Dear Blogosphere,
I feel so bad for my recent neglect. So much so that I have decided to try and jumpstart my bloggy life. Today marks the beginning of (Inter)National Blog Posting Month. I am using this as the extra push I needed to reconnect.
Here’s hoping J will cooperate! Right now she is sleeping on my lap while I type with one finger on my i.Pad (fodder for a post later on!).
I haven’t posted for so long. I don’t know where to start to bring you up to speed.
Life is good.
On August 23, 2010 at 9:09 am, WonderBoy and Tally welcomed Julia Margaret Rose into the world. She weighed 8 lbs, 1 oz. She cried for 1.5 hours after her birth, but has been loverly ever since. She was born of a planned c-section, as she stayed in breech for each and every ultrasound.
She is beautiful. She is perfect for us. She made the heartache and pain finally lessen just enough to smile sincerely once again.
Recovery from the section went fairly smoothly, with a small infection on the outer skin level. The incision site still has yet to heal completely, but I am feeling good!
Julia is beautiful, and has enriched our lives beyond measure. She continues to surprise us, mostly in good ways. We are learning all about each other, and I expect that to continue as we move forward from here.
I have to leave this here. But here is the only picture I will everpost of Julia’s face
I’ve been rather insular lately, and for that I am sorry. I know I “lost readership” because of this, but that doesn’t really matter to me. What’s most important is that this is still a good place for me to come and write when I need to/when I can.
We’ve experienced a lot of ups and downs with this pregnancy, but thankfully Flea is still doing well. I am not 100%, with a climbing urate count and strict orders to do nothing until the next doctor’s appointment (next Monday). We have reached the 37 week mark, meaning that I could go at any moment.
My “dream” of having a perfect natural birth flew out the window when Flea stubbornly decided that her head belongs snuggled under my diaphragm, whilst her toes tickle my bladder and cervix. Having a footling breech naturally is absolutely verboten in the hospital where I am going, but I have accepted that this is going to be the way it goes. 🙂
We are still dealing with the fall out from my father’s unexpected death. Mom’s still confused and my brother is still non-reactive (which means he’s not handling it well at all). I had a psych consult with a specialist in prenatal/postpartum mental health and have been declared depression free for now, although they want to watch me after the birth to see how I handle everything then.
There have been no showers, no celebrations for the impending birth of this child. We are waiting to see her, to welcome her into the world. This is how I wanted it to be in the beginning, but now I kind of regret it. There are few pregnant pictures of me (although my cousins do have some. Must remember to track them down). I’m not feeling cheated out of anything per se, but as I sit in my house on “rest” (not bedrest), I feel a bit out of the loop, and feel a greater disconnect from the outside world. It’s as if, when I left work, I left people’s consciousness because I am not immediately available to them. They don’t see me waddling down to get my decaf latte in the morning, or see me at the office meeting. It’s as if “out of sight, out of mind” is the prevailing way of thinking.
On the other hand, when Flea is out and I am recovered from my c-section, we are going to “party”, if only just a little bit! I’m already thinking of how I can manage to have an open house in our wee bungalow in the middle of October (around Thanksgiving? am I nuts??). I’ll just bide my time, see how we all do, and then make a decision about introducing her to the world…
I’m going to stop there for now. I’m just trying to get back into writing again, albeit for a short while. I suspect that after the birth I’m going to be rather busy for a while 🙂
Hope this finds you well and happy.
This post is going to be very disjointed, I’m afraid. A lot going on in my mind and in my life… which means that it can be very difficult to put together cohesive messages.
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I continue to marvel at other people’s confidence in their bodies’ ability to carry a child to term. Whereas I almost can’t breathe between my ultrasound appointments for my concern for my child’s health, my colleague continues her life with the distinct assured knowledge that her baby girl will be born healthy. That is what IF has done to me. Or maybe that is what I let IF do to me. Either way, it does indeed “suck lemons”. I am now on a mission to adjust my attitude around this situation… somehow (and ideas are welcome in comments below!).
Flea is a girl! She is doing exceptionally well for a baby that is encased in her mother’s not-so-perfectly healthy body. Despite all my health issues, this baby is growing as she should. This past Monday we took my mother to our ultrasound appointment, so that she could see the wriggling little mass coccooning itself in my ever-growing abdomen. It was very interesting to see how this little body was growing inside my own, and how she has decided that sitting with her bum in my pelvis is the most comfortable position. I’m just hoping we can convince her that leaving my body head first is the best idea since sliced bread. If she is anything like her father, she won’t be listening to me anytime soon! 🙂
Last night, WonderBoy finally got to feel Flea’s movements. I’ve been able to detect movement outside my body for some time now, but every time WB would come and touch me where I last felt movement she would suddenly go all shy on us and stop moving. As soon as WB walked out of the room, she’d rock’n’roll again. Silly girl. So when she finally cooperated last night and gave a hefty nudge on my right lower abdomen, WonderBoy was shocked by the strength of the motion. This baby doesn’t believe in doing anything by halves, that’s for darned sure!
In the aftermath of my Dad… I am knackered. I mean, I have absolutely no energy. If I could (and if it were good for me), I would just lie around all day and sleeeeeeeeep as much as possible. My eyes are so heavy all the time, my body so achy, and my mind overstretched. I honestly worry that I am not going to be able to continue working until the very end of this pregnancy (which is my current plan). But life goes on, and I will continue to nap for a bit in the afternoon, swim when I can, and make the most out of life as it stands today.
I hope this finds you well and happy.
My father died unexpectedly on May 5, 2010, from causes that were totally unrelated to his known health problems. He was 79.
I take comfort in knowing that we told him I was having a baby. I know he didn’t remember that fact. I smile when I recall how he reacted to the news it is most likely a girl (HUGE grin – it was most definitely a grin).
I remember how the last time I saw him he couldn’t breathe well. He was drowning on dry land. I remember that he could barely say three words to me because it just took so much for him to say anything at all.
My father left little in the way of material goods. He lived life to the fullest and spent everything he ever had (as it should be). Instead, he has left a legacy of warmth and humour, goodness and light. He gave to the point of silliness sometimes. He rarely said that he loved me (or anyone), but there is no denying it. He was powered by love, and continues to live in our hearts.
I’m sorry he won’t know my baby. I’m even sorrier my baby won’t know him. But I’m glad his hurting is done.
He travelled the world for his job, but always came home. This time, he won’t be coming back.
I’ll miss you, Poppa.
I know it’s been so long since I updated this blog. I’m sorry about that.
As the title states, we are still here. As in, me, Wonderboy, and Flea are still around in this world. It’s been a bit of a slog sometimes, what with morning sickness and my undeniable need to sleeeeeeeep so much. But I am in my fourth month with this pregnancy, and all appears to be going well.
We’ve had our share of ups and downs, though. It’s taken me a while to process the big “scare” we had about three weeks ago. In the part of the world where I live, women over a certain age are forced offered the opportunity to undergo Integrated Prenatal Screening (IPS). I opted for the screening, simply because I wanted to be certain that we had missed the big scary things in this screening test (namely, trisomy 18). We didn’t care about Dow.n’s Synd.rome or Spin.a Bi.fida – WB and I had discussed these as very real possibilities, and we both knew that we would manage as a family to get through any challenges these two situations would throw at us (note: we know it’s a challenge to have a child with these two life-changing situations, but we also know how we feel about people with differences… that they are the colour in the world, 9 times out of 10).
The IPS is a set of tests – 1 blood test + 1 u/s on one day, followed by another blood test on a specific future date. No problem, ran the tests. The ultrasound showed excellent nuchal translucency (showing less probability of SB). The blood tests were also done with no trouble at all.
The Tuesday after I submit to the second blood test, I get a phone call at home (whilst I was en route to work). It is my GP, saying that they want to talk to me right away. It kind of freaked out my WB, so he left me a message at work. When I get to work, I have two messages waiting for me – one from WB, one from the GP. All I can think is “Oh shit… what’s wrong with the IPS??”. I call the GP’s office, where they insist on my attending their office TODAY to talk about the IPS results. Bugger. I’m panicking now. I take an appointment, call WB and proceed to melt down in my office.
So… we get to the GP’s office, and everyone is doom and gloom. Nobody smiles. Nobody talks to us. They just pull our chart sans questions. We wait a few minutes until the sad-faced nurse calls us back. The GP comes in and, after the perfunctory “how are you?”s, gets down to business. The IPS showed a 1 in 70 chance of having a child with Dow.ns. Normally for a woman my age the odds are 1 in 150.
Oh.
We digest that. We calculate that in our heads (a 1.42% chance of having a child with Dow.ns – greater than 97% chance of having a “normal” child). Okay.
The doctor then proceeds to go through the various options, and the reason to pursue amnio. We already knew that we didn’t want to risk amnio’s equally small but very real possibility of causing a m/c. The doctor proceeds to carp on about the challenges of raising a “Dow.ns child”, how it will take a toll on our marriage/finances/career (duh! having a child does that too…). She brings up the spectre of ter.min.ation. More than once.
Now my GP is a smart cookie. She’s been through the whole IF game with me. She knows how much this baby is wanted. And she mentions termination… yikes.
We get home from this appointment, only to receive a call from the High Risk Unit (the place where I will give birth). They were just checking in to see if I had the results (yes), and to reassure us that it was our choice as to how to proceed. The thing they did offer was genetic counselling, to help us decide what to do, and how we wanted to proceed (also to figure out what kind of support might be out there in the case that our child did have Down.s). Overall, the tone was so much better, so much more positive, so very gentle… I am in love with the HRU doctors. We made the appointment for genetic counselling for the end of the week.
Fast forward to the following Friday. We are in the genetic counsellors office. We give her our position (8 years of IF, 3 m/c, IUI x2, and no amnio). She is incredibly respectful and supportive. She then proceeds to go over the test in detail.
We go through the basic demographic information. WB suddenly asks “Well, Tally’s weight isn’t on this form… would that make a difference to our results?” The counsellor considers this, asks for my weight and gets the results recalculated.
Everything stays the same, except…
The chance of having a child with Down.s changes – to 1 in 2,100. Wow. it’s amazing what extra weight can do to your odds…
That was the big scare. Since then we have heard Flea’s heartbeat (152 bpm almost two weeks ago). My belly has suddenly expanded. My hips hurt when I sleep on my sides. I am waiting until the 21 week anatomy scan before I get too terribly excited (I know, I know… I should be excited now. But I don’t know how!! Call it “survivor’s guilt”, if you like… I think it might be that kind of thing happening to me. Another post for another day). We will be finding out the Flea’s sex. I don’t know if we’ll broadcast it, though…
Anyway, that’s the latest episode in the soap opera that has been my TTC life. Hopefully next time you tune in, I’ll have something truly upbeat (without the drama drama drama). 🙂
My father has Alzheimers Disease.
He remembers who I am, who my brother is, who Wonderboy is (though his name sometimes escapes Dad). He definitely remembers his wife (my mother). His progression through the disease in terms of his mental capacity has been somewhat slower than I expected (I think), although I fear that the physical toll has been high.
When the diagnosis was first given some 8 years ago, my Dad was despondent. He knew what was happening, but he refused to accept that it would affect him in such an extensive way. He chafed under the requirement to give up his driver’s licence. And when his memory began to fail in a more profound way, when he couldn’t remember my wedding day, or his surprise journey home just for my birthday (he travelled a lot for his job), or our trip to Nia.gara Falls, or the fact that my brother was divorced from Allison, I would always say to him “That’s all right, Dad. I’ll remember it for you.” He would smile in response and move on to the next conversation. At that stage, he could remember his early past – the trip to NYC when he was 16 and ran out of money without having a way back home to Montreal; the colour of his first car (a green “jalopy”); building the Polish community hall back in the old neighbourhood; his mother’s cooking.
If I am honest, the disease has progressed further than I would care to acknowledge today. He has a series of questions and phrases burned into his brain because he is afraid that he is losing his mind (he no longer remembers that he really is losing his mind – and more). He loops them continuously, even when you try and distract and derail him from that endless circle of “What day is today?”, “Are we going out?”, “Where’s your mother?”, “If you don’t joke, you don’t live.”
The atrophied state of his hippocampus and cerebral cortex is only going to get worse. One day, this disease will claim my father and unfortunately, that probably will be long before his body stops working.
The question I have been wrestling with is quite simple – Do I tell my Dad that I am going to have a baby now, as opposed to when I am showing? Will he understand the passage of time, or will he be constantly taken aback when he sees me pregnant? I keep going back and forth on this issue, trying to figure out what’s best for him. What is best for me in this situation. I think one of the solutions will be to take pictures of him and I together, date them, and give them to him so he can have a visual reminder of what’s going on inside of me, and that he is going to have another grandchild. But I don’t know if that will harm him (he might be agitated), or help him… it’s just not an easy thing to figure out. I just don’t know what to do.
Time seems to be moving so quickly, and yet it is still a snail’s pace.
My body has been wracked by nausea for the past few weeks, to the point where I broke down and went for the pharmacological solution – di.clec.tin has been a G-dsend, although I feel bad for taking it. I mean, really… can’t I suck up a bit of nausea after the 8 years of fun I’ve been through?
Apparently not.
I apparently still have a live Flea* in my belly, or at least no reason to believe I don’t. I am still trying to digest the fact that I might actually have a child in 6.5 months (or less. Probably less…). I have my first pre.natal checkup this coming Tuesday, where I’ll be told my weight’s too high, my diet’s poor (see nausea, above), and I need to be careful to watch for diabetes, hypertension, blah blah blah.
Please don’t take the “blah blah blah” as my being blasé about the whole affair. I’m not really. I just need to figure out a way to enjoy this pregnancy, and thinking about what can go wrong doesn’t seem like the best way to approach enjoyment. Yet, like many (if not all) infertiles before me who have been so incredibly lucky to cross over to the “other side”, I can’t help but to have my mind wander to the darker what-ifs. It’s almost an act of self-preservation, I think. Knowing that something just might go wrong seems to make it easier to take things later down the line.
Anyway, that’s about all for now. Holding my own, holding on to Wonderboy for dear life, and hoping that things progress as they should. Right now, I’m going to go home and sleep. Because, damned if I’m not exhausted…
*Flea because of a poem I read many moons ago by John Du.nne. Particularly this verse:
MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck’d me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
  Yet this enjoys before it woo,
  And pamper’d swells with one blood made of two ;
  And this, alas ! is more than we would do.
I have always loved this poem…
(first, a HUGE thank you to everyone who has commented with their happiness and support. It’s meant a lot to me, as I worry and fret and celebrate and deal with various symptoms of first trimester joy. It’s just… lovely.)
I stayed home from work today. I wasn’t feeling well at all, but I still tried to get there. I had been slated to teach two courses on the new database service I have curried and pampered into being for the clientele I serve (I work at a high level government organization… and my client’s are my worklife). I woke up feeling draggy and tired, fuzzy-headed and generally blech. But the little voice in my head encouraged me to try and move, because I couldn’t let my workplace down. I needed to be there.
For the past 8 years, and probably longer, I have lived for my job. I have followed a career path that has taken me to a not-so-bad place. I am well-paid. I have great benefits. And I LOVE what I do. During the low times on this journey, I was able to retreat into the career path and find ways to not feel everything that was happening to me. To us. I focussed my energies on achieving, on being the most dependable person I can be, on thinking outside of the box and being creative and in the loop.
But today, I couldn’t get out of bed. As I lay there, freaking out and certain this is going to reflect badly on me, worried about the people depending on me being there, I think I came to a crossroads. Today, I had to finally think about what was good for me first, and not what was needed by my workplace. And what I (we) needed was to stay home, rest, and feel blech all day if need be.
It still wasn’t easy for me. I couldn’t make the call to work (Wonderboy is so beautifully accommodating sometimes and made the necessary calls). But it is done, and life goes on. I am feeling much better than I did earlier (I think I was dehydrated something fierce), but I am still lounging in my pyjamas.
I still fear … retribution? loss of respect? … in the workplace. I am worried that my supervisor is going to be more than displeased with me.
But.
I would trade a simple career path with all the comforts and benefits and smooth sailing for what I am experiencing now. My future isn’t my job or my house or my financial success. It’s the building of this family, and enjoying life as much as I can while I still can. And if that means that I lose some of my golden glow as a great employee, so be it. Because really… I would rather try and be a great mom instead.
Beats. Per minute.
In the 8 years since we’ve begun this incredible, frustrating, gut-wrenching journey, we have a heartbeat. Of the four children we’ve conceived, this one shows the promise of living beyond tomorrow.
We are in awe. We are taking a moment to celebrate. Because, really… why not?
Saucy ova 