Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Sigh

Oh Lord. It just never seems to end, this three year battle with broken innards.

I haven't been back to my OB or to the clinic since I had the post-miscarriage blood work last fall. I was endlessly paranoid about a clotting disorder, given the bloody drama that was my D&C, so I insisted upon some additional blood work to ease my rapidly disintegrating mind.

It all came back normal. Yeah, can you believe it? Some part of me is actually normal.

Anyway, since it's been 7 months since we last discussed the state of my lady bits, I decided I needed to do a bit of a "where are we at now and where should we go from here?" check-in with my OB. We met yesterday.

He was so kind. He always is, but yesterday he really seemed to have time to listen to me in a way he sometimes can't because he has waiting room full of 42,000 other busted uteruses waiting to bend his ear.

It was both a comforting and a disconcerting visit. Comforting because he listened and because I know he genuinely cares about what happens to me, disconcerting because for the first time he gently suggested we may be coming to the end of the road.

There's another test he wants to run (a delightful sounding syringe up the duff/ ultrasound combo dealie) to rule out inter-uterine scarring, and he suggested a couple of cycles of monitoring just to make sure I'm still ovulating and still as thoroughly hormonal as I need to be.

So it sounds like it'll be another summer of great big infertile fun.

Fantastic.

I want a baby. But I want all this to end too. So much. So, so, so much.

I'm strong. I am. But come on now, everyone has a limit.

Apparently someone thinks I haven't quite reached mine yet and is having a good old laugh while watching to see just how far I'll actually go.

8 comments:

Julia said...

I got nothing except an I am sorry and a giant wish for you getting knocked up and bringing home a living baby.

KC said...

I am glad your OB is so caring. I think a lot of OBs mean well but there is so much they just cannot know. After two OBs and one RE I went to CCRM looking for answers for my losses. They found things that others had missed. Even things like blood clotting disorders that I thought I had been tested for. CCRM is Colorado Center for Reproductive Medicine and is in Denver, CO. I met people from Toronto there and we still keep in touch.

I felt like God was laughing at me at certain points over the last three years and have too thought "How much can I take?" I am glad your husband is so understanding. My marriage has not survived.

I hope for a take home baby for you very soon.

Nina-SOS said...

I just wanted to give you hugs. I know the OB/RE road is a tough haul having done it.

KC mentioned CCRM. She is right. It is #1 in the US. I have a friend from FL that used them. If you are open to ideas, then having your records sent and a phone consult may not hurt, right?

Wishing you the best always.

Gusgirl said...

Kristin,

I just want to send you tons of (((hugs))) and let you know that I pray for you and your husband to be blessed with a healthy baby.

I am in awe of you for all that you have been through and your courage and strength.

May God Bless you and may all your dreams come true.

Anita G.

Catherine said...

Normal is good. Frustrating...but good. :o)

prayers4z said...

I have no words but sending you tons of hugs and prayers.

B said...

Being in a state of constant state of grief and longing is f$*king hard. And unfair.... and all the rest..... but the question is, when do you (or I) change course? When it's forced on you? When you really and truly can take no more? How do you know when that is?

I am actually being selfish and using your space to ask myself these questions. I seem to feel something else coming on.

Lovely MsFitzia, I feel for you deeply.

I know I can't , but if I could, these are some things I would give you....

A spontaneous moment of joy - not forced or cognitive, but a "yes" moment. When something surprises and your only response is to shout or giggle or jump a "yes" to the universe.

Time out from all this shit to remember other bits of yourself.

Knowledge that at your most fundamental level, you are OK. That no matter what happens on this horrendous journey, and regardless of outcome, there will be a time when you will feel peace, easiness, pleasure. You will dance again.

Gentleness from yourself to yourself

A very very good glass of red.

Sending love to you and your beloved.

Barb

Bronwyn said...

Thinking of you and hoping you find some peace in whatever tack you decide to take.

My mother spent 3 years being an IF guinea pig in the late 60s and after her 7th uterine biopsy the doctor turned to her and said "How do you feel about adoption?" According to her, she breathed out a sigh of exhaustion and relief and immediately started the whole adoption process. Five kids later (4 for keeps), she finally felt like she had the family she'd always wanted. All to say, when that doctor pronounced that there wasn't much left that they could do, she really felt relieved and ready to move on.

Since my fertility came to a rather abrupt end, I didn't have to face these same questions, but I have had come to terms with the fact that I won't have any (living) biological children of my own. It's taken me almost 2 years, but I think I'm ready to move on!

There are children just waiting to be part of your family and they will get there one way or the other, I'm sure of it!