This is the situation

Thank you all for the overwhelming support and love after that last post.  It means the world to me and I'm going to answer every email I received.  I've read them over and over again and I'm processing your words as much as I am my feelings.  More than anything, I'm comforted that I'm not alone in this situation.  For better or worse, there are more than a few of us who have really hit the parent jackpot. \sarcasm\  My only hope is that I'm able to do everything possible so that Sofia doesn't end up feeling the same way about me.

And speaking of kids...

Let me tell you a quick story...

When I last saw my doctor after my most recent miscarriage, we talked about next steps.  I was thrown because I found out I was pregnant the day before I was due to have my period, I did my Heparin within seconds of getting that positive test, yet I still had a miscarriage.  Unfortunately, even if I did everything right, if a poor quality egg gets fertilized it doesn't matter when I do the Heparin; the pregnancy won't last.

I told you it wasn't my fault!  

I'm the innocent party here!

*Yes uterus, I'm sorry.  You do good work.*

*Look.  Somebody has to take responsibility for this.*

I don't have a fertility issue; that much is clear.  But my eggs are old and blind and run into walls and don't know what they're supposed to be doing with themselves.  There are a couple in there that still have their shit together so it's really just a crapshoot every month.  If a smart one breaks out of the ovary, I might have a chance.  You know, if they can make it past the high FSH, the clotting disorder and the Old Hag-itis.  We're talking about a major uphill battle from the jump.

Yet somehow, four weeks after my miscarriage I found myself staring at a pee stick with the word 'pregnant' on it.  It was two days before my scheduled period and I was supposed to continue with my testing at the RE, and they really didn't want me to get pregnant before they figured out what else might be causing the miscarriages.  I shoved the stick in Drew's face and said "You're going to get me in so much trouble with my doctor!  I told you I was going to get pregnant!"  He rolled his eyes at me and kept on making his lunch for work.  

I called the doctor that afternoon, all apologetic.  "Hiiii, it's Desiree.  So um, funny story!  I know we were going to continue with testing my eggs and whatnot and haha guess what!  Turns out I'm pregnant, don't be mad!  So um, I guess I need to come see you? Okay, byeeee!"  They called me later and we set up a time to come have my first ultrasound.  I wasn't yet going to be six weeks and I was certain I was going to have another miscarriage before then, but we kept the appointment just in case.  Commence the pins and needles.

From that second, I was on high alert.  Every twinge, every cramp and of course every bathroom trip was Miscarriage Watch: June 2013.  It sucked and my nerves started to fray and it was in that state that I arrived for my ultrasound.  I was 5w6d.

Of course I brought Sofia with me, which seemed to bother the ultrasound tech. 

Her:  Oh, you've got your little one with you.  

Me:  Yup, it's the two of us today.  

H:  She's not in school? 

M:  No, this isn't a school day for her. 

H:  You didn't get a babysitter or something?

M:  (Damn bitch, what's your problem with my kid?)  No, she's with me. 

H:  No daycare-

M:  NO.

So yeah, she was weird.  I felt like she was unnecessarily brusque with the wand and kind of shoved it up in there but Sofia was with me, so I bit my tongue.  After taking pictures of my ovaries, she got to the main event.

  

It's kind of blurry, but doesn't it look a little like a wedding ring?

She took her measurements and said that I was measuring 6w1d, which is a good thing and she settled on the teeny tiny flicker that was the heartbeat.  It still trips me out to see that stuff but she was quick to bring me right back down by telling me it was slow and she was less than professional about it.  I was like "Is that the heartbeat?"  "Yes but it's slow.  It can go either way at this point.  Because it's slow.  The heartbeat is there but it's slow which means it can stop.  Because the heartbeat is slow.  The embryo has a slow heartbeat.  It's beating but it's slow.  I've seen them speed up, but it could stop.  You know, because it's slow."

I wanted to punch her.  Like I don't know from losses.  Like I don't know enough to keep my hope in check.  But I said nothing as I got dressed and went to the talk with the nurses.  They gave me the regular spiel - rest, drink lots of water, don't eat deli meat, all that.  I wanted to be like, You see my healthy two-year-old sitting here right?  I've done this before.  

And then the Mack Truck of Nausea slammed into me and dumped its contents all over me:  Cramps, Headaches, Loss of Appetite coupled with Ravenous Hunger and that's where I've been since then.  Nearly every afternoon I get terrible nausea with migraine-like headaches and I've been having intermittent cramps like my period is about to start, which of course freak me the F out, because I don't remember having that with Sofia.  I'm down for the count from 3pm until I go to bed.  

One night, I begged Drew to make his own dinner as I couldn't get off the couch.  The man went and made fish.  FISH.  I wanted someone to rip my nose off my face.  But I don't vomit; I just stay nauseated and that was one of the worst nights ever.  Another night, I was laying in bed, praying to die when I'd just found the perfect spot.  The covers were right, my pillow was in the perfect position and my body was nestled in for what promised to be a restful night's sleep.

And then I had to pee.  And then I *had* to have some fettucini alfredo.  I literally burst into tears because I didn't want to get out of bed, but *you* try telling your fetus-hijacked body not to pee or eat fettucini alfredo.  So I got out bed, sobbing, and got in the car at 9:30 at night to go to the store to get some Pasta Roni, crying nearly the whole way.  Good times y'all.

The passing days meant more hunger, more nausea and more worrying that I was going to miscarry any minute.  It was also during this time that the other bomb dropped.  I was a mess and my follow-up appointment was supposed to be this Friday, but yeah right.  I called them yesterday and begged them to fit me in, which they did and that's where I was at 11 this morning.

Why does my doctor's office have to be at the end of this 

ridiculously long and unnecessarily dramatic hallway?

It makes me feel like I'm walking to my doom.

I was alone this time; Sofia had dance class at 11, so Drew took off from work to take her.

Please die from the cuteness of the dad taking his daughter to 

Mommy and Me dance class.

Anyway!  It's the same ultrasound tech and I was ready to fight her.  Let her say something about my kid not being with me!  Let her!

Lucky for her, she didn't but she still wasn't gentle with the wand.  I actually gripped the table was like "Jesus!  Why does it hurt?!"  Bitch didn't even apologize.  I'm done with her.  Ovary check and once again, the big show.

I give you:  The Situation.

Or Snooki.  Not sure yet.

I completely blame the mainstream media for this fetus name; I take no responsibility.  I have never seen even a part of one episode of Jersey Shore, but I saw that picture, and that looks like a teeny tiny fist pump and that's what immediately came to mind.  It is the media's fault that fist pump=Jersey Shore=The Situation.  Sorry fetus.  It is what it is.

I'm 7w3d and still measuring two days ahead and my miscarriage risk has dropped to 2%.  I know better than to dance in the street but I do feel a little bit better.  I will go back in another ten days and if I'm looking good then they will release me to my OB.  I'm nervous as hell that as soon as he lets me go that I'm going to miscarry again, but none of it is up to me.  I can only be thankful that I've gotten this far.

As for the family situation, of course my dad doesn't know, but neither does my mom.  I guess I'll call her this afternoon, but it's so weird.  I haven't talked to her since the day I called and was like "So!  Hey there!  I don't know what you've done today, but I just got off the phone with MY SISTER."  My brother also doesn't know and I haven't spoken with him since we got into a huge fight when I went back to KC.  We've since exchanged a couple of terse emails and I don't know where things are headed with us.  I do hope that we can have some semblance of a relationship but there's a possibility that we won't be able to.  That remains to be seen.

But for now, in this moment, I have a teeny tiny fist-pumping fetus inside me, giving me wrinkles and gray hairs of worry when it's not giving me migraines and nausea and hunger pangs that make me want to chew my arm off.  My dear friend Gem told me I have permission to fight this baby when it makes its appearance.  I just might.

Just as soon as I eat something.  I'm starving.