Third Time is NOT a Charm

When I was pregnant a few years ago, a friend of mine asked how I was doing. I told her that I couldn't complain, inducing a head shake a small smile from her. She then chided me saying, "Kristin, just because someone else's situation sucks more than yours, doesn't mean yours doesn't suck. You can still complain; it's okay." So, even though I know that the current events of my life are far from the worst things imaginable, they are still grey and I'm going to complain about them. I apologize in advance for the whiny rambling.

Last Tuesday (the 25th), I was supposed to have my first prenatal appointment with my OB/GYN. There I was going to see my little 9-week lima bean. Instead I saw an empty uterus on the ultrasound screen and watched as the doctor removed remnants of the sac from me. As soon as I knew I was pregnant I tried to be cautious and reign in my excitement. But each day it became harder as I began thinking of a very real and very alive baby that I would have in the spring. This was something I wanted so much I couldn't help but be happy. Now I'm angry, confused, hopeless and completely depressed.

I feel like such a failure. Why is it so hard for me to have a baby? It took just about 2 years of trying before I became pregnant with Peter. As anyone who has dealt with it knows, infertility is emotionally awful. Every pregnant lady you see is a reminder that she has something you don't have. And it seems like such a simple thing to get pregnant, just basic human workings. I mean if a 14 year old girl can get pregnant because she's too dumb to prevent it, why couldn't I. But the seemingly impossible happened and I did get pregnant. I wondered how my fertility would be after Peter. I told Ryan that I felt like it was going to be much easier to get pregnant the 2nd time around. And I was right. I've been pregnant 3 separate times in the last year. I never imagined that I would actually have no problem getting pregnant, but that the issue would be staying pregnant.

Now I've just had my 3rd miscarriage in less than a year (2 confirmed, 1 highly probable). The first 2 were both before I was 6 weeks along so I was foolishly optimistic once I hit the 6 week mark with this one. And when I passed the 8 week point I honestly thought I was out of the woods. Then 3 days later I started spotting. After 2 days of spotting, mild cramps,a backache, and several panicked phone calls to my doctor I decided to go to the hospital just to check what was going on. So at 10:30 on a Saturday night (the 22nd) I watched as the ultrasound tech tried to find my baby's heartbeat and knew that things were not right. After all the tests were done, the ER doctor. told us that he couldn't really tell us what was going on. I might be having a miscarriage, I might not. They found enough positives to give him hope, but there were enough negatives to make him worried. I went home with instructions to stay flat and take it easy and call my doctor on Monday morning.

Sunday started out fine but by the evening I could tell that I was no longer in the threatened miscarriage stage. I'll spare you the details but the intense pain (so much worse than I'd experienced before) and the amount of blood left no doubt to what was happening. This continued throughout Monday and Tuesday. When I saw my doctor Tuesday morning he wanted to check to see if I needed a D&C because I had only passed very small clots. Within a minute of starting the pelvic exam he quietly asked the nurse for a few things and then told me I should look away. And because I'm an absolute idiot I'm looked as he placed a golf ball sized fetal sac into a container. Apparently the sac had made its way down and so the doctor was able to easily retrieve it. Now I have this terrible image in my head that I cannot get rid of.

So now I'm just dealing with the aftermath. The physical pain finally went away a couple of days ago and I wish it hadn't. For one thing it's much easier to focus on bodily pain than it is to deal with emotions. And secondly I am so upset with my body right now that I feel like it deserves the pain. I know it is completely illogical but I hate my body right now. I know that we don't know why this happened but I still feel so much anger towards my body like it's its fault. And then of course that spills over into my general attitude about myself. What is wrong with me? It's easy to be level headed and smart when thinking about other peoples' fertility problems. Do I think someone is terrible because she can't get pregnant? Do I think a woman is pathetic and a failure because she has miscarriage? Absolutely not! But it's different when it's about me. I can't stop my feelings of frustration and hurt from dictating my thoughts right now. I feel like a complete screw up. I've failed at yet another pregnancy. I feel like I've failed Ryan because I can't give him the children he wants. I feel like I've failed Peter because I can't give him a sibling; at this rate he'll be 10 before another kid comes along (I never wanted my kids to be more than 3 years apart). I feel like I'm failing myself because I want to cry all the time and am hiding from everyone.

Life sucks sometimes.

My Blogging Problem

Hello...is anyone out there? If not, I completely understand; generally a 2 month absence does not fall under the heading of "Brief Blogging Respite." I was worried this would happen when I started my blog last fall. I've never been good at journaling or friendly correspondence. In fact abysmal failure is an appropriate way to describe myself when it comes to returning e-mails, writing family and friends, keeping a journal, recording important dates and milestones for Peter, etc. I even have a hard time with Facebook (the simplest of all mediums).

Let me describe for you my typical thought process when receiving an email:
1) Wow, it's so nice to hear from _____. I love knowing what's happening in ____'s life.
2) I must write _____.
3) Oh, wait. My response needs to be as equally lovely as the original.
4) Crap, I don't have time for that right now—I'll do that later.
5) Hmm...it's 1 week later, I should write _____ back now. Wait, since I rudely have waited a week to respond, it needs to be even better and longer than I planned. Eh, I'll do it later.
6) Crap, crap, crap! Now it's been months and I still haven't responded. Now I have to write a long newsy epistle. It needs to be perfectly crafted with clever wit, insightful observations, amusing anecdotes, and satirical reports on my life. That's going to be difficult. I think I'll do it later.
7) Now, it's been 8 years. It would be embarrassing to respond now. I hate myself.

Yep, basically some variation of the above goes on in my pathetic little mind when faced with recording my life with words. As you can see I have a huge problem with procrastination and perfection. I'm so overwhelmed by my need for perfection that I procrastinate doing anything. But I foolishly thought that the public nature of blogging would apply enough pressure for me to overcome my neuroses (well, at least 2 of them).

Unfortunately, I failed to account for the obvious: numerous people reading my blog would compound the need for perfection, thus sending my procrastination into overdrive. And I also made the foolish mistake of thinking my son would let me within 10 feet of the computer while he's awake. And I didn't realize that my son would become an insomniac forcing me to grab the nearest pillow whenever he actually sleeps, leaving me very little computer time. And I didn't account for the fact that fatigue plus life would leave me in a bit of a melancholic state for several months. Oh well.

Excuses, Excuses

Guess who's back? Kristin's back! (I'm pretending that you care.) I wish I had some great excuse to explain my temporary absence, but only the mundane has kept me away. A combination of things has contributed: 1) a busier than normal schedule; 2) fatigue (a lovely gift from my son who refuses to sleep) that makes me crawl into my bed (actually at this point any bed would do) as soon as I can every night; 3) a son that screams anytime I get within 82 feet of the computer; and 4) a case of the awful January blues. I know, I know those are all pretty flimsy as far as excuses go. Really, all it took was one crazy week to get out of the habit of blogging and because I am such a creature of habit and a perennial procrastinator, it has taken a bit to get me back on here. But it's probably a really good thing I haven't been blogging because basically I would have posted lengthy and vitriolic discourses on why I despise health insurance companies and the Utah state legislature. And all the anger from those posts most certainly would have been unfun for you to read and heart attack-inducing for me (also unfun). So anyway I'm hopefully back to posting a few times a week (although, I wouldn't believe it until you see it).