.

The change from 97.6 to 98.0 came several days earlier than I expected. The doctor had told us that during my fertile phase, we should have sex every other day. Since sperm can survive up to 4 days, it's not critical to have sex every day. Apparently, there's reason to *not* have sex every day. For men, having sex too often depletes the sperm supply which could result in lower supply when actual ovulation occurs. The every other day system allows for a continuous and ample infusion of troops.

Honestly, we're not big on sex. Sadly, I think my libido died down several years ago. We're regular but not frequent. Some times I worry that it's not enough for Tim, but he seems okay with it as long as we cuddle and fondle a lot. Having sex every other day for a week is new to me. It's definitely weird to do it because you need to rather than being in the mood for it. We've had to be a bit more patient and creative, but the job's getting done. Besides I do like joking about his troops and whether they've been properly trained.

Fingers crossed...

Wimp in training

I tried my best to treat the visit like any other appointment. I was pretty good about feeling normal as long as I didn't think about what had happened and what was about to happen.

The office scheduled me for 1:45pm but told me to come in before 1:15pm so that I could take some medications to prepare me for the procedure. Tim left work at lunch to pick me up and drive me there. I had told him he could take a book or laptop with us so he could do something while he waited. He told me he didn't need anything because he was planned to stay with me the whole time.

When I checked in, the receptionist gave me a clipboard with three documents to sign. The sheet listed out all the details of the procedure, the inherent risks, and the post-procedure care and warnings. We read through it all together to ensure that we'd both know what to expect and what to watch for once I went home. The list was very thorough including a space for an initial next to each post-procedure warning.

Once I turned in my forms, the nurse assistant came out and showed me the pills I needed to swallow. From a little plastic cup, she poured out the three pills. The first pill was cut in half, some Vicodin for pain. The next pill was 200mg of Valium to help my muscles relax. The third pill was this humongous, green oval which I can't remember its purpose. Perhaps it was ibuprofen to help with the inflammation and pain. The main thing was that it was 800mg which must be close the maximum size pill anyone could possibly swallow in one gulp without choking.

So we sat in the waiting room for 15-20 minutes waiting for my drugs to take effect. I couldn't help sit there observing the pregnant women who came through and wonder if they simply thought I was going to my first prenatal appointment rather than ending my pregnancy. It was hard to be in that moment knowing everywhere else around me there was new life.

I felt fine when they called us in. Never having taken Vicodin or Valium, I had been waiting for something interesting to happen. Given so many people get addicted to these drugs, I thought something cool would happen. The nurse took me into the procedure room where a paper gown and heating pad lay waiting for me on the exam table. Tim tried to keep the mood light by keeping my ass warm with his hands while I changed into my gown.

Dr. F came into the room and asked if we had any questions. She assured us that the procedure has a tiny risk of complication and that we could go back to normal after one period had passed. Tim was very struck by the wording in the post-procedure instructions, "No foreign objects should be placed in your vagina for at least two weeks." You can guess at the types of silly comments he made later. He asked whether any tests would be done to determine the cause of the loss. Dr. F. said that's usually not done with a first pregnancy. Despite my age, she said it's rare there's anything seriously wrong and that only if I miscarried again or demonstrated other problems would they perform any tests because of the expense.

Once I laid down and put my feet in the stirrups, the usual examination techniques started. Dr. F. was good about telling me what she was doing a second ahead so that I wouldn't be too surprised. As a local anesthetic, she injected me with lidocaine which quickly became noticeable by a tingling in my mouth. Since I'd had a crown done over the summer, the sensation was very familiar.

What was odd was how quickly all the drugs that were running through my blood interacted with each other. I think I still had my head on, but it didn't feel like it. Moving my head even one centimeter made everything feel like it was spinning. Naturally, as she started preparing for the D&C, my discomfort grew. Let's face it, going to the GYN is never fun. Was the valium working at all?

At one point, she touched me without any warning and I pop up. At the time, I thought it felt uncomfortable, but Tim told me she had just swiped me with a cotton ball. The emotions, the medication, and the discomfort had gotten to me. I remained a good patient the rest of the time and didn't move. I squeezed Tim's had tightly through the cramping, pinching, and poking. Of course, I thought about the baby. But really, what was more concerning to me was my reaction to the pain. Am I a total wimp or what?

The procedure itself does not take too long. I swear the doctor and the assistant were gone within minutes after they told us it was done. The assistant told us to take our time leaving the room. I wanted to get up, or at least turn sideways to try and alleviate the cramping, but my head was having none of that. The dizziness was overwhelming.

I didn't have any feelings of nausea or pain, just the dizziness and cramping. I thought about what labor must be like and scolded myself for whining over this. I mean, come on, if this bothers me, I'm not going to survive labor. This pain can't be more than a five on a scale of one to ten. All I could think about is "wimp, wimp, wimp." It's just like me to think about something totally off the wall when I should be focusing on more immediate things.

I could see Tim and the room fine. Opposite the exam table, I spotted a brown, canister vacuum-like machine. No doubt it was the source of the suction I heard during the procedure. I couldn't help wonder if what was left of our baby was somewhere inside it. Now, it was just a soup of blood and tissue that would be discarded with the other biohazard trash.

I must have tried four or five times to sit up, maybe another three or four to stand. Considering how small I am, those drugs all must have whomped me good. I leaned on Tim the whole way out. I was proud to have survived the elevator ride given that the nursing assistant had said it seems to cause women trouble. I slept most of the way home and proceeded to crawl into bed. I slept away the afternoon while Tim went back to work. I'm so lucky that I have him to take care of me.

By evening everything seemed fine. I was pleasantly surprised that I never felt the need to take any ibuprofen. No wonder there was no take home prescription other than three days of antibiotics. We ate and watched tv together the rest of the night.

Since then, I've talked a little bit about miscarriage with a couple of friends. I don't know how much it helped. The rational side of me already knows all the literature and facts. I know that miscarriage is common early in pregnancy (> 20%), and everything will be fine. Talking about it only seems to make me upset for reasons I can't fully explain. Heck, I even got upset when I open the medical insurance bill for that week. It's wonderful to know I have all the love and support of friends, but it doesn't change what happened. I'm sad, I'm angry, I'm disappointed. Only time can make that all fade. Until then, I just keep preparing myself for better days to come.

Not human

I'm sitting here wanting to write something but find unsure what to say. At any given moment, I seem like a totally normal, happy person. I pay my bills, run errands, watch tv, cook, clean, chat with friends, eat, play with the neighbor's cat, and search for jobs. But when I stop to take in my surroundings and think about who I am, there's nothing there. I'm just going through the motions of what I'm supposed to be doing.

There are many things that make up our identity. Cancer patients, women especially, go through incredible anguish because of the hair loss associated with chemotherapy. It's strange how thousands of strands of dead cells are so strongly tied to image and identity.

One of the key components of identity for people is their job. I have now been unemployed for four months. It's now equivalent to the time I spent looking for a job after grad school. This time, however, it's harder because I'm more established, more experienced, and more specialized. My expectations for income and responsibility are different as is the willingness of employers to hire me. There are few jobs in my expertise right now. As much as I like what I do, I wonder whether or not my industry has a stable, long-term future in this part of the country. Each day that passes, I question how much longer I should continue to search for something in my current profession versus shifting to something else. The upside is that I may have more flexibility in finding a job. The downside is that I will have to take a significant pay cut and potentially start with a job that is not stimulating. The struggle between taking a job for the income versus taking a job that will build a career is a frustrating choice. I don't feel like I can have both in this economic environment. The fact of the matter is that I don't know whether my career profile reflects who I want to be.

Not having a job didn't seem to bother me so much when I thought I was pregnant. I think it was because I knew that I had the role of mother to play. Being a mother is a huge responsibility that I know would be challenging, frustrating, yet fulfilling. I didn't worry so much about my unemployment because the time off would be used to make things better for the baby. But now that there is no baby, that part of my identity has been taken away (at least for awhile). True, I am still a wife, but frankly Tim would be fine without me. It adds to who I am, but I don't feel it defines any part of me.

They say being unemployed is an opportunity to do something for yourself. The truth is that it's scary for me because I realize I have no interest in pursuing anything. Everything sounds interesting, but I lack the motivation to do anything or I talk myself out of it because my interest is not financially sustainable (coming from the Asian perspective). What's wrong with me? I know I'm smart and responsible. Nothing I did contributed to this current economic crisis. I know I have many unique skills, but I have no idea what to do with myself. I feel so worthless when I see my friends are doing fine. While I know it's not reality, inside, I wonder if I've done something wrong in my life to end up here. I'm a logical person, and I need a logical reason to explain what is happening. Of course, there probably isn't any explanation that is going to satisfy my frustration and questions. I feel totally lost, and I need to do something to feel like a human being again and not just some automaton.

Scared

Unfortunately, my concerns were validated today. The doctor found my uterus to be smaller than what would be expected for someone at this time. She sent us to have an ultrasound performed. The referral sheet I took to the ultrasound office read, "Reason for ultrasound: Viability."

In my heart, I already knew the answer. I feel like I've known for two weeks, but I just didn't have solid proof. It was horrible laying there on the table as she waved the wand over my abdomen. This was supposed to be that wonderful moment when you first get to see the little human inside your belly. Instead, as Tim tried to figure out what the technician was looking at, I tried to distract myself by analyzing the light and shadow effect on the ceiling tiles created by the sunlight emanating from the exam room window.

It got worse when they said they needed to do a vaginal ultrasound. I felt helpless and tortured to have this wand inside me being moved around in a rather uncomfortable manner. All the while, they said little to us. Finally, the doctor asked if we wanted to watch the screen as she examined me. I appreciate her honesty as she explained what she was seeing.

Maybe had my uterus been empty it wouldn't have been so hard. But there it was, this tiny grey blip that she said had probably been our fetus. All around, there was still blood flow but not to the fetus. There was no sign of a heartbeat. There's no explanation, it's no one's fault, and yet one can't help wonder - what happened?

I was told that I would need to have a D&C. I'd heard this term before, I knew that it meant cleaning out what still remains inside. Still, the gravity of the procedure didn't really hit me until the drive home. They would be scooping out what was once our baby as if it were just some unwanted tissue. Why can't there be a more loving and peaceful way to say goodbye?

At least we have one night left to spend with our little wonder and be able to send it off with happier wishes.

Reveal

Today's the big day. Assuming the OB/GYN is not called to the hospital, we'll be driving to the office in a couple hours to find out about the baby.

The past couple of days I've been a little nervous because I've been experiencing a tiny bit of blood. It's like that last day of a period when it looks like a streak of reddish-brown paint on a pantyliner. It shouldn't mean anything bad but it's definitely alarming to me since I've had no blood before and so few symptoms these 10 weeks (and no symptoms that last two).

Seeing the discussion about layoffs and miscarriage this morning didn't help alleviate my worry. Layoffs are tough but her situation definitely was not ideal on either side. I couldn't help be curious about the woman interviewed because I briefly met her in cyberspace while searching for some wedding vendors. It sounds like she's pregnant again, very close to our estimated due date. I hope all the best for her.

I meant to write sooner, but I can't find my camera cable. It's not fair to tell what I've been up to the past week without visuals.

Empathy and perspective

One of the things that I feel Tim and I struggle with as a couple is having perspective. I'm not perfect, and I will admit that I'm probably not seeing all of his side of things. It's difficult when you lived more than 35 years only having to worry about yourself (essentially).

The last couple of days, I've been overly worried about the baby. I'm worried because I feel totally fine minus some burping. I've had no breast soreness, no extra peeing, no fatigue; I'm feeling nothing out of the ordinary. They say that most miscarriages happen before the baby is 10 weeks. This is week nine. It just seems too easy given all the stories out there about the typical pregnancy.

I know I tend to worry a lot. I also tend to express myself out loud, whether or not my thoughts should be heard by others. Maybe my worrying is wearing on him. When we finished watching tv tonight, I mentioned that I'm really concerned that the baby is gone.

His response sounded very annoyed and hassled. He asked why I had to say such things and why I was worried so much about something I couldn't do anything about. Perhaps that's true, but I just felt like I got no empathy from him, no attempts at reassurance, something other than his agitation.

I was angry. I was hurt that he shows no concern. I don't understand how he can be so... casual about it. He hasn't even made a real effort to read any of the pregnancy books I've brought home. There's a part of me that's disappointed. I thought he would be more curious to understand what's going on and what's to come. Am I expecting too much?

I've told him before that his responses to my requests and complaints *sound like* he's annoyed. Tim says that's not what he intends. But somehow, that's what I hear. We haven't figured out how to adjust this so that I don't think he's being insincere or mean. It's frustrating because neither of us want to fight, but this is taking some time to move past.

It could very well be that I sound whinny or obsessive at times. It's hard for me to know when to keep things to myself and when's it's important to express how I'm feeling. This is the part of marriage that takes work. I just hope we can be successful in making things between us better before a kid comes along.

To tell or not to tell

With the job market in such rosy condition, I've been assuming that finding a job may not produce any results for six months or more. This combined with my soon-to-be growing belly doesn't seem to bode well for my chances of landing full-time employment in 2009.

On the off chance I come close to being offered a job before I start showing, one *big* question looms. Anti-discrimination laws do not allow hiring companies to ask, not am I obligated to tell them that I may need to take maternity leave before I have been with the company for one year. However, I can't help wonder what kind of mistrust this could create coming into a new job.

I want and intend to demonstrate that I am a valuable employee. Is it wrong to not say anything during the hiring process? If it a job I am truly excited about, I want to be a good employee and show integrity. How much does it jeopardize my chances if I am upfront about the situation? Let's face it, it's going to be difficult to prove discrimination if they don't hire me, and I am unlikely to do anything about it.

Anyone know of any friends who have been in this position? Thoughts?

That was quick

Everything seems normal except for a bit of soreness and lower back pain. I temporarily gained a couple pounds after the Super Bowl party, but it's thankfully gone away. Still, my alien visitor has been AWOL so it seemed time to check something...

I went to the local drug store and debated which box to buy. I felt like a guilty teenager does when they go to the condom section for the first time trying to figure out which box to grab and not wanting to be noticed by other shoppers. Should I get the cheapest one, the 2-pack or 3-pack, the one that works faster, or the one that is more sensitive? After minutes of debate, I grabbed the 2-pack box that was one dollar cheaper than the other brands.

I followed the directions and waited for one minute. The pink, control line appeared. Next to it was a faint, second pink line. Neither Tim nor I knew what to make of it. He reread the directions to see if there was any comment about how to interpret our results.

Yes, the pregnancy test seems to indicate that we're going to have a baby. While we're happy, I guess we're still a little in denial. The blood test will be a more solid confirmation. I guess I'm also skeptical because everyone always talks about the side effects like morning sickness and I'm wondering why I'm not feeling anything unusual.

It's also surprising to see because I've been bombarded by this idea that it could take several months for us to conceive. We weren't even consciously trying when it happened. There's a small part of me that feels guilty because I know so many women out there are struggling to get pregnant.

I think I can best describe my feelings as cautiously happy. It's because I'm older, and I know the possibility of something going wrong is a little higher now. I don't want to say anything or commit myself to the idea until I know the baby is healthy.