F*rtility N*tes

Now that I'm spending some serious time on my blog I realize that my links and sidebar desperately need updating. One thing I was NOT expecting was to have my beloved blog project F*rtility Notes redirected to a site that I am not too crazy about.

Just so you know, I had written F*rtility Notes - All the News Your Womb Can Use for over a year using my real name. It was a fact-based blog focused on fertility news and events as well as highlighting lots of you here in the IF community.

When the blog network decided to "retire" the blog, I knew there would be a chance they would merge the content into another blog, but I had been hoping for inclusion in certain ones and not others. Just so you know, if you had a link to F*rtility Notes on your blog, where it goes now is NOT ME. It is NOT F*rtility Notes; it is a completely separate and different blog.

Bummer. This totally bums me out.

But reminds me that f*ck. I still know how to write. I can still gather information. It seems I have some time on my hands and that I will indeed, be back on the IF wagon. My life is still affected by medical research and development, by the emergence of the oncofertility field and the continued ignorance of others. I bet yours are too.

I hereby proclaim that F*rtility N*tes will be resurrected here on this site. Not known by the same name, but certainly the same spirit.

H*ll, I bet I even still have some prizes to give away...

That Girl

I am getting the feeling that this all gets much, much worse before it gets better.

Over the weekend, I think I had convinced myself that going to work today, if only for a little bit, was a possibility and perhaps might even be good. I was thinking that maybe people were overreacting when they suggested I lay low until after the holidays. "Take some time off." Now, I am crying again at the thought of leaving the apartment.

This has to stop, right? It has to get better, right? These metamorphi moments when I start walking back to the kitchen completely composed, get a little teary at the thought of something and then find myself in a crumple of sobs before I reach the coffee pot. What is worse today is that it feels like there are no triggers, no things I can think or not think. I am simply sad. I am simply crying. It is an overriding pain, not one prompted by talking about or looking at the girls.

It feels all consuming.

What is worse is that I know M. woke up with this same sense. Yet, he is out in the world. Putting on a good show and actually functioning at work. I know. I can see the articles he is writing. But I know his heart isn't there.

What is worse is that he walked out this morning simply saying, "I just want my babies back." And I had nothing, nothing to say to comfort him.

If there is anything worse than this hurt, it is seeing someone you love so profoundly hurt as much and feeling absolutely helpless, completely unable to console.

I am the recipient of so many sympathies and so many of you have expressed them through me to M. as well. He will not cross the plane into my blog but I have tried to convey your words to him as well as I can. And that helps. In real life, I can't help thinking he is feeling a little left out in the cold. He is private by nature and I know that many of his friends are giving him the space they think he desires. But I think all he is feeling is a void. And I don't know what to do about it.

I don't want to be that girl who wakes up crying every morning. What husband would want to face that? I don't want to be that family member that everyone has to treat with kid gloves. I don't want to be that woman who gets upset at the sight of pregnant bellies or little babies at the store. I don't want to be that blogger that makes you cry every time you come over to check on me. I am so, so sorry. I would stay away but writing is the one thing that seems to soothe me. Calm me. Help me. You may be hearing a lot from me for a while.

I am walking out of the door right now - to the library and to the bank. A short walk on a warm-ish day. I am drying my tears and putting on my headphones and walking into the air.

Let's see how far I get.

More on Old Loveless Men

Ok, I thought I could link and be done. Breathe deep and let it go. But it seems I can't. I just can't.

What pains me is the fact that so many wonderful and beautiful women I know struggle on a daily basis to reconcile their faith and their religion with their desire to create and nurture loving families that would also be a part of that faith. Why must there be a dichotomy? Why must these women feel rejected and refused by a god that they want to love and believe in? I love my friends of faith and admire their commitments to their churches even if that is not a path I feel is open to me. And I HATE that this feels like a kick, literally, in their guts. Tell me, other than being women, what have they done to deserve this disrespect?

What confuses me is a doctrine and a dogma that places motherhood as the highest thing a woman can aspire to, yet seeks to dictate how motherhood is achieved and exactly who is worthy of it. Never mind the challenges and obstacles already placed in these women's path that they have already overcome. What, exactly, needs to be done to prove our worth?

What angers me is the Catholic Church's adamant stance that adoption is the one and only option and alternative for unwed mothers, unwanted pregnancies, abortion and infertility. Yet, for years and years and years ruled those adoptions as unquestionably closed and to this day, controls and limits the information available between birth mothers and their children. Adoption is a gift. Yet why was my birth mother shamed into it? My birth father refused the right to see his own child? What did he have to do to prove his worth?

What hurts me is knowing that my mother prays and prays for us, and that those prayers fall not on deaf ears, because that would be more merciful, but on ears that have no interest in the path that we have available to us. I want to tell her, stop! Don't let them in on our plans! It's better if they don't know. But it is her faith and her comfort and who am I to take that from her.

But where is the comfort? Where is the mercy?

Nowhere to be found.

Yeah, What She Said

Thank goodness for Pamela Jeanne, who is able to put feelings into words when those words escape me.

Once again, a big F*ck You to the religion of my youth that is so, so adept at kicking when one is down. So much for compassion.

I could sit here and fume. I could work myself into a frenzy about the misogyny and hatred that has separated me from a faith, or I could direct you to PJ's post which sums it all up nicely and addresses it with a touch of humor.

You old loveless men make me sad. So, so sad.

Writing It Down

M. and I are taking things moment to moment. Some are harder than others. We are so, so thankful for the short time we had with Isob*l and Jov*ta (pronounced yo-VEE-ta ) and we are just trying to keep the memory of their lives fresh before planning any formal memorial service. M. is at work today; I am not sure when I will be returning.

Here is a brief account of what actually happened (please, if you’d rather not know, just stop reading now. It may be a little too graphic for some. But it helps for me to write this down.)

Some of you may have known I have been experiencing some cramping during the pregnancy, but nothing out of the ordinary. Those cramps began to increase in strength and frequency Thursday evening and it soon became pretty clear we should head to the hospital to see what was going on. I wasn’t particularly concerned. I assumed they were Braxton-Hicks (fake) contractions, they’d give me some medicine for the pain, I’d head home.

We arrived and I was monitored, but the cramps (contractions) continued to increase and they began to give me some medication to hopefully slow them down. This is where things started to get incredibly painful. When the medicine didn’t seem to be working, the midwife finally came and examined me only to find that my cervix was significantly dilated (8 cm) and "odds of delivery were very high."

My obstetrician and maternal fetal specialists were called in and that’s when news went from bad to worse. An ultrasound showed that the cervix had probably opened due to a uterine infection and Isobel had already started to descend into the birth canal. Not wanting to be left out, Jovi stuck a foot in there too. We would absolutely have to deliver Isobel or risk serious consequences to both me and the babies. The choice now was about saving my life and seeing what, if anything, could be done for Jovita.

We decided to continue the magnesium shots to try to slow contractions and ease the uterus enough to get Jovi out of the birth canal and back into the uterus. If this happened, we could attempt to deliver Isobel, stop labor and tie the cervix together (cerclage) to buy Jovita more time. Even with the cerclage, there was no guarantee Jovita wouldn’t want to be born the next day or the following day. She could be there for a few hours or a few months. I would be on hospitalized bed rest until that time came (which was fine by me).

Hours and hours and hours passed with M. never once letting go of my hand. Contractions remained constant. An amniocentesis was done on Jovita to ensure that the infection hadn’t spread to her sac. It hadn’t. But her little foot was still dangling. I was literally lying on my head in the hopes that gravity would help us out. It didn’t. It was becoming clear that the situation was not going to change for the better. We could either wait for the membranes to burst on their own, or begin delivery and in the words of one doctor, “let nature take its course.”

During this time, legions of doctors and nurses were in and out of the room. One of the visits was from the head of the neonatal unit who came in to give us our odds. At 21 weeks and 6 days, there was really no question of trying to incubate or resuscitate the girls. If they were a few weeks older (23), that might have been an option, but one with less than a 10% chance of survival. That’s just survival, not taking into consideration very real possibilities of lifelong disabilities or issues. If they were a month older (25 weeks), odds would be better. Even if we could save Jovi, we would be taking things day by day, just hoping she hung on long enough to survive on her own.

After 18 hours of labor, it made little sense to continue waiting since the girls wanted to come out. I received an epidural and we went into the O.R.

Isobel was born at 3:37 p.m. Friday afternoon, weighing 14 ounces and measuring 10 inches long. She was placed right into our arms. When she came out, M. exclaimed, “Oh my goodness!” and I immediately thought something was horribly wrong. That wasn’t it at all. She was just so stunningly beautiful, it took his breath away.

The doctor was nearly successful in getting Jovita back into the uterus when her sac broke. She was born 3:57 p.m. at 12.6 ounces and 9.2 inches.

We carried the two girls back to our room with us and spoke to them, caressed them, loved them, as their hearts beat well over two hours. We had so much to say! There were no cords, no tubes or wires in between us and our daughters. It was only them and us.

And now it is just us.

Checking In

It's all just surreal. This time last week I was pregnant. Filled with babies. Now I am not.

Instead of hanging the holiday cards as we receive them, I first have to sift them from the sympathies. Two distinct piles are forming on the table.

Sigh.

At this point, I think we have told everyone who knew we were expecting. The telling is finally starting to help, rather than hurt.

Thank you all so much for your comments, your cards, your emails, your calls. You may not hear from us for a while. Please know we have read and listened to every single word. And that helps too. We are absolutely overwhelmed by the love and support that surrounds us. In a good way.

Thank you.

I feel like hubby has me on a bit of a suicide watch, trying to coordinate with family, friends and co-workers to be with me when he needs to go to work. I feel as if I should hang a big sign on my front door and one around my neck saying, "I PROMISE I WILL NOT OFF MYSELF." I promise. I love my husband and my life too too dearly to even think of such a thing. My visitors must have given good reports of me yesterday. I was able to be myself today with minimal objection.

We will be sending out birth announcements. Please don't be freaked out. It just seems only fair and right. The issue now is making due with the few fuzzy photos we have of the girls.

What irony. In the home of a thousand cameras, we didn't have one when we needed it most. Who knew that quick trip to the hospital would turn into days? Would turn into this? A low res camera from one of the nurses (thank you, thank you, thank you) and our cell phones hold the only images we will ever have of I. and J. Sometimes I look at our collection of canons and casios and want to smash them. Every single one. But it's ok. We will make do.

Of course the lovely (non-returnable) bedding arrived and of course there was an issue of parenting magazine waiting for me in the mailbox today. It's ok. In fact, it all feels so detached. So foreign. After holding both girls in my hands, I cannot even comprehend them growing to be so big. The bedding will be put away for next time. The subscription will be canceled. We will get through this. We will.

I am still on bereavement leave and I am not really sure how long I will extend it. How can I walk back into the office where this time last week I was propping my feet and feeling my belly? I have months of saved sick and vacation time which I actually need to use before the end of this fiscal year. But at what point do I become my worst enemy? I am trying to figure that out now.

In a week filled with decisions, I have made one non-medical one. I am going in search of my birth parents. I am not waiting or contemplating any longer. The void and emptiness of not knowing has been dug even wider and deeper with the loss of the girls. Like an open sore. I need to find something to help fill my heart.

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On Friday December 5th I gave birth to our beautiful twin girls.

The two hours they were alive with us and in our arms was the most joyful time of our lives.

We are home now, taking things moment by moment. Trying to celebrate their birth and existence. Trying to manage the pain of not having them here.