...and we have an answer

Monosomy X (Turner Syndrome).
In the back of my mind, I'm thinking, 'so it was a girl", thus confirming my suspicion.
However, the very basis of monosomy X is the lack of a "Y" (or another X), so that theory doesn't really prove anything.
Plus, the genetics testing from the previous female lost showed nothing abnormal whatsoever, further proving we know nada, nothing, zilch. That is, regarding my persistent bad luck. Each time it is something new or different, so... I don't know.
Throw caution to the wind and see what new and improved disorder or freak accident we can conjure up? Or close up shop and board the windows?
I'm a huge fan of fate and/or destiny and/or random happenings; I don't care to meddle where my interference is either useless or unwelcome. It's not the "meant to be" factor, rather more of an "Eh, whatever. Let the chips fall where they may". I've long since decided that if the outcome of anything is somehow contingent on my efforts, and it FAILS, then I can't handle the disappointment or guilt or shame or general let-down that ensues. This applies, of course, to those areas of life where I have no control.
Any amount of functioning logic should tell me that repeated failures might indicate a change in perspective could be beneficial. Like, maybe, stop leaving something like this up to random misadventure and become more involved. You know, put an end to the potentiality (is that even a word?? it is now) and stop letting chance have its way with me. Stop being so easy.
Yet, it feels like I'd be giving up. Like I'm a quitter. And, "what if" we missed out on something amazing because we tried to make things happen (or not happen, in this case). My own twisted version of the butterfly effect, chaos not included.
Too much to grasp at this time; I'm not feeling too philosophical at the moment and I've got other stuff to do.
Just sayin'.

Local Woman Devoid of Answers

Breaking News
An area woman declares she knows next-to-nothing about her mysterious visitor: who it was or why they vacated the residence without warning.
"Sure, I wasn't expecting company, so I wasn't prepared - the room was probably a mess and I've been told I'm not the most hospitable host... but I tried really hard", stated the property owner.
Previous residents have related, "It's a nice place to visit, but ya wouldn't want to live there".
The area is currently closed for renovation. Future use of the site is questionable at best, state authorities. Zoning regulations are being reviewed.

The doc called Thursday evening. He received a requisition for approval of further genetic testing (FISH) as no cells grew. NONE. They were unable to do a single thing with the placenta and other tissues/fluid sent. He hadn't heard back from pathology about the teeny little autopsy specimen. At the very least, I would like to know the gender. Even if I could find out it was another female, then my expansive coping skills can conclude (by assumption) that I have problems carrying a specific gender, and I can gain some closure. It's the not knowing that bugs me.

Please don't let tomorrow suck

Going back to work tomorrow, and I just know somebody, at some point, is going to piss me right off.
For the most part, the people I work with are decent, caring folks. And I do understand that sometimes even the most well-thought-out comment can be mistakenly perceived as a shot. Read: I tend to be defensive.
Someone will tell me this happened for a reason.
Which, really, I hope it did. I hope the karotyping shows some abnormality that gives this loss a purpose. If it is another "perfectly normal fetus", I might just scream.
Someone will tell me god works in mysterious ways.
I will bite my tongue until it bleeds.
Someone will be so bold as to suggest maybe it's for the best, you were really stressed out by the situation.
At which point I will burst into sobs.
I had not experienced a pregnancy of my own, failed or otherwise, (failed of course, epic fail), while at this current place of employment. Everyone is now well aware of my history; during the Gestational Festival of 2007-2008/9, I played the pity card on a few occasions so that I would not be subjected to wanton saturation of all things pregnancy-related. We had, I believe, four children and six grandchildren born during that time, and honestly, I was about to gag.
I was able, however, to move past the pain and jealousy somehow, and grew to give a small shit about everyone else's picture perfect fairytale world.
Most recently, say within the past year, I accepted that I was no longer in the "still hoping for a bless-ed miracle" state of mind. Rather, I was starting to enjoy my midlife crisis. Age forty didn't hit me hard; approaching 41 pulled the magic carpet right out from under me. Forty-one meant I was in my forties. I wanted Change. I needed a challenge. Rather career or personal, I wanted to shake things up a bit. I decided I'd go back to school and finally finish my Master's. My boss approached me about an advancement track meaning more leadership responsibilities and more money, so why not go all-in? I'd even begun to ponder my future marital status because of some long-standing issues that have become practically unbearable. The Boy is an adult now, and I can afford to support myself, why spend the rest of my life stuck in an unhappy situation when there could be greener grasses out there over some other fence? (This is my midlife crisis talking, bear with me).
So, here I am, wanting something different, something more, some Change to usher in my old age... imagine my shock when I found out I was knocked up. Right out of the blue, just like that. Wasn't trying, was no longer considering myself a candidate for such a feat, WTF?
I'll be the first to admit, I wasn't immediately thrilled. I actually was a little upset. OK, alot.
For a brief while I had forgotten that this wouldn't amount to anything, and allowed myself a tiny bit of Freak-Out. But then I accepted it, and moved on to Cautiously Waiting. A few more weeks where NBHHY, and I started to WANT this. Maybe THIS is what I needed? Maybe this IS a blessing and oh man wouldn't it be super-cool to be an old mommy with a second chance at starting over again and things would be different and better and oh what an exciting opportunity!
And then it died.
I mean, what else would it do?
And I feel guilty for ever wishing it hadn't happened.
I feel horrible for not wanting it that first couple of weeks.
Because that is when it stopped growing.
And I feel like I caused it. Nevermind my history and my shit luck.
I found out late in the 6th week and it died just prior to the 8th.
When I had to have my little selfish crisis. Me me me.
Nevermind that I carried it for four more weeks, blissfully unaware.
Like a little reminder that I could have had what I wanted but I blew it again.

Someone, at some point, will remind me how freaked out I was at getting pregnant (I was in shock! I couldn't help but be a little unnerved.)
And that someone will equate the loss with being a relief, and I will get angry. Or bawl. It's kind of a toss-up at this point, because that's all I've been doing lately. I'm mad at the universe and feeling sorry for myself.

And this just sucks. I don't wanna go back to work tomorrow.

The highlight reel, and some retrospect

I had posted a long, drawn-out, detailed account of yesterday's happenings at the old Stirrup Corral, but decided that would best be kept in my personal archives. Nobody really wants to know all the details. Thus, I will give you only the key points.

The little one was still floating in the amniotic sack, like a little oval water balloon, about the size of a 'jumbo' egg from your local friendly supermarket.

It was "right there, almost through the cervix" when I assumed the position. As such, there was no 'procedure' required.

I asked, and was allowed, to view the contents, which I found very interesting from a biology standpoint. The baby was about the size/shape of two tiny peanuts or a whole cashew.

Placenta sent for genetics, everything else sent to pathology. Will be a few weeks before we know anything.

I believe that in viewing the "specimen", as it was, is on some level disengaging my psyche from dwelling on this as losing another "child". I know that probably sounds quite odd to most people, but for those of you who know me, I feel assured you probably understand, or are at least trying to. Dissociation and all.

Even though whatever pregnancy hormones I had are still around at lowish levels, I am finding the sudden drop in the massive progesterone intake has all but ceased any 'symptoms' I had experienced. My boobs aren't nearly as achy, and the gas seems to be dissipating. (Sorry, to those in my immediate vicinity). I am much less tired, but still rather weepy. And a little bit crabby. (Can I blame that on the hormones? Really? Cool.)

In hindsight, some of those that knew about the pregnancy, and now the loss, have told me that I "just didn't look well, or healthy". The husband of a friend told her a couple of weeks ago that he thought something didn't seem right, shouldn't I have that 'pregnancy glow', or at least not look like the walking dead? And he was right. I mean, early pregnancy symptoms are one thing, outright miserable-ness is something else. And now that it's all over, I have to admit I feel less 'toxic', overall. Funny that *I* didn't pick up on the "this seems too excessive, something must not be right" vibe.

The baby died, by measurements, at just shy of 8 weeks. So, maybe carrying around a dead fetus for a month can do weird things to one's body. One (good?) thing about it being an early loss, is I'm not (yet) experiencing the lactation experience. The one I lost at 13w (that actually WAS 13 wks) did involve some slight leakage and firmness in the old girls, but this one has not, for which I am grateful.

I'm still a wee bit crampy as the Uterus of Doom attempts to shrink back and clamp down. (I'm visualizing an Iron Maiden or a venus flytrap). Hardly any spotting, and just a little mucous discharge (lochia, perhaps?).

I'm enjoying better living through pharmacology while I have a few days off work.



Thank you all for your supportive responses. I really do appreciate all my friends and fellow sisters-in-loss. It really does soften the suckage factor to know someone understands.

One more notch on my belt

11w5d ~ 0330am woke up feeling 'damp'; blood in the panties.

And then the cramps. More blood over the next couple of hours.

Urge to push. Stood over towels on the floor and squatted.

:::cough:: Plop. Large pile of calve's livers. Scooped it up into a clean container.

Dripping, trickling blood while trying to get dressed for the hospital.

Lab work showed Hcg dropped to 4000-something. (was like 21k at 6wks)

L-o-n-g, detailed sonograms, both external and internal - the tech turned the screen away and said it was "hospital policy" to not share the info until the radiologist read the report to the attending physician.

Uncomfortable internal exam to remove more piles of clots from my 'pelvic vault' or whatever.

"I'm sorry but there is no heartbeat. The fetus has dropped low and is lying at your cervix. You have not yet begun to dilate; your cervical Os is open, but we can't access the fetus from here. Your doctor does not feel you'll be needing a D&C at this point. You should pass it soon while you're resting at home. Call your Ob/Gyn today to get an appointment".

Doc calls me during my nap. Said he was reviewing the film and labs; believes the baby died around 7w5d, so about 4 weeks ago. The prometrium kept my body thinking it was pregnant.

(I believe I correctly predicted this already).

The husband is torn up, was crying out to "god" asking why, why us, why now, why again?? We're good people. What point could possibly be need made by doing this??

Another one sent for karyotyping.

Appt in the morning with the doc who will try to extract the remains from his procedure room. Believes that at less than 8 weeks, there should be little to no placental material to remove; thus no D&C. Have believed this before, and after a month of intermittently heavy bleeding, ended up with the D&C and a blood transfusion. But that baby actually was >12wks, so there were retained placental fragments at that time.



This whole thing is suck a mindfuck. The first couple of weeks were an emotional nightmare to me, incredulous, couldn't believe this happened, and I honestly was in shock and not really happy about it either. I became cautiously hopeful. As of about 3 days ago, I was actually excited. I wanted this. We were predicting a girl. I was, dare I say it, happy.

Doesn't pay off for me to get happy or hopeful.

Some sick part of me wants to try again immediately, with careful monitoring and/or assistance for my hormonal support. I'm not getting any younger, and we got to the point where did, indeed, want this. The husband, though, says no, and he'll get a damn vasectomy, because he NEVER wants to have to go through this again. EVER. He can't stand seeing me suffer, and this one in particular hit him like a ton of bricks. He got over the age thing, and had begun planning his future around it. And now he feels lost without a purpose.

But this is all just first-day shock talking. In a few days we'll be back to the cold angry cynics we'd become long ago.