I saw an advertisement to become a music docent the month after my second miscarriage. I was looking for alternative ways to bring children into my life, since creating them in the usual way wasn't working so well for me, so I signed up. The training was one of the best and worst experiences I have every had. Learning to teach music, pretending to be children, getting to actually *play* the games and sing the songs we'd be teaching, was wonderful! I had so much fun with that part of it. The problem was that my fellow trainees were all either mothers (or grandmothers) or bright-eyed naive young women with children of their own "sometime" in their future. I wasn't talking about my miscarriages freely. I was too afraid of getting overloaded with unsolicited advice. So I didn't make any connections, just felt bitter and envious of all these lucky mothers I had to spend several hours a week with for 2.5 months.I don't think that's the kind of story they are looking for. They want to hear about the music, and the cute things kids say and do. They want to inspire other people to become docents. But for me, the experience was so much more. It was a challenge and a lifeline all rolled into one. The music was a vehicle for me to interact with children in a scenario that was emotionally safe for *me*. And their request inspired me to tell my music docenting story, even if I don't end up telling it to them.
I made exactly one friend, and she was the docent coordinator. She was sympathetic, and having her know my situation helped me through some rough parts of getting started in the classroom. That was the other complication. The teacher of classroom I was assigned to was ill for several months, and I ended up having to work with 3 or 4 different subs during that time. Communications were sometimes difficult, and I never knew who to expect when I showed up. At least the teachers communicated with each other, so they usually knew to expect me, but one time, even that message didn't get through!
In the midst of all of this confusion, I had my third miscarriage and missed a few weeks of teaching due to that, and then having the flu. The kids were the reason I kept going. Teaching them was a joy, partly because I love music, but also because it gave me 30 minutes out of my week when I wasn't thinking about my infertility, when I felt worthwhile and valued. It also was a wonderful way for me to stay in touch with why I love children and want some of my own. When I see kids with their parents at the supermarket, I focus on the parents. I see the kids almost as possessions or status symbols that I don't have and they do. But when I am in the classroom, I see the children as the individuals they are. I got to know the children in my class. I tried to pay attention to each of them, to help the rowdy ones participate appropriately and the shy ones come out of their shells.
I was able to bring music to 20 children who might not have had it otherwise, and to see their smiling faces every week kept me going through the rough times. Now I've had a total of five miscarriages, and I'm hoping that new testing will yield new information to create a better treatment plan. I hope to stay pregnant the next time I try. But no matter what happens on my family building journey, I'm going to keep teaching music, because it brings a ray of sunshine into the darkness that is my current life.
Showing posts with label Sharing My Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sharing My Story. Show all posts
Saturday, September 10
"We Want Your Story"
The organization that runs the music program where I'm a docent wants to collect their docents' "stories" for an advertising campaign. I wonder if they want mine . . .
Sunday, April 17
Why I've Been so Quiet
I haven't been blogging much about what's been going on in my life lately, because it's been really hard to find the words. How do you say, on a blog about grief and loss, that life is, well, wonderful? Really, truly, I don't believe I have ever felt better in my life. Even the "bad" days I have had in the past week have been nowhere near the depths of despair and depression I was experiencing a couple of weeks ago. Things are truly fabulous! But how can I say that, without sounding annoying and insincere?
The thing is, I have been living with the weight of my childhood trauma pressing on me for as long as I can remember. A week ago, a couple days after I had an especially intense EMDR session in therapy, that weight lifted. I feel free. I can handle the stress of dealing with RPL now, because I am no longer looking at in through the eyes of a traumatized child. I am finally have a normal ability to cope with stress. It doesn't make the stress go away, but the painful filter of the past is gone, which makes facing the future much easier.
So this is where I am right now. Many things have gone right in the past week. I sold some things that have been taking up physical and emotional space in my life for several years. Ms. Bird had to cancel an appointment and I didn't even miss it. I took my ear balls out a week ago, and I haven't missed them, either. (To put that in perspective, I've been wearing ear balls almost constantly since Christmas, and if I did have them out for more than a few hours, I was a wreck.)
On Friday, I called up a friend, a woman I used to work for, to get back in touch. I really hope that we will be able to get together soon, but even if we don't, just talking to her make a big difference. I knew I would be able to tell her my story. I don't think she'd told me hers before, but there were hints that were easy enough to piece together from hindsight. Turns out we do have a lot in common in our reproductive stories. Just hearing her story and sharing mine helped so much.
If the real-life pregnancies are more difficult, the real-life support is equally potent. Even with someone like this friend, someone who is a talker, and not the type to sit down and just listen and cry with you, there was still the feeling of underlying support. It was tangible.
One thing she said really made an impression on me. It was something like, "Don't close yourself off from testing." At the time, she was referring to prenatal screening, but hearing her say that jarred me into the realization that it will be worth getting the immune tests run. The information I gain from them will be valuable. I wanted to be sure I actually wanted the information before I went in for the blood draw, because too much information can be a bad thing. Now, I feel confident that getting the tests run is the right decision. I'm ready to handle whatever information they may yield. (That's another huge shift from how I was feeling just a couple of weeks ago.)
Thanks again to everyone who has shared your stories with me about immune testing, treatment, and related decision-making! It helped me to put my own choices and decisions into perspective.
The thing is, I have been living with the weight of my childhood trauma pressing on me for as long as I can remember. A week ago, a couple days after I had an especially intense EMDR session in therapy, that weight lifted. I feel free. I can handle the stress of dealing with RPL now, because I am no longer looking at in through the eyes of a traumatized child. I am finally have a normal ability to cope with stress. It doesn't make the stress go away, but the painful filter of the past is gone, which makes facing the future much easier.
So this is where I am right now. Many things have gone right in the past week. I sold some things that have been taking up physical and emotional space in my life for several years. Ms. Bird had to cancel an appointment and I didn't even miss it. I took my ear balls out a week ago, and I haven't missed them, either. (To put that in perspective, I've been wearing ear balls almost constantly since Christmas, and if I did have them out for more than a few hours, I was a wreck.)
On Friday, I called up a friend, a woman I used to work for, to get back in touch. I really hope that we will be able to get together soon, but even if we don't, just talking to her make a big difference. I knew I would be able to tell her my story. I don't think she'd told me hers before, but there were hints that were easy enough to piece together from hindsight. Turns out we do have a lot in common in our reproductive stories. Just hearing her story and sharing mine helped so much.
If the real-life pregnancies are more difficult, the real-life support is equally potent. Even with someone like this friend, someone who is a talker, and not the type to sit down and just listen and cry with you, there was still the feeling of underlying support. It was tangible.
One thing she said really made an impression on me. It was something like, "Don't close yourself off from testing." At the time, she was referring to prenatal screening, but hearing her say that jarred me into the realization that it will be worth getting the immune tests run. The information I gain from them will be valuable. I wanted to be sure I actually wanted the information before I went in for the blood draw, because too much information can be a bad thing. Now, I feel confident that getting the tests run is the right decision. I'm ready to handle whatever information they may yield. (That's another huge shift from how I was feeling just a couple of weeks ago.)
Thanks again to everyone who has shared your stories with me about immune testing, treatment, and related decision-making! It helped me to put my own choices and decisions into perspective.
Monday, April 11
The Ugly Duckling
This blog is meant to be about my life now, focusing on my struggles with RPL, but my past shapes who I am. Who I was what I went through as a child, informs and affects how I deal with my life as an adult. I have hinted about my past to some of you in my comments on your blogs, but I've barely mentioned it here. I didn't want to get into my past $#!t. It isn't a nice story, but I think it's time to tell it. I'm not going to sugar coat it. I'm not going to go into details, either. I'm not looking for pity, and I hope I don't sound too bitter. I am dealing with my past in therapy. I probably can contemplate writing this post because I just had a major breakthrough last week. However, my story is one of being overlooked. I hope that by telling some of it--at least the pertinent details--other children may benefit.
I am a victim of childhood emotional abuse. I have symptoms of PTSD as a result of this abuse. This abuse was compounded by the fact that it was overlooked and dismissed by most of the people in my life who had the power to stop it. Over the course of my childhood, starting at the age of 4 years old and continuing throughout my teenage years, the perpetrators of this abuse humiliated, ostracized, and shunned me on an almost daily basis. This abuse occurred both in private and in the presence of responsible adults, including parents and teachers. The few adults who tried to help me weren't able to stop the abuse, only to limit it and partially mitigate it's effects. Most adults, however, were blind to the situation, and often blamed me for being too emotionally sensitive. Very few saw that there was a problem, and the ones who saw it didn't recognize that I was being abused. I believe this lack of recognition of the severity of the situation was largely due to the fact that the perpetrators were my peers.
That's right. My abusers were other children. I'm not just speaking of a class bully, although that would have been bad enough. No, this was the entire class. They closed ranks against me and permanently shut me out. I was at the bottom of the pecking order from preschool through 12th grade. Even the new kids were higher on the pecking order than I was. The abuse changed forms as time went on, and the other children became more subtle in their tactics. In elementary school, the preferred tactics were public humiliation and ostracism, by means of all sorts of verbal teasing, bating, and practical jokes, as well as wooing my few friends away from me. By high school I was simply shut out of the entire school's social life.* No one was saying anything mean to my face, but no one was inviting me to social functions, either. Unless it was a school event, I didn't hear about it until after the fact. People were friendly enough in person that the teachers didn't know I was shut out, but I knew.
I'm not going to go into more detail about what happened, because I'm not writing this to vent about my past. I'm writing it because Mel wrote recently about a bully who is only "six, so the damage she can do is fairly minimal". I don't know what kind of damage Mel was thinking about, but I will say that a 6 year old can do considerable damage to another 6 year old. For example, at 4 years old, I could (and would) say, "That hurts my feelings," when my peers teased me. By the time I was 7, they had beaten me down to the point where I no longer tried to stand up for myself. Words can cause deep, psychological wounds, that can take years to even be recognized, not to mention how long they take to heal.
I, myself, didn't even recognize the extent of the damage that had been done to me until late in 2008, when I attended a lecture by a representative of an organization called KidPower. The lecturer spoke about the damage of unkind words. She likened allowing children to wield words without supervision and training to allowing them to play near deep water, or with matches or knives. This rang so true for me. Children don't always know how to be kind. They try doing and saying all sorts of different things. If they get an interesting or exciting reaction, they don't think that it means something about the other person's feelings, they sit back and enjoy the show. They are generally not malicious, but they are also not necessarily instinctively gentle. Children need to be taught, both how to be kind and how to set boundaries when another person is unkind.
KidPower offers usable, kid-friendly, effective skills for dealing with bullying and unkind behavior. They teach empowering techniques, such as an imaginary trash can, in which to throw away unkind words, and, on the flip side, how to take kind words and compliments to heart. They also teach how to set boundaries in a non-defensive, firm, non-aggressive manner, and when and how to ask for help. Most importantly (in my opinion), they teach adults to supervise their children's interactions, teach their children to be kind and thoughtful, and be responsive when a child needs help with a social situation. This doesn't mean the adults hover over the children constantly, or never let them work things out, but it does mean that the adults are available if a child asks for help or a situation gets out of hand. I can clearly remember, as a child, asking for help in a social situation at recess and being dismissed by the supervising teacher. I wish that teacher had done more to a) validate my hurt feelings and help me soothe myself, and b) ensure that the other children learned kinder behavior for the future. I believe that, if KidPower workshops had been available to my community when I was growing up, much of the heartache I experienced could have been averted.
I also believe that trauma can be healed. I am in the process of using a powerful technique called EMDR to heal from the wounds of my childhood. With my therapist's help, I am becoming more whole. I hope to someday be completely free of the flashbacks and extreme emotional reactions that have plagued me for years. I tell my story in hope that it will help parents and teachers recognize the beginnings of childhood peer abuse, and take action to teach all the children in their care healthier social skills.
* I attended a small, private school, with only 40-60 students per grade each year. So the entire high school was at most 240 students (but actually closer to 160), and all of them knew that I was at the bottom of the social ladder.
I am a victim of childhood emotional abuse. I have symptoms of PTSD as a result of this abuse. This abuse was compounded by the fact that it was overlooked and dismissed by most of the people in my life who had the power to stop it. Over the course of my childhood, starting at the age of 4 years old and continuing throughout my teenage years, the perpetrators of this abuse humiliated, ostracized, and shunned me on an almost daily basis. This abuse occurred both in private and in the presence of responsible adults, including parents and teachers. The few adults who tried to help me weren't able to stop the abuse, only to limit it and partially mitigate it's effects. Most adults, however, were blind to the situation, and often blamed me for being too emotionally sensitive. Very few saw that there was a problem, and the ones who saw it didn't recognize that I was being abused. I believe this lack of recognition of the severity of the situation was largely due to the fact that the perpetrators were my peers.
That's right. My abusers were other children. I'm not just speaking of a class bully, although that would have been bad enough. No, this was the entire class. They closed ranks against me and permanently shut me out. I was at the bottom of the pecking order from preschool through 12th grade. Even the new kids were higher on the pecking order than I was. The abuse changed forms as time went on, and the other children became more subtle in their tactics. In elementary school, the preferred tactics were public humiliation and ostracism, by means of all sorts of verbal teasing, bating, and practical jokes, as well as wooing my few friends away from me. By high school I was simply shut out of the entire school's social life.* No one was saying anything mean to my face, but no one was inviting me to social functions, either. Unless it was a school event, I didn't hear about it until after the fact. People were friendly enough in person that the teachers didn't know I was shut out, but I knew.
I'm not going to go into more detail about what happened, because I'm not writing this to vent about my past. I'm writing it because Mel wrote recently about a bully who is only "six, so the damage she can do is fairly minimal". I don't know what kind of damage Mel was thinking about, but I will say that a 6 year old can do considerable damage to another 6 year old. For example, at 4 years old, I could (and would) say, "That hurts my feelings," when my peers teased me. By the time I was 7, they had beaten me down to the point where I no longer tried to stand up for myself. Words can cause deep, psychological wounds, that can take years to even be recognized, not to mention how long they take to heal.
I, myself, didn't even recognize the extent of the damage that had been done to me until late in 2008, when I attended a lecture by a representative of an organization called KidPower. The lecturer spoke about the damage of unkind words. She likened allowing children to wield words without supervision and training to allowing them to play near deep water, or with matches or knives. This rang so true for me. Children don't always know how to be kind. They try doing and saying all sorts of different things. If they get an interesting or exciting reaction, they don't think that it means something about the other person's feelings, they sit back and enjoy the show. They are generally not malicious, but they are also not necessarily instinctively gentle. Children need to be taught, both how to be kind and how to set boundaries when another person is unkind.
KidPower offers usable, kid-friendly, effective skills for dealing with bullying and unkind behavior. They teach empowering techniques, such as an imaginary trash can, in which to throw away unkind words, and, on the flip side, how to take kind words and compliments to heart. They also teach how to set boundaries in a non-defensive, firm, non-aggressive manner, and when and how to ask for help. Most importantly (in my opinion), they teach adults to supervise their children's interactions, teach their children to be kind and thoughtful, and be responsive when a child needs help with a social situation. This doesn't mean the adults hover over the children constantly, or never let them work things out, but it does mean that the adults are available if a child asks for help or a situation gets out of hand. I can clearly remember, as a child, asking for help in a social situation at recess and being dismissed by the supervising teacher. I wish that teacher had done more to a) validate my hurt feelings and help me soothe myself, and b) ensure that the other children learned kinder behavior for the future. I believe that, if KidPower workshops had been available to my community when I was growing up, much of the heartache I experienced could have been averted.
I also believe that trauma can be healed. I am in the process of using a powerful technique called EMDR to heal from the wounds of my childhood. With my therapist's help, I am becoming more whole. I hope to someday be completely free of the flashbacks and extreme emotional reactions that have plagued me for years. I tell my story in hope that it will help parents and teachers recognize the beginnings of childhood peer abuse, and take action to teach all the children in their care healthier social skills.
* I attended a small, private school, with only 40-60 students per grade each year. So the entire high school was at most 240 students (but actually closer to 160), and all of them knew that I was at the bottom of the social ladder.
Tuesday, February 22
My Experience of Pregnancy
I have received many very supportive and kind comments over the past few days on my posts about my most recent pregnancy and miscarriage. I truly appreciate the outpouring of support--it has buoyed me up during a difficult time. Thank you all so much. You're unconditional support has meant more than I can ever express.
Until now, I have been intentionally vague and guarded about sharing the exact nature of my losses on this blog. IRL I have had to deal with skepticism and questions nearly every time I have revealed the particulars of my brief pregnancies. This is one of the reasons I have been so private about my experiences. However, I had hoped that the people reading this blog would be more empathetic and understanding, since we are all in this journey together, even if our stories are different. With that hope in my heart, and a need for support regardless of whether I stayed pregnant or not, I posted some of the details of my most recent pregnancy. Although I the vast majority of comments I received were supportive, I was saddened to discover that even within the ALI community some people still lack of empathy for other's unique situations. I chose not to publish the un-supportive comments I received. Instead, I took them as a sign that it is time to be much more open about my experiences, in the hopes that, if you understand my story better, you will be able to feel more empathy for my situation. Again, I really appreciate all the unconditional support, but for those of you who are wondering why I ever let myself think I was pregnant before I got a BFP, here are are the details. Obviously, it's all TMI. :-)
(BTW, I am not looking for sympathy regarding my pregnancy symptoms. I welcome these symptoms, because they are, so far, my only way of knowing what is going on inside my body. My only reason for describing them in detail is to show why I cannot compartmentalize them while I wait for objective confirmation of pregnancy.)
I have never considered myself pregnant without unmistakable symptoms that are unique and different from my normal pattern of PMS. I only consider myself pregnant when I have a particular pattern of symptoms, and even then I wait to fully believe in the pregnancy until the symptoms are so strong that they interfere with my ability to function normally. Anything else I try to attribute to phantom symptoms, PMS, or being under the weather, so as to avoid getting my hopes up unnecessarily.
All my pregnancies have been so brief that they ended before I got a BFP. However, I know that I have been pregnant three times because my body reacts to implantation strongly enough to produce symptoms that begin interfere with my ability to function normally by 10-12 dpo. This makes it very difficult to take the attitude that any and all symptoms I experience between O and AF are inconclusive until confirmed by a BFP. If my symptoms were less demanding, I would happily wait for a BFP to consider myself pregnant. Believe me, I have tried. I hate getting my hopes up only to have them crushed by yet another failed implantation that feels to me like a miscarriage.
If I had mild symptoms that could be compartmentalized during the 2WW, I would treat a BFN at the end of such a cycle as a non-conception. Alternately, if I could find a brand of pregnancy test sensitive enough to give me a BFP when I start experiencing symptoms, I would use it. I find it supremely unfair that I have to deal with blatant, unmistakable pregnancy symptoms that interfere with my ability to function normally without the comfort and proof of a BFP. Because of this, I am planning to ask for a blood test at 10 or 11 dpo the next time I experience these symptoms, in hopes that my hCG will be detectable at that time, so that I will have some proof to wave in the faces of the doubters.
These unmistakable symptoms I keep mentioning aren't things like mild (but ignorable) breast tenderness, slight nausea, or slightly increased fatigue. I can and do compartmentalize my symptoms when they are at that level. However, as soon my symptoms become strong enough to singificantly interfere with my ability to function normally, I consider myself pregnant, regardless of objective proof. Trying to continue to compartmentalize my symptoms at this point is impossible for me. There is no 'maybe' to these symptoms. They SCREAM pregnancy.
My symptoms are mild when they begin to appear. It's just that they start at 6-8 dpo and increase in strength and intensity each day after that. By the time I'm 10-12 dpo, the nausea is so intense that I have to change my eating habits to cope with it. I go from eating 3 large meals and one large snack a day to grazing on 6 or more small, high protein meals a day, with lots of nibbling in between. I start feeling nauseous if I get too hungry, but I also end up feeling nauseous if I eat too much at one time. My nausea even forced me to get up and eat a small meal during the last night of my third pregnancy. (I tried for an hour to go back to sleep before giving in.) That same pregnancy, I experienced enough increased urinary frequency to wake me up at night starting at 11 dpo. The combination of nightime nausea and urinary frequency made it difficult to get a good sample of FMU for an accurate HPT. Every time I've been pregnant I have experienced low stamina starting around 10-11dpo. During the last few days of my third pregnancy, I would be so tired after running errands for an hour or two that all I wanted to do when I got home was lie down. The only 'symptom' I was able to compartmentalize during that pregnancy was my breast tenderness, which may have been just slightly more than normal. Since it was so similar to my normal, I didn't consider breast tenderness to be a pregnancy symptom that month.
The type of very early pregnancy loss I've experienced is an important aspect if IF. In fact, many women conceive and miscarry over and over without knowing it. Usually the woman doesn't have very strong symptoms, and her period comes on time or just a couple of days late. This type of recurrent, very early miscarriage is treatable. Diagnosing and treating this problem can prevent the unnecessary use of stronger fertility drugs. However, since most women have mild (if any) symptoms during the 2WW, most cases of recurrent very early pregnancy loss are treated as conception problems. In some ways, I am lucky that I have such unmistakable pregnancy symptoms, because it means we can rule out conception problems. Both Dr. R. and Ms. Bird are focusing their treatment plans on preparing me for a healthy pregnancy and supporting implantation.
Although the most accurate description of my problem would be chemical pregnancy, I prefer to use the term miscarriage. I'm okay with “chemical pregnancy”, although it does seem to trivialize the issue. The one term I'm not okay with is “failed cycle”. There are two reasons I dislike this term: First, two of my three pregnancies were unplanned. In my mind, the term "failed cycle" implies that the couple were actively TTC. That term would be appropriate only during cycles when The Mister and I had tried, and failed, to get pregnant. Second, I would only say that a cycle "failed" if I had not experienced unmistakable pregnancy symptoms that month. If I experience the symptom-picture described above, followed by lack of symptoms and bleeding, then I treat it as a miscarriage. Since I'm dealing with unmistakable pregnancy symptoms, I'm going to call it a pregnancy. It's the only perk I get out of this whole $h!tty deal.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. I have tried to clearly describe many details of my experience of pregnancy, so you will (hopefully) understand why I categorize my experience as pregnancy loss. If my reasons are still unclear, I welcome and will try to respond to respectful requests for clarification. Personal stories of similar experiences are also welcome, even if you interpret your experience differently than mine. I will only ask that you refrain from advising me on how I should interpret my experience.
On another note, I think I am handling this latest loss much better than my previous losses. I am aware, from my previous experiences, that it is a loss, that I will need to grieve, and that there will be emotional challenges ahead. I'm much more honest with myself about how sad I am over losing this pregnancy. I know that denying my grief will only delay my healing. Also, I have both personal professional support networks in place already, so I think it will be much easier for me to come up with a new game plan. Having a direction helps to keep me from getting too mired in grieving. So I'm both sad and hopeful at the same time.
Until now, I have been intentionally vague and guarded about sharing the exact nature of my losses on this blog. IRL I have had to deal with skepticism and questions nearly every time I have revealed the particulars of my brief pregnancies. This is one of the reasons I have been so private about my experiences. However, I had hoped that the people reading this blog would be more empathetic and understanding, since we are all in this journey together, even if our stories are different. With that hope in my heart, and a need for support regardless of whether I stayed pregnant or not, I posted some of the details of my most recent pregnancy. Although I the vast majority of comments I received were supportive, I was saddened to discover that even within the ALI community some people still lack of empathy for other's unique situations. I chose not to publish the un-supportive comments I received. Instead, I took them as a sign that it is time to be much more open about my experiences, in the hopes that, if you understand my story better, you will be able to feel more empathy for my situation. Again, I really appreciate all the unconditional support, but for those of you who are wondering why I ever let myself think I was pregnant before I got a BFP, here are are the details. Obviously, it's all TMI. :-)
(BTW, I am not looking for sympathy regarding my pregnancy symptoms. I welcome these symptoms, because they are, so far, my only way of knowing what is going on inside my body. My only reason for describing them in detail is to show why I cannot compartmentalize them while I wait for objective confirmation of pregnancy.)
I have never considered myself pregnant without unmistakable symptoms that are unique and different from my normal pattern of PMS. I only consider myself pregnant when I have a particular pattern of symptoms, and even then I wait to fully believe in the pregnancy until the symptoms are so strong that they interfere with my ability to function normally. Anything else I try to attribute to phantom symptoms, PMS, or being under the weather, so as to avoid getting my hopes up unnecessarily.
All my pregnancies have been so brief that they ended before I got a BFP. However, I know that I have been pregnant three times because my body reacts to implantation strongly enough to produce symptoms that begin interfere with my ability to function normally by 10-12 dpo. This makes it very difficult to take the attitude that any and all symptoms I experience between O and AF are inconclusive until confirmed by a BFP. If my symptoms were less demanding, I would happily wait for a BFP to consider myself pregnant. Believe me, I have tried. I hate getting my hopes up only to have them crushed by yet another failed implantation that feels to me like a miscarriage.
If I had mild symptoms that could be compartmentalized during the 2WW, I would treat a BFN at the end of such a cycle as a non-conception. Alternately, if I could find a brand of pregnancy test sensitive enough to give me a BFP when I start experiencing symptoms, I would use it. I find it supremely unfair that I have to deal with blatant, unmistakable pregnancy symptoms that interfere with my ability to function normally without the comfort and proof of a BFP. Because of this, I am planning to ask for a blood test at 10 or 11 dpo the next time I experience these symptoms, in hopes that my hCG will be detectable at that time, so that I will have some proof to wave in the faces of the doubters.
These unmistakable symptoms I keep mentioning aren't things like mild (but ignorable) breast tenderness, slight nausea, or slightly increased fatigue. I can and do compartmentalize my symptoms when they are at that level. However, as soon my symptoms become strong enough to singificantly interfere with my ability to function normally, I consider myself pregnant, regardless of objective proof. Trying to continue to compartmentalize my symptoms at this point is impossible for me. There is no 'maybe' to these symptoms. They SCREAM pregnancy.
My symptoms are mild when they begin to appear. It's just that they start at 6-8 dpo and increase in strength and intensity each day after that. By the time I'm 10-12 dpo, the nausea is so intense that I have to change my eating habits to cope with it. I go from eating 3 large meals and one large snack a day to grazing on 6 or more small, high protein meals a day, with lots of nibbling in between. I start feeling nauseous if I get too hungry, but I also end up feeling nauseous if I eat too much at one time. My nausea even forced me to get up and eat a small meal during the last night of my third pregnancy. (I tried for an hour to go back to sleep before giving in.) That same pregnancy, I experienced enough increased urinary frequency to wake me up at night starting at 11 dpo. The combination of nightime nausea and urinary frequency made it difficult to get a good sample of FMU for an accurate HPT. Every time I've been pregnant I have experienced low stamina starting around 10-11dpo. During the last few days of my third pregnancy, I would be so tired after running errands for an hour or two that all I wanted to do when I got home was lie down. The only 'symptom' I was able to compartmentalize during that pregnancy was my breast tenderness, which may have been just slightly more than normal. Since it was so similar to my normal, I didn't consider breast tenderness to be a pregnancy symptom that month.
The type of very early pregnancy loss I've experienced is an important aspect if IF. In fact, many women conceive and miscarry over and over without knowing it. Usually the woman doesn't have very strong symptoms, and her period comes on time or just a couple of days late. This type of recurrent, very early miscarriage is treatable. Diagnosing and treating this problem can prevent the unnecessary use of stronger fertility drugs. However, since most women have mild (if any) symptoms during the 2WW, most cases of recurrent very early pregnancy loss are treated as conception problems. In some ways, I am lucky that I have such unmistakable pregnancy symptoms, because it means we can rule out conception problems. Both Dr. R. and Ms. Bird are focusing their treatment plans on preparing me for a healthy pregnancy and supporting implantation.
Although the most accurate description of my problem would be chemical pregnancy, I prefer to use the term miscarriage. I'm okay with “chemical pregnancy”, although it does seem to trivialize the issue. The one term I'm not okay with is “failed cycle”. There are two reasons I dislike this term: First, two of my three pregnancies were unplanned. In my mind, the term "failed cycle" implies that the couple were actively TTC. That term would be appropriate only during cycles when The Mister and I had tried, and failed, to get pregnant. Second, I would only say that a cycle "failed" if I had not experienced unmistakable pregnancy symptoms that month. If I experience the symptom-picture described above, followed by lack of symptoms and bleeding, then I treat it as a miscarriage. Since I'm dealing with unmistakable pregnancy symptoms, I'm going to call it a pregnancy. It's the only perk I get out of this whole $h!tty deal.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. I have tried to clearly describe many details of my experience of pregnancy, so you will (hopefully) understand why I categorize my experience as pregnancy loss. If my reasons are still unclear, I welcome and will try to respond to respectful requests for clarification. Personal stories of similar experiences are also welcome, even if you interpret your experience differently than mine. I will only ask that you refrain from advising me on how I should interpret my experience.
~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~
On another note, I think I am handling this latest loss much better than my previous losses. I am aware, from my previous experiences, that it is a loss, that I will need to grieve, and that there will be emotional challenges ahead. I'm much more honest with myself about how sad I am over losing this pregnancy. I know that denying my grief will only delay my healing. Also, I have both personal professional support networks in place already, so I think it will be much easier for me to come up with a new game plan. Having a direction helps to keep me from getting too mired in grieving. So I'm both sad and hopeful at the same time.
Thursday, January 6
Astin Was Due Today
As best I can figure it, Astin would have been due today. I never got a doctor due date; I just did some math on my own. Sometime this week, anyway, I would have reached that magic 40 week mark, had my first pregnancy progressed normally. In some alternate reality, another me is stroking a hugely pregnant belly, wondering if these Braxton-Hicks will ever get regular, swearing through hard labor, holding a baby. But not here. Not now. Not on this Earth.
(The Mister is a Sci-Fi fan. Some of it rubs off. Recently he's been reading and watching stuff about parallel universes and alternate realities. That must be where I get these crazy ideas.)
I wasn't all that upset today. Yesterday was worse. I'm sure that is part of why I needed to talk about my miscarriages to someone yesterday. I did end up telling someone about my miscarriages today, too. I had a teeth cleaning and needed to give an update on my medical status and all the meds I'm taking and stuff. Turns out the hygienist had two miscarriages herself, years and years ago. She was very compassionate. It helped to hear her story, and know that she still remembers. It helped me affirm that I will never forget.
I miss you, Astin. I loved you before I knew you. I hope that somehow, someday, I can meet you again and hold you in my arms. Until then, I will carry you in my heart. Mama loves you, my little star.
(The Mister is a Sci-Fi fan. Some of it rubs off. Recently he's been reading and watching stuff about parallel universes and alternate realities. That must be where I get these crazy ideas.)
I wasn't all that upset today. Yesterday was worse. I'm sure that is part of why I needed to talk about my miscarriages to someone yesterday. I did end up telling someone about my miscarriages today, too. I had a teeth cleaning and needed to give an update on my medical status and all the meds I'm taking and stuff. Turns out the hygienist had two miscarriages herself, years and years ago. She was very compassionate. It helped to hear her story, and know that she still remembers. It helped me affirm that I will never forget.
I miss you, Astin. I loved you before I knew you. I hope that somehow, someday, I can meet you again and hold you in my arms. Until then, I will carry you in my heart. Mama loves you, my little star.
Wednesday, January 5
Letting People In (Edited)
(Edited because on second read-through, this came across too defensive/aggressive. My intent was not to attack or criticize, but more to express and explain my own point of view and motivation in my choices regarding sharing my story.)
I've been thinking a lot lately about letting more people in on what is going on in my life with regards to my miscarriages. I'm not sure when it started, but it the feeling has grown, gradually, over the past few weeks. There are a couple particular people I have in mind, that I want to share my experiences with, but I also have a general feeling of just wanting to be more public about my miscarriages.
Still, I am not quite ready to go completely public. I want to be cautious, since I have had a history of sharing too much and then regretting it later. You can't ever un-tell a person, once they know, and sometimes it turns out to be a problem, if it's a person you can't simply cut off contact with.
Once a Mother (who wrote the post I referenced here) left a comment I'd like to address:
I agree that the losses people in the ALI world experience aren't chosen--no one would chose this pain. However, everyone responds to pain differently. Some people feel caged, or inhibited, if they don't share their story. Others prefer to keep their pain close, because it is so personal, sharing it may feel to intimate for many situations. I think that going through IF/PAIL puts people into a closet, and we all have to choose if, when, and how to out ourselves. That is each person's choice to make. My choice is to out myself slowly and carefully over time. Someone else may never speak of her/his struggles. Another person may tell everyone she/he comes in contact with. Some people have less choice about outing themselves--a late-term loss, stillbirth, or infant death can't easily be hidden from the people who knew about the pregnancy/baby. But even these people may try to chose how and when to share their news.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that we need to respect each-other's choices when it comes to how much each person in the ALI community shares of her/his story, when and with whom. We need to support each individual to make her/his own decisions about what level of sharing is best for her/him. What I see as caution and self-preservation may look to another person like fear or inhibition. It's a matter of personal preference, and it is hard to really understand the motivation behind another person's choices looking in from the outside. I respect and understand that many people choose to share their losses much more openly than I have chosen to share mine. I only ask that in return I be given the respect, space, and freedom to share my story on my own timetable.
For example: today I decided to share my story with someone new. This is someone I see on a regular basis, but don't know extremely well. I consider her an acquaintance. I do, however, know that she has two children, and that her pregnancies were relatively uneventful. For that reason, I thought she would have difficulty understanding, and since she likes to teach and give advice, I thought there was a pretty high chance she would say something patronizing. So all these months, I have avoided telling her anything. She didn't need to know, and I didn't feel a need to tell. Until today. Today, I found myself wanting very much to tell her. To out myself. To give her a chance.
At first, it was just as I expected. Tired, clichéd, patronization. After a few minutes of this, back and forth, with me trying to explain why I didn't agree with the whole "It was for the best" sentiment she was expressing, I finally asked if she'd ever had a miscarriage. No, she hadn't, but her sister had gone through IF/loss, and she had watched that pain. She admitted that she couldn't understand my pain, but I also began to see that she had a good deal of compassion for it. Her heart was in the right place. In fact, within minutes of my asking that one question, she was telling me that she is going to be a surrogate mother. She is well into the process of selecting and being matched with a family, and has started preparing her body for pregnancy. The fact that she chose to become a surrogate out of a desire to help people who otherwise couldn't have children touched me deeply. When she shared that with me, I felt such appreciation for her, that it took most of the sting out of her previous well meant, but naive comments.
So, in the end, I'm glad I shared my story with her, and it did deepen our relationship, but it wore me out, emotionally. I think it will be at least a few weeks before I begin to feel the itch to share with someone new again. :-)
I've been thinking a lot lately about letting more people in on what is going on in my life with regards to my miscarriages. I'm not sure when it started, but it the feeling has grown, gradually, over the past few weeks. There are a couple particular people I have in mind, that I want to share my experiences with, but I also have a general feeling of just wanting to be more public about my miscarriages.
Still, I am not quite ready to go completely public. I want to be cautious, since I have had a history of sharing too much and then regretting it later. You can't ever un-tell a person, once they know, and sometimes it turns out to be a problem, if it's a person you can't simply cut off contact with.
Once a Mother (who wrote the post I referenced here) left a comment I'd like to address:
Thanks for your kind comment on my post, and for introducing me to your blog. I suffered a miscarriage before losing my daughter and then went on to suffer secondary infertility and needed IVF to achieve this pregnancy. The reason I am telling you this is that each of these are topics that can be considered taboo to talk about, or bring uncomfortable comments from others, and to that I say tough. If I inhibit what I share for the sake of others, or the fear of what they are going to say, it will eat me up inside. None of the losses we experience in this ALI world are by choice, and we shouldn't have to feel as if they are our burden to bear silently. I say share your story. You never know, the woman sitting next to you listening, may too really need that outlet, and a beautiful connection may be made. As far as people's rude comments, I always say if you can't stand with me in sorrow, i don't want you there with me in joy.I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts with me, Once a Mother and I agree that the more people in the ALI community share their stories, the more we will life the taboo on these subjects. When a bereaved mother wants to talk about her losses I think she should be able to talk about them. I applaud you for knowing that she would prefer to share her story, even if it makes other uncomfortable, and I appreciate your encouraging me to do the same. However, in general, I don't think I "inhibit" myself, or stop myself from sharing my story when I really want to, neither for the sake of others nor out of fear of being hurt. It is true that I am quite selective; I consciously choose with whom to share, and under what circumstances. I take my time, consider the relationship I have with the other person, and weigh the risks of offending/receiving painful comments against the benefits of potentially deepening our relationship, before I tell my story. Sometimes, people surprise me. Often, I have a good measure of the other person, and the response I get is in line with what I expected.
I agree that the losses people in the ALI world experience aren't chosen--no one would chose this pain. However, everyone responds to pain differently. Some people feel caged, or inhibited, if they don't share their story. Others prefer to keep their pain close, because it is so personal, sharing it may feel to intimate for many situations. I think that going through IF/PAIL puts people into a closet, and we all have to choose if, when, and how to out ourselves. That is each person's choice to make. My choice is to out myself slowly and carefully over time. Someone else may never speak of her/his struggles. Another person may tell everyone she/he comes in contact with. Some people have less choice about outing themselves--a late-term loss, stillbirth, or infant death can't easily be hidden from the people who knew about the pregnancy/baby. But even these people may try to chose how and when to share their news.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that we need to respect each-other's choices when it comes to how much each person in the ALI community shares of her/his story, when and with whom. We need to support each individual to make her/his own decisions about what level of sharing is best for her/him. What I see as caution and self-preservation may look to another person like fear or inhibition. It's a matter of personal preference, and it is hard to really understand the motivation behind another person's choices looking in from the outside. I respect and understand that many people choose to share their losses much more openly than I have chosen to share mine. I only ask that in return I be given the respect, space, and freedom to share my story on my own timetable.
For example: today I decided to share my story with someone new. This is someone I see on a regular basis, but don't know extremely well. I consider her an acquaintance. I do, however, know that she has two children, and that her pregnancies were relatively uneventful. For that reason, I thought she would have difficulty understanding, and since she likes to teach and give advice, I thought there was a pretty high chance she would say something patronizing. So all these months, I have avoided telling her anything. She didn't need to know, and I didn't feel a need to tell. Until today. Today, I found myself wanting very much to tell her. To out myself. To give her a chance.
At first, it was just as I expected. Tired, clichéd, patronization. After a few minutes of this, back and forth, with me trying to explain why I didn't agree with the whole "It was for the best" sentiment she was expressing, I finally asked if she'd ever had a miscarriage. No, she hadn't, but her sister had gone through IF/loss, and she had watched that pain. She admitted that she couldn't understand my pain, but I also began to see that she had a good deal of compassion for it. Her heart was in the right place. In fact, within minutes of my asking that one question, she was telling me that she is going to be a surrogate mother. She is well into the process of selecting and being matched with a family, and has started preparing her body for pregnancy. The fact that she chose to become a surrogate out of a desire to help people who otherwise couldn't have children touched me deeply. When she shared that with me, I felt such appreciation for her, that it took most of the sting out of her previous well meant, but naive comments.
So, in the end, I'm glad I shared my story with her, and it did deepen our relationship, but it wore me out, emotionally. I think it will be at least a few weeks before I begin to feel the itch to share with someone new again. :-)
Sunday, January 2
The Creme and a Weird Dream
The Creme de la Creme for 2010 is up on Mel's wonderful blog. Go over and check it out. (Yes, I'm on it. Towards the middle. The post I wrote about going to the beach for sunset a month and a half ago.) There are some really thought provoking posts up. It is something to be savored. I think Ive read as far as post number 20. :-) (BTW, if you're not on the list, there is still time to submit your own favorite post from 2010!)
So far, the "Most Thought-Provoking Post Award" (IMHO) goes to Once a Mother for her post, Tending To Our Wounds. Go on over and read it.
I'll wait.
Really, I'll be right here.
Yes, it's a bit long, but worth reading.
And what I have to say next pertains to it and won't make much sense out of context.
So are you back?
Good, you've read it then?
Good. I'll tell you why I give it the "Most Thought-Provoking Post Award." I read it last night, and sometime during the night I had a really weird dream.
I was out in public, taking a commuter train to get somewhere. So far, so normal. Except I had my baby-doll (the one I've had since I was four) in a stroller. This doll is the size of a real baby. It fits in to 3 mo size baby cloths. It's cloth and soft and has been my stand-in baby for years (stand-in sibling originally). The stroller was a rugged, umbrella-type (think Maclaren or Jeep). I had a bunch of paraphernalia, including an Ergo baby carrier for later, as well, as if I was going out for a day with a real baby who would need changes of cloths and diapers and bottles and all that. The doll represented my baby--the one I "should" have by now (dream-logic, since in reality, if I hadn't miscarried I'd probably still be pregnant). In my dream-logic, the doll-baby was asleep in the stroller. I had a hard time getting the stroller up on the train--it was a high step--but I couldn't take the doll-baby out because he/she was asleep. Eventually, I got on the train, and found a seat beside another woman and settled in with all my paraphernalia.
At this point, The Mister joined me (I have no idea where he was before, dream-logic again). And then the woman next to me starts talking to a man in the row in front of us about her two miscarriages. Hearing her speak so openly of her miscarriages to someone who was a complete stranger to both of us (don't ask how I knew she didn't know him--dream-logic again) freed me to finally be able to say, "I had two miscarriages, too. That is why I have this doll with me." To my dream-self, the doll represented some kind of place-holder for my babies, both the lost ones and the one(s) yet to come.
I think this dream was an unconscious expression of my ever growing desire to make my miscarriages more publicly known. I have been very careful about who I tell IRL, because I don't want to be hurt by thoughtless comments. I'm not sure I know how to find balance between my desire for recognition (which is also a desire to raise awareness) and my need to protect my tender, grieving heart. My hope is that with time, as I heal, and once I (hopefully) become a mother, it will become easier to share my story and use it as a way to educate people and raise awareness about how common pregnancy loss is and the best ways to respond.
However, I know that if I undertake this crusade when I am not emotionally ready for it, my reactionary nature could cause me to do more harm than good. I need to have enough passion to be heard, but not so much that I am dismissed because my listeners think I am "over reacting" or "blowing things out of proportion". I think that, in the end, my best chance of reaching people will be to simply tell my story, and include in that story the responses that helped the most and felt the most comforting when I was deep in grief.
I think the day when I will begin telling my story more publicly is not to far in the future, but I also think that it is not quite here yet . . .
So far, the "Most Thought-Provoking Post Award" (IMHO) goes to Once a Mother for her post, Tending To Our Wounds. Go on over and read it.
I'll wait.
Really, I'll be right here.
Yes, it's a bit long, but worth reading.
And what I have to say next pertains to it and won't make much sense out of context.
So are you back?
Good, you've read it then?
Good. I'll tell you why I give it the "Most Thought-Provoking Post Award." I read it last night, and sometime during the night I had a really weird dream.
I was out in public, taking a commuter train to get somewhere. So far, so normal. Except I had my baby-doll (the one I've had since I was four) in a stroller. This doll is the size of a real baby. It fits in to 3 mo size baby cloths. It's cloth and soft and has been my stand-in baby for years (stand-in sibling originally). The stroller was a rugged, umbrella-type (think Maclaren or Jeep). I had a bunch of paraphernalia, including an Ergo baby carrier for later, as well, as if I was going out for a day with a real baby who would need changes of cloths and diapers and bottles and all that. The doll represented my baby--the one I "should" have by now (dream-logic, since in reality, if I hadn't miscarried I'd probably still be pregnant). In my dream-logic, the doll-baby was asleep in the stroller. I had a hard time getting the stroller up on the train--it was a high step--but I couldn't take the doll-baby out because he/she was asleep. Eventually, I got on the train, and found a seat beside another woman and settled in with all my paraphernalia.
At this point, The Mister joined me (I have no idea where he was before, dream-logic again). And then the woman next to me starts talking to a man in the row in front of us about her two miscarriages. Hearing her speak so openly of her miscarriages to someone who was a complete stranger to both of us (don't ask how I knew she didn't know him--dream-logic again) freed me to finally be able to say, "I had two miscarriages, too. That is why I have this doll with me." To my dream-self, the doll represented some kind of place-holder for my babies, both the lost ones and the one(s) yet to come.
I think this dream was an unconscious expression of my ever growing desire to make my miscarriages more publicly known. I have been very careful about who I tell IRL, because I don't want to be hurt by thoughtless comments. I'm not sure I know how to find balance between my desire for recognition (which is also a desire to raise awareness) and my need to protect my tender, grieving heart. My hope is that with time, as I heal, and once I (hopefully) become a mother, it will become easier to share my story and use it as a way to educate people and raise awareness about how common pregnancy loss is and the best ways to respond.
However, I know that if I undertake this crusade when I am not emotionally ready for it, my reactionary nature could cause me to do more harm than good. I need to have enough passion to be heard, but not so much that I am dismissed because my listeners think I am "over reacting" or "blowing things out of proportion". I think that, in the end, my best chance of reaching people will be to simply tell my story, and include in that story the responses that helped the most and felt the most comforting when I was deep in grief.
I think the day when I will begin telling my story more publicly is not to far in the future, but I also think that it is not quite here yet . . .
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