Trigger this
This morning, 0730, I am to be splayed on a table for a date with the dildocam.
A follicle scan, as they like to call it.
Spelunking for cysts is more accurate, methinks.
If one or more of the little darlings looks assertive enough, I get poked in the ass.
Ah... the joy. The anticipation.
The underlying indecisiveness of even bothering anymore.
I had a dream the other night of lemmings. Running, pushing over each other, shoving their way to the front of the crowd, falling off the cliff... all dead except for the last few that landed on the soft pile of the ones that went before.
When I lost Nicholas, the last thing in the world I could have imagined was wanting to "try again". I was adamant. My hubster was adamant after the loss prior to Nick; with Nick he was at least cautious until it seemed like a real possibility. To tell you the truth, I was the one insanely nervous with the girl; he was hopeful (you've had two losses, this one will make it! he cheerfully lied).
Now, I just don't care anymore.
I felt more upset upon finding out The Maybe was female than I did about the loss in general. After the month-long gorefest leading to a hemorrhage, emergency D&C, and a four unit blood transfusion, well I just got a little more pissed.
I always wanted a girl.
I honestly wish I didn't ask for the gender.
In my mind, it made more sense that the fetus would have been a boy. Boys are trouble. For a little princess to have done this to me is unfathomable.
Like DD mentioned, the reaction my husband offered up on hearing the news was far less than I had envisioned. I believe his exact words were "Julie! Why are you doing this? You need to just let it go. I didn't need to know that. Just stop it."
Thanks for your support.
If anything, I feel the need to prove to myself that I CAN do this.
It's a pride thing, I guess. I'm not sure what I'd even do at this point if I did make a live baby, but look at him with an I-told-you-so smugness, and curl up in a bottle of Xanax.
So, I'm sitting here today, debating whether or not to keep my appointment, and wondering when, if ever, would be a more appropriate time. Next month? Next year? Never?
If you sit a bunch of monkeys in front of typewriters (that's just how low-tech I am), eventually one will write Shakespeare.... or something like that. If you try and fail enough times, eventually your luck is bound to change. Right? Right? C'mon, tell me... right?
Yeah. Right.
I zoned out at commencement, during an insightful yet boring speech. I thought about the 13 or so years from the accidental pregnancy leading to The Boy, and the
time spent raising him, putting my career on hold. Those are years I wouldn't trade for anything, though I do wish there were some siblings for him in there. But that's my point... I raised my son. I'm pretty much done. We had accepted our lot and moved on along with time. When The Boy hit high school, it seemed like we were in a good place financially for me to complete my degree. First semester back full-time: pregnant... miscarriage. Don't ask me how the conception even happened, but in the end it took 6 weeks to complete the miscarriage, including a modified extraction maneuver to get the little last bits and pieces on outta there. Amazingly, my grades barely suffered. An "A/B+" student, Dean's List, nomination to the honors program... all distinctions I enjoyed. It wasn't really that hard. I'm just naturally intelligent. Yeah. By the third semester I found myself expecting Nicholas, and as the pregnancy progressed I decided I had better take the next term off, since I didn't know for sure "when" he would be born or if the VBAC would work. Should I just schedule a c-section for spring break? Gee, I'd really hate to delay my graduation. In the end, I took the time off, because instead of the stress of a newborn, I succumbed to the delight of a grief so intense one can taste it. By the time I returned, I tried really hard to keep my grades as high as before, and I did well... until again found myself pregnant with The Maybe. This, I found to be incredibly weird. If someone could, please, explain to me how, after 16 years of trying, including IF treatment, my body decided to fuck with me on three.seperate.occasions. when the last thing in the world I was doing was "relaxing". I was pretty ill with The Maybe. Morning sickness hit me hard, fast, and early. I had these body aches and pains and just generally felt kinda 'down'. I struggled on through my final semester when she decided she had to go. She had had enough. I suppose I wasn't as happy as I should have been, and I didn't pay as much attention to her (or myself) as I should have. Burn me once, shame on you; burn me twice, shame on me. Her timing was considerate, and I only missed one day. Of course, the baggage she left behind caused me a bit of a problem, and you all know the story of that. By the time all was said and done, I ended up failing a very important course that I then had to repeat this term. Sure, I could have been done in December, but why not prolong the process as long as possible? That's what I do. I can't complete anything on time; miscarriages, degrees, Thanksgiving dinner. Such a slacker.
So, I find myself wondering why I should even bother. In actuality, I'm done. There is nothing to be gained from any of this. Positives or negatives - I think I could go on without either option. I am embarking on a very exciting leg of this journey called my life; while another child would certainly be welcome, I'm not entirely certain one is necessary. I'm not sure I need to risk more loss and heartache, not to mention the time spent in recovery. Time wasted, while I could have been pursuing something I have some control over. And that's what this boils down to. Control. I absolutely can not tolerate anything be left to chance or whim. If I, personally, can't manipulate things to even the slightest degree, then it's all shit. Anything worth doing is worth doing well.
And yet, responsible, respectable person that I am, I will show up for my appointment in a few hours. My usual wand monkey is off; if I understood correctly, the doc himself is to perform my scan in the morning, a full hour before the office is opened. How would it look if I didn't bother to show? I have no way of reaching them to cancel. And I *am* curious to the goings-on of my private innards. Cripes, it's been 5 whole months since they've been on film; they do enjoy the limelight. But do I get the stim? That *is* the whole point to doing the scan. Why waste his or my time if I'm not going to go full throttle...
On another note... watermelon Smirnoff and calcium-enriched OJ is pretty fucking tasty.
A follicle scan, as they like to call it.
Spelunking for cysts is more accurate, methinks.
If one or more of the little darlings looks assertive enough, I get poked in the ass.
Ah... the joy. The anticipation.
The underlying indecisiveness of even bothering anymore.
I had a dream the other night of lemmings. Running, pushing over each other, shoving their way to the front of the crowd, falling off the cliff... all dead except for the last few that landed on the soft pile of the ones that went before.
When I lost Nicholas, the last thing in the world I could have imagined was wanting to "try again". I was adamant. My hubster was adamant after the loss prior to Nick; with Nick he was at least cautious until it seemed like a real possibility. To tell you the truth, I was the one insanely nervous with the girl; he was hopeful (you've had two losses, this one will make it! he cheerfully lied).
Now, I just don't care anymore.
I felt more upset upon finding out The Maybe was female than I did about the loss in general. After the month-long gorefest leading to a hemorrhage, emergency D&C, and a four unit blood transfusion, well I just got a little more pissed.
I always wanted a girl.
I honestly wish I didn't ask for the gender.
In my mind, it made more sense that the fetus would have been a boy. Boys are trouble. For a little princess to have done this to me is unfathomable.
Like DD mentioned, the reaction my husband offered up on hearing the news was far less than I had envisioned. I believe his exact words were "Julie! Why are you doing this? You need to just let it go. I didn't need to know that. Just stop it."
Thanks for your support.
If anything, I feel the need to prove to myself that I CAN do this.
It's a pride thing, I guess. I'm not sure what I'd even do at this point if I did make a live baby, but look at him with an I-told-you-so smugness, and curl up in a bottle of Xanax.
So, I'm sitting here today, debating whether or not to keep my appointment, and wondering when, if ever, would be a more appropriate time. Next month? Next year? Never?
If you sit a bunch of monkeys in front of typewriters (that's just how low-tech I am), eventually one will write Shakespeare.... or something like that. If you try and fail enough times, eventually your luck is bound to change. Right? Right? C'mon, tell me... right?
Yeah. Right.
I zoned out at commencement, during an insightful yet boring speech. I thought about the 13 or so years from the accidental pregnancy leading to The Boy, and the
time spent raising him, putting my career on hold. Those are years I wouldn't trade for anything, though I do wish there were some siblings for him in there. But that's my point... I raised my son. I'm pretty much done. We had accepted our lot and moved on along with time. When The Boy hit high school, it seemed like we were in a good place financially for me to complete my degree. First semester back full-time: pregnant... miscarriage. Don't ask me how the conception even happened, but in the end it took 6 weeks to complete the miscarriage, including a modified extraction maneuver to get the little last bits and pieces on outta there. Amazingly, my grades barely suffered. An "A/B+" student, Dean's List, nomination to the honors program... all distinctions I enjoyed. It wasn't really that hard. I'm just naturally intelligent. Yeah. By the third semester I found myself expecting Nicholas, and as the pregnancy progressed I decided I had better take the next term off, since I didn't know for sure "when" he would be born or if the VBAC would work. Should I just schedule a c-section for spring break? Gee, I'd really hate to delay my graduation. In the end, I took the time off, because instead of the stress of a newborn, I succumbed to the delight of a grief so intense one can taste it. By the time I returned, I tried really hard to keep my grades as high as before, and I did well... until again found myself pregnant with The Maybe. This, I found to be incredibly weird. If someone could, please, explain to me how, after 16 years of trying, including IF treatment, my body decided to fuck with me on three.seperate.occasions. when the last thing in the world I was doing was "relaxing". I was pretty ill with The Maybe. Morning sickness hit me hard, fast, and early. I had these body aches and pains and just generally felt kinda 'down'. I struggled on through my final semester when she decided she had to go. She had had enough. I suppose I wasn't as happy as I should have been, and I didn't pay as much attention to her (or myself) as I should have. Burn me once, shame on you; burn me twice, shame on me. Her timing was considerate, and I only missed one day. Of course, the baggage she left behind caused me a bit of a problem, and you all know the story of that. By the time all was said and done, I ended up failing a very important course that I then had to repeat this term. Sure, I could have been done in December, but why not prolong the process as long as possible? That's what I do. I can't complete anything on time; miscarriages, degrees, Thanksgiving dinner. Such a slacker.
So, I find myself wondering why I should even bother. In actuality, I'm done. There is nothing to be gained from any of this. Positives or negatives - I think I could go on without either option. I am embarking on a very exciting leg of this journey called my life; while another child would certainly be welcome, I'm not entirely certain one is necessary. I'm not sure I need to risk more loss and heartache, not to mention the time spent in recovery. Time wasted, while I could have been pursuing something I have some control over. And that's what this boils down to. Control. I absolutely can not tolerate anything be left to chance or whim. If I, personally, can't manipulate things to even the slightest degree, then it's all shit. Anything worth doing is worth doing well.
And yet, responsible, respectable person that I am, I will show up for my appointment in a few hours. My usual wand monkey is off; if I understood correctly, the doc himself is to perform my scan in the morning, a full hour before the office is opened. How would it look if I didn't bother to show? I have no way of reaching them to cancel. And I *am* curious to the goings-on of my private innards. Cripes, it's been 5 whole months since they've been on film; they do enjoy the limelight. But do I get the stim? That *is* the whole point to doing the scan. Why waste his or my time if I'm not going to go full throttle...
On another note... watermelon Smirnoff and calcium-enriched OJ is pretty fucking tasty.
posted by Julie at 1:27 AM
4 Comments:
Sheesh, is this my blog or your blog? Sometimes I swear you're in my head. The Angry Beavers.
I say go for it. Good luck!!
I wish I had something profound to say. But I'm fresh out of profundity.
I also have a 13-year-old, and I also have had 3 losses and am wondering whether I'm really willing to risk any more (in my mind I've already lost the one that's supposedly gestating at the moment). I gues that's all by way fo saying that I feel for you and hope the choice somehow becomes easier.
It certainly would be nice to let go of what has been left undone. That's my problem. It just feels like someone left a door open and now I can't shut it.
Maybe that's why guys don't hurt as much because they don't open up enough to let the shit pile in. No, they don't NEED to know a lot of things, but something like this is a SHOULD. However, I am preparing myself for the first time I mention going to see "her" on Memorial Day and Mr. DD saying, "Who?" because he wouldn't allow the info to sink past the ears.
And I'll just take the vodka, you can have the rest.
i decided months ago that no matter what happened, this was it - last pregnancy. and then a couple of days ago, i panicked - oh my god, if something happens to milo, how can i not try again?
have a watermelon oj for me, now, while you can. i need one.
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