On Being Human

May 27, 2016

As I sat in the ultrasound room at the MFM (high risk doctor), I could hear his nurse on the phone next door-"Yes, there is a baby here that needs to get picked up.  Can you pick him up at 2?  He needs to get picked up."  He was dead.  All in a days work in the high-risk office-it almost sounded like a nuisance.

Next thing I knew I was in that room with my list of questions for the specialist.  Having lost my last pregnancy in the most dramatic way: One. At. A. Time. I was scared and had done several searches online for what is/isn't allowed with assumed incompetent cervix.  The Dr. came him.  He is dry and sarcastic-I'm assuming his way of keeping things light with high strung women patients.  Unfortunately I didn't grow up with sarcasm so it comes off as cold and confusing to me.

"So, I'm here to talk you out of getting the cerclage." (I guess he was joking?)

My mind panics.  We had talked about how I would need one considering my water broke at 17 weeks before.  I had talked to him several times...I needed the cerclage. He asks what questions I have.

"Can I take baths?"  He stares at me like I'm an idiot in silence for 9 seconds.  "Yes" he replies as if I had asked him before.  "What about sex?"  Again he stares.  He shrugs his shoulders and says "What do you want me to tell you?" 

I sit there quietly mind racing, flashbacks to the hospital in 2013.  "It doesn't make a difference" he finally responds even though 85% of what I read on-line says "pelvic rest after cerclage." 

I secretly determine I will do none of the above to be safe.

"Can I start the progesterone shots earlier than 16 weeks?"  I ask
"Depends on your insurance.  Many companies are a$$holes and only let you take the expensive non-generic brand" (did he really just say A-hole?)

"Will you do the cerclage earlier than 14 weeks?"  I shot another question. 
"When?"
"At 12 or 13 weeks?"
"Sure."

"How long will I bleed for, will it be like a period?"
Long stare again.  Shoulder shrug:
"I don't know, I've never had a period."

Ok then.  I shift in my chair.  He has to be able to tell I'm uncomfortable and nervous.  He deals with this daily and is probably thinking about what his wife is making for dinner.

I left feeling a bit sad.  I had such strong connections with my MFM who delivered Jude and Brinly but had switched insurances.  This Dr. has been practicing for 38 years and says his transvaginal cerclages  have a 90% rate.  He knows what he is doing, just not the kindest/gentlest person.  Whatever, I decided to embrace his personality and try to banter back a bit.

Fast forward 3 weeks to the surgery.  I wasn't scared of the surgery, I was scared of the risks-it can break your water, cause pre-term labor, and I was guaranteed to bleed for a few days.  Can we say PTS would most likely creep back in from my last cerclage with Jude?

There I was laying on an operational table again.  The last time I was in the OR alone was when they were removing Jude. 

Today in surgery, the anesthesiologist was an angel.  As they were gearing me up to go to sleep I felt something on my arm.  I look up.  It's my MFM is rubbing my arm? 

I look at his eyes, and they are looking down on me with a lot of care, fixed.  I stared back.  He keeps rubbing, like 60 seconds without a word.  Then, he moves down and holds my hand.  He never says a word.  I hold it back.  It was so powerful to me.  A Dr. that seems a little disconnected at the end of the day is a human and I'm a human.  He wants this for us too. 

*update-so funny how first impressions can make us judge quickly.  This MFM became my main source of comfort throughout the pregnancy. Dr. Coleman 100% offered to let me come in daily for ultrasounds if it would ease my mind.  We became friends, I truly can say I love him and he helped carry us to safety.  He made a special effort to come in for my delivery and stayed with me for a long time.  I felt like he loved me to0 and it ended up being an amazing journey.

The.Anger.Stage.

January 21, 2014

After everything went down, I was shocked that I wasn't angry.  The floods of sadness kept pouring in so strongly, unrelentlessly, that I truly believed that there was no more room for anything but stomach-killing sorrow.  Of course we have all heard it, the stages of grieving.  I never really went through denial-
maybe for a few hours when Brinly's water broke in October.  I didn't even realize pPROM was a condition and knew it wasn't great on the way to the ER but never ever did I imagine what the next 30 days would bring.

I pretty much skipped denial after I heard the diagnosis.  When you physically deliver a child and then do it all over again 20 days later, and then look that child straight in the face, there is absolutely not once inch of room for any type of denial.  Death is hard to deny.  The only shock I dealt with was going into labor with Jude.  I had somehow convinced myself he would make it even though my aching worrying heart told me otherwise.

A huge explosion occurred in our life on October 30 and then November 17th.  All I could do was hold on for dear life, cling to those around me, focus on breathing and surviving the overwhelmly heavy-wet blanket that feel onto me and glued itself to my very soul.  I thought that was it.  I prepared for months and months of sadness.

But now, 9 weeks later, the dust has settled, the smoke has risen, and now I can see it.  Destruction.  I can see the mess.  I'm fully conscience now and I am fully capable of taking in everything that just happened. And I. Am. Angry.

Darren and I have entered into a new stage where I am constantly trying to avoid triggers in this fragile state and where he is constantly trying to prevent me from running into triggers.  I don't have facebook.  My heart cannot bear to read pregnancy news, updates, and even attempts.  Ridiculous things like waiting in line to see Santa Claus in New York threw me to my bed crying for hours. I change the channel on baby commercials.  I was watching a behind the scenes "Bachelor" special and some past-winners "special" news left me rolling my eyes-this is not me.  This is not who I am.  But I'm harder now.

Today I made the mistake of reading some blogs with newer pregnancies.  I knew better.  It's just not a good mental choice for me right now.  But I did it thinking I was strong.  Words like "God is so faithful" and "I never thought I would be writing my own bump update" stirred up the anger I've been fighting.  Although I believe in my heart God truly is faithful, I don't feel it now, I don't see it.  I felt that way too the day I found out I was finally having a son AND daughter.  I felt so loved by God, so remembered.  So blessed.  So naïve about the "safe zone."  I too couldn't believe my blog had turned from entry after entry of trying and trying and finally I, Holly Lynn Benson, could post pictures of a growing stomach, of a gender reveal, of my plans.  Obviously beating infertility SHOULD be celebrated and I think it's wonderful to do updates and share great news-that is all our end goal in the infertility world-but in my broken state its a cruel reminder of something that was mine was physically torn from my body.

Sadness is so sad.  It makes your eyes get wrinkles and your hair turn gray.  It ages you.  I look more worn than I once did.  But anger?  That is a whole nother beast.  If not dealt with it rots your bones.  I accept anger is a stage and I plan to embrace it gracefully.  To give people the benefit of the doubt.  To attempt to rejoice with those who are rejoicing.  To NOT become bitter and cynical forever but to accept that anger is part of this.

Today I had to have an HSG done again (they fill the cervix with dye to make sure there was no damage).  It was horrible because my 'cervix' kept disappearing as the tech said.  They literally had 5 different things up my &$#%&$% and a 5 minute procedure took 45 minutes.  After 2 very bumpy attempt they had to call in a specialist.  It made me incredibly sore and incredibly sad-this is the first time I've seen an ultrasound with an empty womb since I last saw Jude kicking away when he was alive.  I held in the tears till the staff left the room.  In the car, it was one of the first times I prayed, but it was a crying, "why? how could you? what did I do? when will this end?  Where is the mercy and grace we sing about?

Here comes the vomit on blog.  I have to get it out.

1.  I'm mad because we have paid $24k+ in infertility treatments.  This is like paying for air.

2.  I'm mad because I will NEVER get to enjoy pregnancy if I ever carry again.  I will be horrified, paranoid, and doubtful.

3.  I'm mad because at church at a baby dedication the pastor read a verse about how "blessed" parents are to have kids.  Am I not blessed? 

4.  I'm mad because if I want to look at my child I have to go to a memory box that has pictures of his face instead of tiptoeing into his nursery to kiss him goodnight.,

5.  I'm mad because people have to tiptoe around me.  I cannot be normal and jump to host the next shower or talk diaper cream.  The only way I can relate to pregnant friends or new mommies is by talking about what I've experienced and that makes people feel awkward and possibly scared.

6.  I'm mad because I truly believed "this was it."  2 kids, done with infertility treatments forever.  Doing the stupid HSG today is exactly what I was doing this time one year ago. 

7.  I'm mad because no matter where I go, what I do, I am always aware of missing a part of myself.  I'm mad because at night the memories and flashbacks suddenly start playing the saddest movie I've ever seen in my head.

8.  I'm mad that 2 days ago I got excited because I got a package in the mail all to find out it was a box of formula and a "congrats new mom" package for babies that are buried.

9.  I'm mad that I happen to be 1 of 10 people that struggle with infertility.  I'm mad that we have both female and male factor infertility against us.  I'm mad I'm one of the 3% that has to pursue IVF.  I'm mad that after years of trying, we finally beat the dumb statistics all to fall into the .04% whose waters break at a deadly stage and my cervix is possibly incompetent.  SERIOUSLY?

10.  I'm mad that when the phone rings from a married friend that I immediately feel with dread that "maybe they are pregnant" and panic.  (Please note I get this is not right, I'm just being incredibly honest.  I get over it really quick).

11.  I'm mad that I struggle praying.  I don't want to be a whiny "Christian" that gets hard-hearted and bitter towards God because He does something I cannot understand; however, after years of unanswered prayers I'm at a place where I accept that He is going to do what He is going to do.  My faith is more raw and I'm more "scared" of the huge amount of pain and sorrow that this world is capable of offering to Christians and non-Christians alike.  As we move forward with future efforts to build our family, I more of the mentally of "buckling up my seatbelt" and seeing what His plans are. 

Alright.  That's off my chest.

I know anger is natural and as mentioned, I was warned it would come.  The crappy thing about grief is I've heard it comes in cycles.  I know time helps heal and I KNOW that moving forward in the fight for Jude and Brinly's siblings is the best I can do to cope and allow myself to hope again.

Through all the pain, sadness, anger, and destruction there have been a few beautiful people placed in our lives that have reached out and helped us realize we are not alone and have given us that glimmer to keep on hoping.  I have to cling to that, accept the fact that life is unfair and I'm one of her victims.  To rejoice in the beautiful life I've been given outside this stupid fertility category.  But for today, I'm mad.

Next Steps In the Fight for our Family

December 31, 2013

My Christmas break has been filled with several phone calls, meetings with doctors, discussion, and thought.

After meeting with our RE at OHSU (who was sure this whole thing was a fluke and wanted me to try again), we met with our maternal fetal specialist who took care of us while losing J and B. 

He doesn't think this was a fluke at all.  Although there is no "crystal ball" his best assumption is that I have some form of an incompetent cervix.  This diagnosis shocked me as I thought IC was when your cervix shortens super quick, dilates, and you deliver within hours.  He explained that I might have like a "twitching" cervix-that perhaps it open and closed just enough to let an infection get in...which eventually broke Brinly's sac, which lead to her falling out and things being REALLY open, which let more infection get in that eventually spread to Jude's placenta.  AH. 

None of the doctor's are saying "don't try again" but he was the only one that brought up surrogacy as something to consider, simply because its taking my body out of the factor.  He also warned against ever transferring 2 embryos since we know my body didn't respond well with twins-however, he doesn't think the twins caused the pPROM since it was still so early in the game.  This creates somewhat of a complex because although I don't want to get pregnant with twins again, transferring just 1 embryo seems insane since only 2 out of my SEVEN actually made it past the 12 week mark.  For those that have done IVF you know it's draining and long and emotional and the idea of plopping in 1 little embryo at a time sounds awful.  Anyway...

All this to say, IF I EVER manage to get pregnant on my own, they will give me a cerclage at 12 weeks (stitch my cervix closed) in hopes of keeping out infection/it opening randomly and then give my progesterone shots weekly throughout pregnancy.  That plan supposedly reduces my chances of this happening again.  Scary, I'm not going to lie. 

As of now, Darren and I are thinking for the next few months we might try the "old fashion way" with a twist (drum roll please).  Ok, fine, the twist is basically we try on our own but with both of us on medicine.  All my life I knew I didn't ovulate so when the time came to try to get pregnant, we jumped into IUI's immediately.  For those that have been following awhile, although we did IUIs Darren was never on meds himself to help with his counts-several of the IUIs were wasted because I wasn't monitored, the counts were low, I had gotten a false ovulation surge, etc. 

After we gave up on IUIs Dar got a second opinion and they put him on oral tablets and within a couple months they say improvements-at this point we had already paid for IVF and I wasn't going to stop going after those.  Currently we feel like it might be a good idea to let my body chill out a bit (I've delivered 2 babies in the last 6 and 8 weeks), and IN THEORY, I ovulate on femera, his clomid pulls his counts into the normal range-we might be able to conceive kind of normally.  I'm sure that if a few months pass and it looks like we are headed to the land of nowhere, we will consider other options.  Sigh.

I hate the fact that J and B could have been most likely saved if we had known my lame cervix was crappy, but there is really no way of knowing till after the fact.  I'm thankful there is some explanation other than "it was random, it's a freak thing" because there really is no "plan" for a future random/freak thing.  One day at a time. 

All I know is our desire to have a child has only increased.  The fights not over.  We are moving forward.