Can We Put Squiggy on Our Name List?

7:15 a.m. found me sitting half naked in the exam room, waiting for a sonogram.  Nothing like dropping my pants first thing in the morning for a stranger.

Turns out that I have a cyst on my ovary.  I can’t remember which ovary, and to be honest, it doesn’t matter… what does matter is that the cyst means this cycle is a no-go for us.  Damn.

Is it awful that the first thing I thought (after DAMN!, of course) was “I can run in the Squiggy Classic!”?  Look, don’t judge me.  If I got upset about every bump on this l-o-n-g road, I would be miserable.  Looking for the positives has become second nature.

I don’t know why things aren’t working out more quickly for us.  But I do know that all I can do for now is kick back, relax and wait it out.

And run the Squiggy Classic 15K.  Sweet.

Keep On Movin’, Don’t Stop…

Yesterday marked Day 1 of my cycle, the first one since the loss of Blat.  Tomorrow is the baseline sonogram (or ultrasound… honestly, I can never remember which is which).  Remarkably, I feel okay about these facts.

I think I feared I wouldn’t be ready… that I would feel rushed or pressured (by no one but myself, honestly).  But I don’t feel those things.  I do feel a urge to move forward.  My therapist pointed out that there isn’t much use dwelling on the loss of Blat.  I can still process those feelings while moving on with my plans (and my life).  I believe that to be true.  So, onward!

And, I am remarkably enthusiastic about this whole process (when I figured I would be kind of meh about it… okay, okay, I figured I would be really meh about it).  I guess what I have is hope.  It feels pretty good.

Runaway

I totally freaked out yesterday.  In my head, I was packing my belongings into my (very sensible) Civic, grabbing my (aging) boxer and heading out.  To where?  Don’t know.  Doesn’t really matter.  Just away from here.

One of the gifts of being sober (read: being able to think rationally on a consistent basis) is that I realize that, while these feelings are real, they are not reality.  I don’t really want to leave.  And, in the above scenario, I would have forgotten Monkito & Milo and would have had to turn around to come back and get them anyway.

This urge to run away directly relates to losing Blat.  I couldn’t control that loss. I saw it happening, and I couldn’t stop it.  I can’t control when (or if) I get pregnant again.  I am facing the typical (for me) concern over finding employment for the summer.  I want to move, but that goal seems to become ever more elusive each time I think I have it pinned down.

My life feels out of control.  I desperately want something look forward to.  I want something to go my way.

Empty

Turns out loss is not a one-stop grieving process… and some days are simply harder than others.  What bought me a ticket on the melancholy train today?  Not sure.  Maybe that a friend from elementary school announced her pregnancy via facebook; her baby will be born 2 weeks before Blat’s due date.  I think that reminded me that Blat was real.  Some days it feels like I was never pregnant at all.  But today the happy news of someone else’s pregnancy reminded me of all the hoping and planning that Monkito and I had done in anticipation of Blat… and of the void that now exists.

Runners Are Strange

One of the perks of living in Florida is 68 degree weather in January.  Of course, one of the downsides is the batshit politics, but we will ignore that for now…

Today I took advantage of the gorgeous weather and ran a 5K (3.2 miles).  My running habit should convince you that a) I am only marginally sane and b) that I enjoy pain more than the average person.  I am not a gifted runner.  I do not breeze through a 5K effortlessly.  But I am determined.  Hella determined.

I quit running during our last bout of trying to get pregnant.  I had run throughout the two week wait during all the previous attempts but felt as though I should try one cycle sans running… you know, just to see if it made a difference.  And, lo and behold, I got knocked up.  I walked the same 5K route during my 7 week rendezvous with pregnancy.  But walking just isn’t the same.  And one of the first things I thought after I found out for certain that I had miscarried was… holy shit this sucks.  But after that, it was… I can go for a run!

This enthusiasm clearly marks my teetering on the brink of sanity because I don’t really LIKE running.  Or I thought I didn’t.  I have always liked the post-run afterglow.  And feeling accomplished and strong, in a way that only running can instill.  But looking forward to running?  Not usually.

But, sure as hell, as soon as I deemed it physically possible, I tied on my shoes and headed out on my regular route.  The first run was intoxicating.  I had been experiencing wicked cramps from the misoprostol, and running made them disappear (at least WHILE I was running.  They came back with a vengance later).  I immediately was hooked.  In fact, I loved running so much that I totally would have married it (if that wouldn’t be super-strange, and if I wasn’t married to Monkito…).

I spent the past week working back up to a 5K.  I mixed walking and running, trying to ease back in without hurting myself.  Moderation has never been my strong point.  And today, today people… I ran the entire route.

And as finished up my sprint toward my imaginary finish line, I muttered, “F*ck, yeah” under my breath… just like I have countless times before.  It feels good run again.  It feels even better to know that, although the past few weeks have been shitty, I am going to be okay.  F*ck, yeah.

Dear Body:

I fancy myself a rather patient person.  And I don’t like to bitch.  Really.

But what the f*ck, body?!?

First, you didn’t notice that you were supposed to begin the miscarriage process.  For a week I had to wait around to find out from someone else that I had miscarried.  You could have at least given me a hint.  But, I can overlook that as a rookie mistake on your part.

But now, cramps for a full seven days?!?  I get that you are pissed about the two doses of misoprostol.  Fine.  But let it go.  We all have our own cross to bear in this situation.  Cramping at me when I am just starting to feel better isn’t doing anyone any good.  We would all like to move on as best we can after the loss of Blat.  The constant reminder that he was there, but now he is gone, is, frankly, starting to piss me off.  So cut the cramping bullshit, okay?

I know I am supposed to be kind to you and let you heal.  I will do that, if you will stop kicking my ass with these cramps.

Love, Pea

Grounded

Today, sitting at my computer entering quiz grades, it struck me:

I feel grounded.

I don’t feel knocked about by life.  I am not constantly hurdling through excessive highs and lows.  I just … am.

I always thought this kind of serenity sounded boring.  Where is the excitement?  The drama?  But, I find random things exciting.  Little things.  I laugh a lot.  But I don’t feel frantic when I don’t get what I want, or even what I think I need.

I wondered today if I was numb.  You know, maybe I should be sadder about Blat.  Maybe I should be angry.  What if I am not processing?

But, truthfully, I am simply being honest with myself about how I feel.  I cry when I need to.  But I no longer need the drama to validate my feelings.  I can just feel them… and let them go.  No need to hang on and flail about.  Just move through them.

Hm… on second thought, I think I have identified the problem:  I am watching too much Biggest Loser.  I am channeling Jillian Michaels’ philosophy.  Well, I guess things could be worse… think I can get a major in Armchair Psychology?  Clearly, I am working it like a champ.

Pea + Monkito = True Love 4ever

Monkito completely stole my heart when I met her.  Sappy, yet true.  Regardless of which version of “the meeting” I were to tell you (long or short), it becomes immediately apparent that I was a smitten kitten from the beginning.  I always had that heart-skipping excitement when I thought about her.  I wanted her–her time, her attention, her affection–and I knew that we belonged together.

I was right.  Totally dig when I am right.

But the crazy part is that, almost 6 and 1/2 years after she first asked me if I wanted to make out outside of a dive bar in Tampa (it was her way of saying she liked me–it was endearing, really), I am more intrigued by her, more delightfully in love with her than I ever imagined possible.

The past two weeks have been tough on Monkito and I.  Losing Blat meant losing a dream that had brought us closer together.  Honestly, I was afraid that our hurt and frustration would drive a wedge between us.

Instead, she has shown me that I can rely on her when my hope has flagged…she makes me laugh… she makes me forget, for a while at least, that this hurts.  She asks the right questions.  She listens to my rants.  She searches for the right thing to do (and, against all odds, she seems to find it).

She surprises me.  Just when I thought I couldn’t love her any more than I already do, she gives me yet another reason to fall for her all over again.

I am a lucky girl.  Truly.

Waiting It Out

I took the drugs to prompt my body to begin the miscarriage process about 4 hours ago.  Actually taking the drugs felt like a monumental decision.  I am not sure quite why.  The pregnancy is over.  I guess the administration of the drugs was the final acknowledgement that Blat is gone.

Aside from my laying on the couch while the cramps come and go, Monkito and I have spent the evening enthralled in Battlestar Gallactica.  Brilliant diversion. Fraking brilliant.

And in other news, I almost lost my mind when I realized that our mop is nowhere to be found.  A dog peed on the floor, and I HAVE NO MOP.  (can you see how close we came to a meltdown there?)  Fortunately, Monkito saved the day once again by picking  up a mop on her way to fetch the pizza.  Thank God for Monkito.

While I am being thankful, I want to send a shout out (do the kids even say that any more?) to my baby sister, who visited last night, and to my best friend and her partner, who are flying in tomorrow.  Monkito and I feel loved and supported during this otherwise rather shitty time.  And for that we are most grateful.

Sad News

Unfortunately, Wednesday’s trip to the doctor confirmed our fears:  I miscarried at just past 6 weeks (I am now 7 weeks into the pregnancy).  I truly feel grateful that a week beforehand I was told that this was a possibility.  Most people find out that they have miscarried out of the blue.  I had some time to begin to grasp the loss before it was even confirmed.  So, although the last week was tough, it somehow eased the shock of finding out Blat was gone.

My body doesn’t realize that the pregnancy has ended, however.  Instead of doing a D&C, my doctor opted to prescribe misoprostol to chemically enduce my body to begin the miscarriage process.  I won’t make you Google it; I will just tell you that misoprostol is RU-486 (the chemical abortion pill).  I had two feelings when I realized this:  1) an irrational indignation (I am not ABORTING my baby.  I MISCARRIED), and 2) gratitude that activist fought so hard to make this drug legal.  I do not want to have to go through a surgical procedure.  I just  had a D&C over the summer (to remove endomitriosis during a procedure to remove a cyst from my ovary).  Thankfully, if the drug works as it should, I will be spared that whole process again.

Folks close to me want to know how I feel.  At this point, I don’t really know how I feel.  I am not angry.  I don’t feel like God took something from me (I don’t believe God is like that).  I am definitely sad.  I believe that there was probably a chromosomal reason that Blat couldn’t continue on his journey (although I will never know for sure).  I know that I already miss Blat.  I totally fell in love with this first baby that was ours:  mine & Monkito’s.  Blat represented a year and a half of dreams becoming reality.  But Blat also leaves a legacy of hope:  I know I can get pregant now.  I have hope (maybe for the first time since we began trying) that we WILL have a baby.  And I know Monkito and I can face a loss together, supporting each other.  Those are tremendous gifts to bring in only six short weeks of life.

So, yes, I am sad.  But I am glad that Blat was ours, at least for a little while.