Catching Our Rainbow

Hoping for a rainbow after the storm…

Rambling

on June 18, 2013

I’m still here. I keep wanting to post, but I can’t seem to sort through my emotions enough to make a coherent post. Last night in bed, I realized that I was composing a post in my head before I went to sleep, and I did the same thing on the way to work, so obviously I need to write. So forgive me if this isn’t too coherent.

For the most part, I’ve been ok. I don’t know if this is denial or if I’m still numb, but I haven’t sunk into that deep sadness where I can’t function or care about anything like I did with my last losses. No sitting in the shower crying until all of the hot water runs out, which is probably good because we put in a tankless water heater last fall so we have endless hot water and who knows how long I would sit in the shower. I’ve had some guilt about how well I’m doing (which isn’t really that great, but compared to my last losses, it’s sunshine and rainbows), but the truth is that I miss Tup. I miss my baby. I miss talking to him. I miss feeling like everything I did was something that we shared. And while there is still plenty of time for me to have a complete breakdown, I think this calmness is self preservation. I don’t think I can go there again. I refuse to go there again. I’ve already wasted too much of my life in that place and I just can’t. I’m not strong enough to pull myself back out again. So I’m sitting in this strange place that I don’t recognize–one where I have a deep sadness in my heart but it doesn’t consume me–I can compartmentalize it. I don’t know if that’s healthy, but that’s where I am.

I’ve been trying to stay busy, and I know that exercise is supposed to help keep depression at bay, so hubby and I have started training for a sprint triathlon in August. It’s hard and tiring, but I’m really glad we are doing this. Whenever we add another mile or two to our bike ride or I run for a longer period of time before I run out of breath, I feel better about myself. I can feel my body getting stronger and more fit, and that really helps fight off the self-loathing that comes with my body’s failure to nurture and grow my child.

I got a call yesterday about the results of my RPL blood tests. They were normal–nothing to suggest repeat loss. Normal thyroid, no major clotting disorders. The doctor did suggest that I take a baby aspirin every day once we start trying again because it might help and it couldn’t hurt. I’m getting really tired of people suggesting that I take baby aspirin while holding my chart that says I have an anaphylactic allergy to NSAIDs. When I told her that I am allergic to aspirin, she asked if I am sure that I’m specifically allergic to aspirin and have I ever taken actual aspirin. I responded that, yes, I have taken aspirin and I had a reaction–that’s how I know I’m allergic to it. Then she said that even though I’m allergic to regular aspirin, I might be able to take a small dose without any adverse effects and that it would be worth trying. The last time I took an aspirin, I was a sophomore in high school. My whole faced swelled up and my throat almost closed, so I really don’t see the logic in taking a baby aspirin because I “might not react to a smaller dosage.” She did suggest I go to an allergist and see if they can desensitize me to it, which might be something to think about, but at that point, I was so annoyed that I just wanted to get off the phone with her. Really, I can’t understand why a doctor can’t take my anaphylactic allergy seriously.

To make the whole thing worse, she said the words. If you have had multiple losses, you know the words I’m talking about, “If it makes you feel any better…” I’ve gotten to the point now that whenever I hear a sentence that starts with that phrase, I sigh and roll my eyes. I can’t help it. Anyway, she told me about her friend who just had a baby after seven unexplained consecutive losses. Everyone has one of these stories and I can’t for the life of me figure out why people think these stories are supposed to make me feel any better. Obviously, she has never had a loss and does not understand the grief that comes with it. Because if she did, she would not think that a story about someone who lost seven children before having her first child would encourage me. If anything, it makes me feel even more bitter towards the assholes who get pregnant on the first try and have a baby nine months later while some of us suffer loss after loss after loss with nothing but the hope that one day, after enough of our babies die, we might actually get to take one home. And at what point do you stop? At what point do you say enough is enough, I’m done?

For us, that point is now. At least for the time being. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t just sit helplessly while my children die inside of me. I can’t subscribe to the “keep trying and hope it doesn’t happen again” plan. I know this will pass, but even the desire to have children and be a mother has left me. I have children. Four of them. They are all dead. And I don’t want any more dead children. I’m tired of this cycle. Even now, we’ll take some time off to focus on other things: the triathlon, school, hubby’s new job, etc, but eventually we’ll get pulled back in. Eventually we’ll want to try again, and then what? With every loss, I feel like our chances for a healthy baby diminish, but you always think, “just one more time–next time will be the one.” I feel like this cycle never ends, like we’ll never find a way out of it. So, for now, we are out. No more peesticks, no more temps, no more prenatals, no more doctor’s appointments, no more blood draws, no more waiting, no more anxiety filled nights. I’m done. And I have no idea when I’ll be ready again. Maybe I’m not handling all of this as well as I thought.

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10 responses to “Rambling

  1. steph50 says:

    All I can say is that I’m so sorry you’re going through this again… I understand how tired you are of all the TTC stuff. Taking a long break and therapy have helped me a lot. I think training with your husband is a very healthy way of dealing with all the anger that comes with this stupid unexplained RPL… Lots of love, my friend. I’m here if you ever need to vent! xoxo

  2. SM says:

    Unexplained RPL sucks balls. The end. I’m so sorry you have to go through this again. Excuse me if I sound a little dense, but would Lovenox give you the same reaction as asprin does? I don’t have a clotting disorder that could be found but my RE put me on Lovenox just in case. Apparently sometimes clotting disorders won’t show up on the standard RPL blood panel.

    • When she called, the doctor said that my bloodwork didn’t suggest the need for Lovenox. I guess its a bigger, badder drug than aspirin, and they don’t want to prescribe it without obvious need. I think I could get a prescription if I pushed it, though.

      • SM says:

        It is definitely bigger and badder than asprin. It leaves nasty bruises too. I guess my RE has the approach of throwing everything and the kitchen sink at unexplained RPL. I’m not sure that Lovenox really helped (I still miscarried once while on it) but it made me feel a bit better. When you’re ready to try again, I would suggest pushing for it.

      • SM says:

        I’m here if you ever need to talk about anything! Sending hugs and love your way!

  3. Thanks for sharing so honestly, as always. Grief always comes in waves; sometimes it’s easy, sometimes it’s hard. I know you miss Tup and feeling guilty not to feel as sad is normal, even if there’s no need to feel guilty. I still feel feelings of guilt regarding my loss sometimes. And I think every feeling is valid, even numbness. I’m glad that you’ve set a positive goal to train for that triathlon (p.s. wow! you go girl!) and that your hubby is with you every step of the way. Hugs to you, dear. Still thinking of you and praying for you often.

  4. redbluebird says:

    I’m so sorry you have to go through this again. I think self preservation is all you can do right now. Sometimes the grief is too much to handle all at once. The triathlon sounds like a great way to release some stress. Take care of yourself. I’m thinking of you.

  5. Annie says:

    I can relate to this post so much. I’ve only had one loss, but I know that feeling of having to compartmentalize your pain. One day I think I’ve made progress only to fall back into despair the next. I got some bad news today about yet more fertility hurdles and problems with my horribly flawed uterus, and I had that same feeling of exhaustion and outrage you described–wanting to stop this crazy cycle of heartbreak and disappointment but knowing that I won’t ever really be able to stop because I want this too much. I just wish I could give you a big hug. I can tell from your lovely writing that you have a beautiful heart and mind. You deserve good things and I will be praying that you get them soon.

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