Archive for April, 2011

this will make sense at the end

Warning: Not for the faint of heart…or stomach. Dark humour involved.

I’ve mentioned before that my second miscarriage was a very traumatic incident, but it took me a long time to realize that I never actually posted what happened. So I figure, in order to explain what is going on between Hubby and I, it would make more  sense if the story was filled in.

Like I’ve mentioned recently, Hubby is finally coming to grips with what his issues are, regarding TTC, and I’ve been realizing that things were worse than I had thought.

It comes down to this. Hubby is terrified that if I get pregnant again, I’ll die. Even with no hint of danger from the Dr’s, nothing rationally stating that there is any physical danger to me getting pregnant again…twice isn’t a pattern, second time being worse than the first doesn’t mean the third will trump the second…but try telling your heart to listen to your head, right?

When we found that I was miscarrying for the second time, we did what do, and asked my MIL to come stay with me. She flew out to stay for a week, but of course we had no clue when it was really going to happen. I honestly can’t remember how long she’d been here…a day…a few? But it started in the morning, shortly after Hubby went to work. Yes there is the cramping, the starting to bleed. I was ready to spend a very bad morning in the bathroom while mom took care of Monster and checked on me occasionally but gave me my privacy.

But the bleeding was more intense than it had been the first time. Ok, nothing ever goes the same twice. But then I bled through my pad, underwear and pants instantly. Irritating, right? (did I mention that I go into practical mode at times like this?). So I changed…and instantly bled through everything again. Ok, I just need to pass a clot and this will tone down. I didn’t want to ruin more clothes, so I sat in the shower. I look down to find the disturbing view wow, it’s just a-coming, it looks like I’m peeing! And below me on the shower floor is huge pools of my blood. Wow, it sure clots fast…it’s really bright. I’ve never been bothered by the sight of blood, not even my own.

Side note (I can’t handle phlegm though, mucus does awful things to my gag reflex). give me blood, guts, gaping wounds and ANYthing else from the body, but please give the outwardly phlegmy patients to someone else.

After passing a large clot, things slow down. I get dressed again. But moments later…Gush. Right through my third full set of bottoms. I was strangely calm this whole time. not really feeling anything emotionally, like it was someone else that I was helping through this. (although god knows we could never be this calm when someone around us is hurting but you guys know what I mean). So back in the shower I go. Any time now, there is no way that this can keep up. Hmm, I’m tired, I guess I didn’t get too much sleep…so much blood again. Nothing like sitting in a pool of your own blood…at least it happens to be my favorite color…it’s clotting so fast it looks like jelly pancakes


I’ve lost more blood than a transfusion worth, this is getting bad, I’m starting to get loopy, I have to get to the hospital.

Well, in the three block drive to the hospital (mom drove of course) I went through another set of bottoms, and the towel I was sitting on. I walked up to triage, I’m not sure if she recognized me because it wasn’t my department but it’s a REALLY small hospital. She sent my straight to the bathroom to change and  a nurse came in a couple minutes later to walk me to a stretcher/ bed. And then it was all downhill.

I was still myself enough to be upset about the IV (ya, i knew I needed it but that damn needle issue I have doesn’t make my life here easy) but my nurse (I knew her but hadn’t worked with her…I don’t think she realized who I was) is an IV queen and managed a HUGE IV without me feeling too much. I could have kissed her. We weren’t even bothering with pads anymore, I was just on piles of soaker sheets being swapped out constantly. Dr Evil (never seen her before) showed up and DID SHE JUST STICK HER ENTIRE HAND UP THERE!!!!! FUCK!!!!! it was everything I could do not to scream in agony as she manually pushed clots out from inside and out. I’m not familiar with this technique and I’m pretty sure she should have offered me a few drinks first.

It was this point that I realize the entire emerg staff is flapping in panic, I kept waiting for my step-cousin to come in but turns out she thought I wouldn’t want her to come in under the circumstances (I would have though, just to have a comforting familiar face around). Hubby arrived finally and looked like death. Wow, I must look pretty bad. “I need to get up to the bathroom” “no, not a good idea” said another nurse. “it’s fine, Hubby will help me there” “Bedpan” “not a chance” “please” “I’ll be fine, stop worrying”. Well, it’s a well known fact that nurses are the worst patient (maybe Dr’s are worse, but..) and that we should be less stubborn with our fellow nurses when we are not at full mental function. I passed out the second I was up and Hubby barely had time to catch me. Fuzzy, whats going on, what a nice hug…oh, he’s not hugging me, he’s desperately trying to hold me to sitting in a chair…I guess even 100lbs of dead weight is pretty awkward.

I was lifted to bed, reprimanded for trying to do more than I should (aka anything more than staying conscious) and tilted head down in the bed. ya, it does feel like you’re going to slide off the head of the bed and that blood rush to the head was less than pleasant. but not much longer and I was being shoved into an ambulance to take me to the city for an emerg D&C and blood transfusion. I’ve never been in so much pain in my life as I was during that ride. It was like I was having an end of delivery style contraction for the entire 30 minute ride and I was strapped down and couldn’t even move. It never let up. Even when we arrived at the hospital that damn woman wouldn’t let me up. Apparently I was being forced to not push anymore clots out at this time. I had some serious hate of for the woman just doing her job (killer the messenger anyone?).

All in all, the OB Dr was in the middle of delivery and didn’t make it to see me in a timely enough fashion. Evil me was very glad the she took the amount of time she did because the bleeding had slowed to manageable enough by the time she got there that I was able to talk my way out of the D&C and the transfusion. Some of you may not see my logic for this, but my uterus is sacred to me and NO ONE is coming anywhere near it with anything that has a chance of causing infection or scaring, even if it is low. The transfusion was just an “if I don’t have to then why would I?” thing, like having surgery if you dont have to.

So Hubby saw me like this. He saw me grey as a corpse. He saw me in agonizing pain. He saw an entire emerg staff panick when trying to care for me. And he saw me still being stubborn as hell about wanting/ not wanting certain things. He saw me lose another child. And he saw me on what looked to him as me being on my deathbed.

Lets just say when I looked in the mirror later it scared even me (not an easy thing to do). You know those bug-eyed goldfish? you ever seen a grey one? how is it possible for someones eyes to puff out that much?

So I can understand why Hubby is so scared. But is he going to be able to get past that enough to ever try and having another child again?

I know he loves me. He wants to take care of me. He wasn’t to support me and give me everything I want. I know he’s going to be there for me through everything. Now it’s my turn to be there for him and show him I’m not going anywhere. And I hope that the time comes that he realizes that the rewards of more children are worth the risks. Then we’ll be able to move foreward.

Besides, worse comes to worst, I’m too stubborn to die.


CD 4 …and that no longer means anything here.

Starting tomorrow I will officially be back on birth control and I’m planning on using this asstastic event to bring on the bright side. I’m going to experiment to see if I can drink, lol. Ya, the girl with the alcohol allergy wants a drink. BUT, I actually had a glass of wine at my girlfriends house the other week, a WHOLE glass of wine, which I haven’t been able to do since I was a teen (pre developing allergies to everything under the moon). So I’m going to get a bottle of wine, make sure Hubby is near by in case things go to the shitter (lol, pun intended) and then see if I can have two glasses! I figure since I’m so unfamiliar with alcohol that it would be enough to make me tipsy and we’ll find out if I’m a friendly or belligerent festive participant. Hey, I’ve got to have something to do, right? What do you mean we don’t normally encourage drinking?

So today Hubby and I went to our first therapy session. It was a basic intro in which she found out our basic family info, support network, pregnancy history, and how each of us has dealt with the miscarriages. For me, it was all stuff I’ve talked about before. For Hubby, it was stuff that we’ve touched on and I’ve figured that he’s dealing (or lack there of) with, but it was so good just to hear him say the things. Not that they were particularly nice to hear, but to get them out in the open so we could each know where the other stands.

The main thing that caught my attention when she was talking with Hubby, was the constant use of the word “trauma”. I’ve read with you guys that PTSD seems to be a lot more common than I’d ever dreamed of in our circumstances. And listening to them made me wonder if Hubby didn’t seem to be suffering something similar. And thinking on it, it wouldn’t be surprising. He not only lost two babies with me, but during our last miscarriage he watched me become so critical, so fast, that our local hospital panicked. He finally let it be said that he’s afraid that another pregnancy will result in me dying. This is what I’d been thinking he was going through, but that he hadn’t come right out and said. So now it’s out there and we both know what’s really going on.

All in all, it was a good chat, but still an intro chat. We’re booked to go again in three weeks (that’s how his schedule works with his job) and she gave us some stuff to read. Now I just have to make sure he gets to it.

Milkshake in the mail

I don’t know about you guys, but normally I dread the mail because it’s bills and crap (like nestle sending you baby formula samples so you want to throw stuff while you’re standing outside with your neighbours staring out the windows at you). But ever since we (aka mommyodyssey) put in the choco-buddy system in place, I get occasional treats that more than make up for the crap that I have to sift through to get to them.

Marie noted to me that I should keep my eyes open the other day, and the first thing I thought was “And what do we have most in common lately? that would be our current obsession with chocolate milkshakes. I wonder if she discovered a way to send a milkshake through the mail?” and lo and behold! YES! That’s exactly what she did! I squealed with delight opening this up (yes a very out loud and obvious squeal) and to find she had come to the same conclusion that I had about it only to find MORE! A BACON CHOCOLATE BAR!!!!

Now, this can’t just be a Canadian thing I assume, but you all seem well aware of  my love of bacon as well as the pig in my freezer, and this really is the cats ass. Even if it turns out to be the most disgusting bar ever, I will forever love it.

Marie, you tickled me so pink I could kiss you.

A different kind of progress

Well, it’s official. Hubby and I are no longer TTC. I can only hope that it’s not forever. I’m pretty sure that eventually we will try again, but I know that if we do and we loose again, there will be no options of ever trying again. Who knows, maybe he’d sneak out and get snipped while I wasn’t looking, just to be sure.

As has been painfully obvious to anyone in the know about our situation (aka you guys) Hubby has not been dealing with the issues at hand and was in some serious denial. He was so sure he’d dealt with the miscarriages and moved on but all he had done was to push them back and ignore them. What was the result? My own husband wouldn’t come near me with a ten foot pole, I became traumatized that he didn’t want me (way to kill any womans last ounce of self esteem), and our relationship has suffer right up to but not yet crossing irreparable damage.

I’ve tried talking to Hubby about these issues continuously, but in such a fashion that he was able to not admit to himself that the issues were anything other than in my head. I was depressed, he didn’t want to push me too much, so simply said that when I was ready to talk, he’d like me to see someone. One of those someones being his mother (actually that one turned into “If you dont call mom by the end of the week, I will and then you’ll have to talk to her”). She has suffered from severe depression and Hubby wanted me to have someone that could REALLY understand. But still, he was so sure that it was just a “me” issue and not an “us” issue.

So mom came out last week. I hadn’t talked to her yet because she’d been on holidays, and when she’d been here a couple days we had our chat. Well. No big shock that Hubby was pissed at the results because when she talked to him afterwards, he was still in denial. He didn’t talk to me for the next day, but surprisingly after about 24hrs, he pulled me aside to talk (aka rip a strip off me) and…he was forced to admit a lot of things…after the first half of the conversation chalked full of denial.

So the jist…

He wants more children, but is more afraid of me loosing another, and loosing me mostly, to follow through. My last miscarriage was so horrible physically (I’ll leave that for another post), that he’s afraid the next one will kill me (logic is not playing a role here, they don’t just get increasingly more severe each time they happen). So he’s set himself to me being selfish to risk my health/ life for a new child when he and Monster are here depending on me. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he didn’t want to TTC and was afraid that I would leave him if he refused. He finally admitted that sex and miscarriage were so linked in his mind that he couldn’t separate them enough to be with me, and that was where I made him realize that he didn’t deal with all this shit and he REALLY needs to see someone about it.

I’m going back on birth control as soon as The Red Lady comes, we’re going together to go see a counsellor from the Early Pregnancy Loss clinic as soon as she gets back to me, and he admits that he needs to be a bigger part of my and Monster’s lives (we have more of a roommate style relationship and that REALLY needs to change). Plus…he’s going to move me back into the city as soon as we can manage so I’m closer to my support network and have more resources available for me and Monster (since Hubby is gone so often with work).

Things are far from perfect here, but I’ve got some hope again that things can work out.

Dinner talk

Ok, so sometimes when you have no bubble who me? people are so used to you talking about absolutely anything, that it doesn’t occur to them that you may not always want to talk about certain things….like sex at the dinner table. More specifically, you having sex. Even more specifically, how often you have sex with your husband while trying to conceive. WAY more specifically…this was ask by my little brother…at a family dinner…in front of my step-dad. If I wasn’t a slight bit touchy about the momentary hiatus of TTC, I’d have wet my pants laughing at the lack of appropriate timing.

This was last week.

Right now, I’ve got my MIL  in town for a week, and after my bad morning yesterday we started chatting about my current situation. Normally she’s the first person I’m willing to talk to but the way I’d been feeling lately I just hadn’t been talking to anyone. So, shortly into the conversation, she asks me about sex too. I always talked to my mom about sex before, so it’s not a far stretch to talk to my MIL about it, but I couldn’t help finding it hysterical to have her ask me about this and Hubby’s libido and mine and all the associated stuff there. It was good to get it off my chest, and strangely not uncomfortable.

The result of it was that about every hour for the rest of the day, I got the giggles remembering my little brother asking “so what, do you just have sex like crazy every time Hubby is home?”

That’s my brother. And he’s as blunt and strange as me. I wouldn’t trade him for the world.

This may sound weird, I don’t really care. But I really miss breastfeeding.

This morning, sitting in my MOPS session (on teaching kids to deal with loss/ grief), listening to the video and knowing that I still haven’t really dealt properly with my own greif…across the table from me one of the other mothers is breastfeeding. Now, I’m a real advocate for breastfeeding, and I don’t feel that women should run off and hide in a dark closet to do so. When I was nursing my son, I’d nurse him anywhere and everywhere. I was courteous enough to put a blanket over if I was in public or around people that were less comfortable, but I wasn’t about to get up and leave when I had to nurse. So, when I saw this girl nursing her son today, during a session that  was bringing up all the loss of my babies (not to mention the others I’ve lost in my life) I was double choked with emotion.

I loved breastfeeding. I could spend my life as a wet-nurse. I nursed my son for 2 years (letting him self wean) and I thought I’d have a short break before having another child right back there. The closeness and bonding of breastfeeding was a very big deal to me, not to mention that my milk was like liquid butter and would instantly fatten up the scrawniest child. I’d finally found something my body was good at and  I could have fed an army with what came out of me.

And it’s just one more way that it feels the world is rubbing in my face that I’ve lost my babies.

This probably made no sense outside my head. But I had to get it off my chest (no pun intended).