Returning Home Only to Leave Again

All in all, the time in Kamloops was a good time for me to rest, start processing the miscarriage, and to re-evaluate what to do next. As it turned out, that was planning a trip to Europe with my husband.

Beautiful sunset in Kamloops

There were a few beautiful days in Kamloops, but the weather was quite strange.

The time I spent in the garden of my parents in law was therapeutic, as well as the walks that I took, the time away, writing on my blogs (this one, Haiku a Day and my travel blog, Two Restless Wanderers), editing some of the novels that I'm writing, and all of the love lavished upon me by my parents in law.

A selfie.

Another selfie.

A particularly lovely Kamloops sunset.

What a send off! This was the sky the evening before I left Kamloops. Thunder and lightning when I was trying to sleep later.

The trip seemed to help me return to some things that I love, but haven't been doing for the past several years as I've been under such stress with this whole unexplained fertility issue. For instance, I started doodling and sketching a bit up in Kamloops after buying some nice new paper. It felt indescribably good to be sitting in the sunny back garden sketching even if I couldn't get the flowers to look like what I wanted them to look like with my limited Conte Crayons.

The flights back were uneventful.

Why not post another selfie? #planeselfie

After arriving home from Kamloops, I was thrown into the vortex of chaos of piles of stuff around the house waiting to be packed for our trip, adding even more things to my list, choosing outfits, running errands, and getting the house clean to leave for a few weeks. The cat was not impressed by my absence or the continued presence of suitcases out in the open, a clear sign that we were up to something nefarious.

Cooking in the beautiful apron that my mother in law sewed for me when I was in Kamloops. #butfirstletmetakeaselfie

The cat took immediate ownership of the cashmere blanket that I had so selfishly taken with me on my trip.

I saw my sister and her baby on the weekend. It was much easier to see the baby this time and I was able to look at her and play with her with very little pain, trying to stay in the present moment, and just connect with my little niece. But alone at home, I still have very dark thoughts such as why me, this is never going to happen, what's the point of living if I can never have children, I can't bear living with uncertainty anymore, etc..

I keep telling myself that it's all just going to take time. I hope that I'm right.

When I arrive home from Europe, I'll be starting up the IVF process again (perhaps this time I'll even make it as far as the stimulating hormones and beyond) and I will be posting about my experience.

In the mean time, follow me on my travel blog, as I travel with my husband from Amsterdam to Barcelona, around the Western Mediterranean on a cruise, and then spend some more time in Barcelona.

How could you? That's what Lamont's thinking.

Trying to Laugh Through the Tears

The last few days, the weather tuned more with the November in my heart. The temperatures have been at least 10 to 15 degrees Celsius less than normal, there's less sun, and certainly more rain. The fog descending on the mountain by where I am in Kamloops, makes for an autumn atmosphere that is matched only by my mood.

Perhaps it's the weather or maybe it's only because I'm sleeping better and having very vivid dreams and nightmares and am processing things, but I cried harder than I have in weeks, the night before last. I couldn't stop thinking about the miscarriage and the baby that I could have had. I know intellectually (and as many people have pointed out over and over again) that miscarriages are nature's way of "disposing" of unviable fetuses, but the hormones that flood the pregnant body, mixed with the years and years and years of trying for a baby and not being able to get pregnant and then miraculously getting pregnant on the eve of having IVF, made it even more of a body blow (and I just keep thinking of my age, what kind of an egg reserve I have left, etc. etc. etc. AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!)

I went downtown with my  mother in law two days ago. I, of course, checked out Value Village, and even stumbled upon an artist's street fair. The sun was shrouded by diaphanous clouds making it more resemble the moon. The streets were fairly empty, giving Kamloops a sort of eerie early morning atmosphere.

The tumbleweed is just out of the frame . . .

My mother in law took me to an art store later that day at my request. I actually brought up the Conte Crayons that my cousin gave me years ago from when she was in art school way back in the day, but didn't have any nicely coloured and textured paper that I could use (unless I went for the absorption of all colours, a nice Darth Vader black, I had lots of that at home). I found a huge pad of beautifully textured and coloured thick paper that's made in England. It's not the brand I've normally used, but we're in Kamloops, and it's really nice (and of course expensive) so I bought it and a fine line pen that was on sale. I haven't actually sketched yet in the yard (which is currently soaking wet), but I might if the mood strikes me (and I say that all the time, but I think I might not procrastinate so completely this trip).

Well, infertility really isn't funny, so perhaps a comic about it is doomed from the start . . .

Yesterday, I spent the morning gardening in spitting rain and then lukewarm sunshine with my mother in law. I found an "obliging" garter snake to take a selfie or two or maybe three or four with me (he definitely wasn't into it).

I think the snake's smiling too . . . #SnakeSelfie!

The little petunias covered in raindrops on the back deck were so gorgeous that I spent a long time trying to get the perfect picture to capture their beauty, but of course that's usually not really possible. The human eye generally captures things better than a camera phone.

Nature is so beautiful when you least expect it.

I was thinking of how different different people's life priorities are and then how different my cat's priorities are to mine. I was inspired to draw them out on paper. And I miss my cat. A lot (I've been doing Google Hangouts with my husband and he keeps showing me the cat, who yowls in the background. He's been bunting the phone violently, perhaps trying to get me out of the little glass box that my husband is keeping me in now).

I couldn't help but laugh at how a cat might view my myriad of fears and anxieties. What advice might my cat give me? Relax, take a nap, sleep in the sun, eat treats or food, lap up some cold water (or some from the toilet- no thanks), and cuddle with someone you love. Yes, cats don't sweat it about much (except baths, vacuums, and as I recently found out, the dishwasher [watery box of death]). Perhaps I should try to be more like them, but my personality type, childhood, mental disorder, former occupation (oh no! I'll get sued!), and current place in my life make me a worrier.
We went out for dinner last night, trying a newer Thai restaurant in town. Then we had ice cream down by the river, the wind whipping my long hair precariously close to the melting ice cream and my silk scarf. I had goose bumps all over my bare arms because I didn't really back for weird autumn in summer Kamloops (it's okay, I survived and I finished the ice cream cone like a real hero playing through the pain).

Long hair plus silk scarf plus strong wind plus melty ice cream equals risk.

My husband found out that he can take his vacation time now, before his next project starts up, so I've been given the green light to look for some last minute deals to Europe, so we can take the free cruise we were awarded by Costa's management after our (terrible)  experience last year (read more about it on our travel blog: www.tworestlesswanderers.blogspot.ca). Hopefully this cruise will be better. Other than a week or so on the cruise, we'll spend a couple of other weeks hanging around Europe (where hopefully we'll find some summer, because it seems to have disappeared from BC). You can follow our adventures on our travel blog.

This morning was thoroughly wet and rainy and the mountainside was shrouded in thick fog. It was really the perfect morning for writing, snug inside, but I kind of chose this locale partially based on its more reliable summer weather (read hot and dry) and I don't feel I'm really getting my Interior summer experience this year (where's my 40 degrees Celsius afternoon down at Riverside Park?).

This was taken this morning, July 9th, not November 9th . . .

Oh well, staying with my parents in law has certainly made me feel much better than I was feeling back at home or than I would have felt alone in some strange place. I feel too fragile and frightened to be alone yet and they are so gentle and loving, that they make me feel like it is still the summer here, even if it looks like November outside.

I hope that time, distance from where things all went even further south for me, and further rest will make things seem less bleak on the pregnancy and IVF front. I just know that I couldn't withstand the rigours of IVF right now with all of the hormones required for a successful cycle. I'm not just feeling physically weak, but also emotionally and mentally fragile. Perhaps "taking the cure" in Europe is what I need.

Moving Forward

I spent the rest of the week going to the chiropractor, doing long neglected housework, and slowly returning to editing some of the novels that I've been writing. I've also been contemplating escaping town for a while to have a change of scene and society. Sometimes a change makes for a good break.

I rearranged a bouquet sent two weeks ago into a smaller pottery dish I had made with a Japanese kenzan to hold up the now shorter stalks of the flowers.

My nurse coordinator from the Victoria Fertility Centre called today to discuss having an appointment with Dr. Hudson so that we could discuss next steps. I think that at this point I'm not ready to consider any options other than resting and recuperating and preparing for the future in my own time. She said that I can just drop her a line the month before we want to commence the IVF process. So, around day 1 of my cycle before the cycle I want to have IVF in, I would call her. She said that telling her in good time was important because spots for IVF fill up very fast, so they need a lot of notice.

Right now I just want to rest and recuperate.

I painted my nails for the first time since before we started into the IVF process. It may seem frivolous, but any self care at this point is a win. I feel like I'm coming back to life in some ways, but in other ways it's still a big struggle. The stress of the miscarriage and possibly the hormonal changes going from being not pregnant to pregnant to not pregnant abruptly has triggered a mixed episode of my bipolar disorder. I've been continuing with my p.r.n. medication and my symptoms are starting to settle out, but without the medication I can't sleep at night and I'm still irritable, scattered, having mood swings, food taste different, my appetite is increased, and my mind is racing with a flight of ideas.

Spotted nails to match my spotty moods.

We had some delicious Greek food for dinner tonight at The Village Taverna in town and then meandered home.

A trio of dips with pita, tzatziki, olive tapenade, and hummus.

Taking some time to prepare for the arduous process of IVF sounds like all I can handle at this point. I'll keep posting.

My mother and father both tell me to think positively and not feel sorry for myself. I'm trying. Honest.

Resilience

The past week has been very, very difficult. I didn't stop bleeding completely until the end of Wednesday (then I had some rebound spotting on Saturday and Sunday, but this seems to be gone now). I didn't leave the house at all after my lab visit last Monday morning until this Saturday afternoon.

While we were undergoing this fresh crisis in our lives, a box of hair accessories, that I had ordered before all of this drama, finally arrived. I pulled out the gorgeous jewel encrusted hair flowers with no interest or joy. I couldn't envision ever being able to wear something this fanciful again. I put them aside without trying even one on (and usually I can't stop trying different combinations or everything in the box together when I receive a box from Tarina Tarantino).

I stayed in my pajamas until Wednesday, when I decided to get my normal day to day cashmere sweat suit on. I managed to clean a bit, do some laundry, and make dinner for Bill. I was so bloated and swollen. I thought bitterly about how this rounded form was all for naught as I was no longer going to have a baby. That night I couldn't sleep. I was uncomfortable and hot and my mind was racing. I wasn't sure if this was because I had decreased my psychotropic medication (due to a lab test that showed a too high level of it in my blood), or if it was because I slept so much while I was at the most acute phase of the miscarriage, or if it was because I was still very disturbed by the incident, or if I was starting to have a hypomanic or mixed episode. I took some of my p.r.n. medication in the hopes that it would make me sleep and hold off any episode (stress can trigger hypomanic, manic, or mixed episodes and I had certainly had that lately,  physically, psychologically, and emotionally). I still couldn't sleep. I kept on having to go to the bathroom. My body was no doubt trying to shed some of its now excess liquid. I didn't sleep until about 2:30 in the morning (there's nothing like insomnia to convince you that lying in bed for hours on end is the most boring thing ever).

The next day, I was very subdued from the p.r.n. medication and the bad sleep and I felt very depressed in the morning. I couldn't handle the stream of emails I was receiving, along with composing my daily haiku for my other blog, managing my social media accounts, and contemplating what to even do with the rest of my day. I did the best I could with my work and then tried to numb myself with old episodes of T.V. shows so dramatic that they make my problems look positively simple. I did a brief stretch and a very few exercises on my yoga mat.

I was still feeling a pain in my abdomen, that pinched when I bent over, coughed, sneezed, or moved suddenly. I then researched this pain and horrified myself with all the possibilities of what it could be. I tried to reassure myself that it was early days yet and that I would still probably feel pain and strange sensations in the area of my uterus because I had just had a miscarriage. I made some muffins in the afternoon. That night despite taking some of my p.r.n. medication again and some antihistamines, I still couldn't sleep until almost three in the morning.

Friday, I managed to clean most of the house, which I haven't managed to do in a while (unwisely, I wore my cashmere sweat suit and due to my body trying to shed excess water since the pregnancy is now over and the humidity of the day, I ended up completely covered and dripping with sweat, which I usually never experience even with heavy exercise), do some laundry, and make dinner for my husband.

My husband, upon returning home, mentioned that this was the first time he was starting to see me emerge again. I hoped that with the exercise of cleaning the house for a large part of the day that I would sleep. I tried taking my psychotropic medication later than usual and had one of my p.r.n. tablets and went to bed. I managed to fall asleep earlier than the past two days and then I slept solidly for five hours and then slept another five hours.

I felt so much better when I woke up on Saturday. I actually felt semi-normal, something I didn't think I'd ever feel again. We had breakfast, listened to jazz music (Oscar Peterson plays the Cole Porter and George Gershwin songbooks, the first music I had listened to since the miscarriage news was first broken to me by my nurse), had some tea, had lunch, and then we actually went out for a walk. This was the first time I had been out of the house since the lab on Monday morning which was a brief in and out and before that the lab several times the week before and an appointment with my psychiatrist.

We walked through the Ross Bay Cemetery, along the water to Gonzales Bay, and then back home along Ross Bay in Fairfield. The day was sunny and sweet and I was in something other than pajamas or my cashmere sweat suit, even if it was just workout clothes, my hair was clean and combed, and all of my new Tarina Tarantino hair accessories were pinned madly into my hair as if an explosion of floral proportions had occurred from my brain and the remnants were scattered all over the top of my head for the whole world to see. Well, an explosion did happen in my brain the last couple of weeks, it wasn't floral, but the flower accessories with their crystals shining in the sun were a much more visually pleasing rendition of my mental meltdown than my venomous spiders, silverfish, and earwigs would have been.  Towards the end of our walk, a woman stopped me to complement me on the hair accessories and ask if it was a special occasion. I didn't tell her that it was a special occasion, it was the first time I felt like I could actually still be me again and envision a future that didn't involve six feet of polished wood in the shape of a box that goes underground, being a shut-in in a dour black cashmere sweat suit and worn sheepskin slippers, or going completely off the rails again and becoming my old self, a thought scarier than any other.

New hair accessories to celebrate a sunny day and emerging somewhat from complete gloom.

I bravely let my husband book a reservation to the restaurant that we absolutely loved when we tried it for the first time with our sweet friends who live in town. We made sure to reserve a half order of the Bejing duck because we couldn't stop thinking back to its succulent flesh with crispy skin on thin pancakes, with Chinese onion, cucumber wedges, and plum sauce. I changed into a pretty cotton eyelet dress and we went downtown for dinner. The restaurant, Bejing Bistro, only had us for half the meal and then one other table, so it felt like my husband had reserved the whole restaurant, so I wouldn't feel so overwhelmed by being out in public (which I had been afraid of).

The restaurant has a beautiful exposed brick wall.

After a delicious and much Instagrammed dinner, we walked over the Bay Centre and looked in the Bay for sheets (we had discovered the night before that our second to last set had deceased and we couldn't handle the pressure of only having one set of sheets left). We managed to find some sheets after a long search and much debate. Then we looked at the women's clothes and I actually found a new maxi dress, perfect for the summer and the trip to Europe that's still up in the air. I also found a linen shirt, a discovery that I was particularly thrilled about (n.b. my great grandfather founded the linen guild in Ireland back in the day and linen obsession seems to have come down strongly in my genes). The dress was on sale to my surprise when the woman rang it through the till.

I felt so grateful to not only have a husband willing to take care of me through the bad (including shopping, cleaning, cooking, soothing me, being patient with me, and taking me to the lab), but to lovingly fan my embers until my flame started to come  back to life and started to burn again and have the power to conquer my small world and eventually the world. It may seem silly being excited about finding a dress and a shirt and sheets at the Bay, but the reason why I was so amazed and excited and happy is because dead people don't need clothes or sheets and for a while I couldn't envision ever living through my present circumstances, so I knew that this was a sign that I was coming back to life, that I still have fight left in me, that I will rise again from the ashes.

Saturday night, I only had half of my p.r.n. tablet and tried to go to sleep, but after a pot of delicious jasmine oolong tea at dinner, I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing, alive with the events of the day, the possibilities of the future, and how I was going to get from where I am now to where I want to be. I left the bed more than once and tried to take time away from the bed until I was tired, but I just wasn't sleepy at all. Eventually towards 3:30 a.m., I fell asleep, but I awoke about five hours later, wide awake, and couldn't fall back asleep. So, I climbed out of bed and went and had tea. Unlike most mornings, I was wide awake.

My husband and I had a lazy Sunday morning. Well, he did, while I wrote my haiku, managed my social media, and then started working on my blog post for this blog. It was cathartic and I cried while I wrote part of it. My husband was worried and wanted to know if I needed him, but I told him that I was crying with relief, because I was so happy and amazed and hopeful that I was coming back to life after the biggest body blow I've ever experienced in my entire life. I didn't think I ever would and if I ever did, that it would be this fast.

My husband and I finished reading a book recently, well, it was an audiobook, A First Rate Madness: Uncovering the Links Between Leadership and Mental Illness by Nassir Ghaemi. It discussed how people (politicians mostly in this book) who experienced tragedy and adversity in their lives, generally became much more resilient and stronger than those who had smooth sailing their whole lives. I don't know why I've been given so many tests in my life and I'm quite frankly growing sick of them, but I do know that I am resilient and this incident has certainly reinforced that view for me. I will live to fight again. I'm just not quite ready to join the fray again.

After a so so sleep that went somewhat late into Monday morning, I spent the rest of the morning partly writing and partly trying to get help to log in to my online profile to review my mobile phone bill (Canadian mobile carrier unnamed, but there are very few and they're all awful, so take your pick and no I didn't forget my password, they have periodic problems with their system locking people out and then you get to spend 50 minutes on live chat resetting your password with two different agents, in addition to the time you spend before and after that live chat, but I digress since this is an IVF blog and not a blog about how much I hate the telecommunications industry in Canada).

I then had lunch and walked to a different Life Labs location, nearer to my house, with my new requisition for just one hCG test, rather than a standing order like in the past (that one ran out). I had booked an appointment for 1:30 and arrived five minutes early, feeling winded from only a 23 minute brisk walk (recovering from this miscarriage is harder than I had ever imagined).

The instructions on the website say to go to the check in desk immediately, even if there's a lineup, and to tell them that you have an appointment. I walked in and there was a room full of people waiting, but no lineup, so I told the harried lab technician that I had an appointment, but she dismissed me immediately and told me to sit down, without inquiring when my appointment was or looking at my requisition. One waiting patron told me that they were all waiting. I tried to explain that I was told to tell the check in person that I had an appointment. The woman to my right was visibly pregnant and was there with her husband and presumably their little daughter, who spent most of the time while I waited, stroking her mother's rounded stomach. I found this view in my peripheral vision particularly torturous considering that I'm recovering from a miscarriage. I tried to breathe in the pain and just sit with it as meditation teaches us. There was no room in the little waiting room of this lab and one woman kept hitting me with her feet when she crossed her legs. The small child became increasingly bored as we all sat and waited to check in and became louder and louder. We were all packed into the limited chairs like resentful sardines. It was such a beautiful day outside, the perfect June day, but inside it was like the seventh circle of hell with no WiFi and harried and reluctant vampires.

The lab technician took the first woman away for her blood letting.

Finally, a second, more bubbly lab technician appeared and she checked in the woman in front of me who had an appointment and then went to enthusiastically pierce her vein. I was checked in next by her after she had finished with the previous woman, since I had an appointment and the loud and growing family didn't and the old person who walked in around then didn't (and the previous lab technician was still taking buckets of blood from the woman two before me). The lab technician took my blood. It was uneventful, but gawd the lighting in those labs is awful.

This fluorescent light . . .

. . . doesn't improve my mood or selfies.

In any event, my blood wasn't taken until almost 1:50 p.m. so I won't bother going through the trial of trying to book an appointment online again, since it doesn't seem to make much of a difference, at least not at that location. Guess I'll choose yet another different location next time.

Chagrined, I left the lab and walked from James Bay to downtown and met my husband outside of his office to have an ice tea across the street. Somewhat refreshed, I walked to the Bay Centre and then up Fort Street, wandering in and out of random shops, before I returned home feeling less owly (and I will say that having a random guy greet me as "hello, goddess" on my way home, further improved my mood).

Natural light in my living room, rather than harsh lab lighting.

My nurse from the Victoria Fertility Centre had emailed me while I was waiting to have my blood drawn to ask if I had had my blood work done yet. I emailed her that I was still waiting, despite an appointment. I confirmed with her after I left the lab that I had had my blood drawn and she said she would check my results the next day (they won't be posted until after she has left the office) and call me. She also said that she had made an appointment for me to meet with Dr. Hudson in about a week and a half if I can make this work.

Quite frankly, I don't know how I feel about this prospective appointment with Dr. Hudson. Apparently, one doesn't get their period again until about 4-6 weeks post miscarriage, so there's an ovulation somewhere in there (and therefore a chance to conceive, although there are various sources that conflict over how long one should wait before trying to conceive after a miscarriage, especially due to risk of infection of the uterus immediately post miscarriage). Newer research has shown that waiting several months after a miscarriage to conceive has no appreciable benefit to the potential fetus compared to just trying right away.

I just don't know how I feel about proceeding with this loaded process at this point though. Yes, I could just charge forward and try to go through the IVF process for real this time, but when I only experienced the first hormone, Estrace, I hated it (though it's impossible to tell how much the symptoms were side effects vs. actual pregnancy symptoms, it was a double whammy of estrogen), and from what I've read of the many other hormones I'd have to take and the painful swelling of the ovaries with multiple ripe eggs and the harvesting process, I don't know if I have the strength to survive the process right now. Plus, what if we don't get pregnant that first round and I'm so demoralized by this fresh failure of my fertility that I just can't handle it and I give up completely? Or what if we do become pregnant with IVF and then I lose the fetus again? Would I be able to survive a second miscarriage so close to my first one? Or what if we do conceive and then I have to wait another three months to go anywhere for a vacation? At this point, I feel like I need a break and that I can't just take a break here. I need to get away. My husband, as usual, has a very busy and unpredictable schedule and doesn't know when he can go to Europe, so our plans are up in the air because of not just his schedule, but also this whole fertility mess. I guess in time we'll figure out what to do.

My lab results were posted online in the evening. My hCG level was less than 1 or normal (as opposed to an abnormal reading, which indicates pregnancy or some stage of miscarriage).The last time I had an hCG test was exactly one week ago and my level was 8 (still abnormal).

So, now we must decide how we will proceed with this process. Stay tuned for what our next move will be. Don't worry, even if we go to Europe soon, you can follow us on our travel blog.

Numb

Friday night through Sunday morning, I bled more heavily than I've ever bled in my life (and I've had about a dozen surgeries in my life).The pain was so intense, that even with leftover anti inflammatory and pain killers from my last surgery and a heating pad and several heat packs, I had a lot of difficulty surviving the painful cramps and spasms. During Sunday, the bleeding lessened and I tried to get up and watch TV with my husband, but I felt dizzy and out of it and kept falling asleep sitting up.

I had difficulty getting up Monday morning to go to Life Labs for another round of blood tests. My husband took me, as I was still feeling really weak and out of it. Around 8:00 a.m. seems like a magical time when one barely has to wait at all and I was in and out of the now too familiar lab in about fifteen to twenty minutes.

I'm getting sick of this view.

Oh, is this the first day of summer? Swaddled in cashmere, I couldn't care less.

I returned home and went to bed and slept until 3:00 p.m. easily. I could have slept more, but I forced myself to sit up, so I'd hopefully be able to sleep tonight. Plus, I still hadn't posted my haiku and I wanted to write another post for this blog, since I hadn't posted one since Friday.

Food tastes weird and unappealing, I'm having trouble drinking fluids like I normally would, and I have no interest at all in self care or anything at all. I still have the last remnants of the cold I came down with a week ago when I was filled with hope, being pregnant naturally for the first time in my life. Now a week later, I feel numb. I have a strong urge to flee, but no energy or drive to think of where to go or to survive a journey there. Besides, no matter where I go, I'll still be there and it's myself that I can't stand.

I've become a mute. I don't want to talk to anyone. And no one knows what to say either. Anything that anyone says offends me and being a recovering lawyer, I can twist their words into a razor sharp scythe that I can then use to wound them.

My mother, who only wants to encourage me by calling me and talking about my miscarriage, only makes me feel more hopeless. I never knew that she had had two miscarriages leading up to finally giving birth to me, but this fact only made me feel more despondent. I've only ever been able to get pregnant once and I'm eight years older than she was when she was going through that difficult journey. The chance that I'll ever get pregnant again naturally is almost zero and then if there's the possibility that I could have yet another miscarriage, why would I ever attempt this when I feel like I've barely survived this latest tragedy in my life? And if I ask for the doctor's help in getting pregnant again and put all that time, effort, hormonal agony, and money into that and then I lose that baby, how will I ever continue to live?

Even my husband, who is going through a hell of his own, can't completely understand what I'm going through, because he's only dealing with the emotional and mental fallout of the miscarriage and doesn't feel abdominal cramps, the gush of blood, and the physical weakness I'm feeling, mixed with the intensified emotional hormone fueled surges of rage mixed with complete and utter despondency, hopelessness, and defeat. If it weren't for him shopping, bringing me things to eat and drink, and taking me to the lab, I'd be huddled alone under a pile of cashmere decomposing.

The cat is bewildered by me taking to bed even more than usual, but being a cat, isn't completely against it. He slept with me all day and is now sitting beside me on the couch as I work on my blogs.

The Victoria Fertility Centre called me in the late afternoon to discuss my latest blood test results. My hCG is down to 8 (from 28 on Friday) (it must be below 5 for me to stop having tests done). I must repeat the lab test in one week. They are sending me a new requisition as my current one expires in three days. When I feel "up to it," I'm supposed to call and book an appointment with Dr. Hudson to discuss what I want to do next. But no treatments can be done until my hCG is below 5 (which is will likely be very soon). My progesterone is at 1.0 (it was at 2.5 on Friday). My TSH is at 1.84 from 1.34 on Friday.

I can't even picture ever going back to the fertility clinic again or having anything done to me ever again. I would never survive another trauma like this. I feel like I'm barely alive as it is. And while I'm sure my body, which has withstood a lot of trauma and surgeries and my brain which has suffered from a full gamut of emotional states, might be able to survive another miscarriage, my heart would reshatter along the fault lines from this latest horror and like tempered glass, would not be able to be reused and my life would just end.

But what kind of a life is this when I can't ever look forward to having a child of my own, while I watch everyone else around me effortlessly (and often accidentally) having children of their own (and not appreciating how lucky they truly are). The only thing that seems appealing at this point is death. Unfortunately, I didn't lose enough blood and I'm stuck on this hellish planet contemplating why I'm even here and how much longer I'll have to suffer for. I don't know how I'll ever gaze upon my little niece's face again or that of any other child, when even seeing children or hearing them, fills my eyes with tears and my heart with black despair.

In the mean time, I'll just sit here alone, staring off into space, my mind struggling, and my body still, numb, in a world that I've suddenly discovered is actually flat. I am in complete conflict. I want a child (or ideally two) more than anything in the world, but I'm terrified that I'll never be able to have one (or two) or what the cost will be (financially, emotionally, physically, time wise) to get there if it is even possible. At this point, it seems like a choice that no one should have to make and one that I am too exhausted and beleaguered to make.

Just in Time for Father's Day

The cold, acute and unmedicated, paired with the earth shattering news that we would likely not be having a baby after all, led to insomnia for both of us. We talked late into the night.

Eventually, exhaustion won over my husband. I tossed and turned and ruminated into the wee hours of the morning.

After a broken three hours or so of sleep, I awoke and was unable to fall back asleep. The torrential downpour seemed like the world's way of trying to wash away our sorrows. It didn't work. Eventually, the downpour morphed into typical Victoria drizzle.

I tossed. I turned. I took my basal temperature. I took my medications. I ruminated. I catastrophized. Then I left the present and retreated to the virtual reality of my phone for a while.

My husband woke up early when I was trying to get comfortable again. He decided he had to take me to the clinic this morning for his own sanity and comfort. My sister had offered to bring me, but I was glad to have my husband (who has the same cold) take me instead, so I wouldn't pass on this plague to her.

Mornings are course the worst time to go to a lab, but if you don't go early enough, you don't get your results before the day is out and then you're left waiting and wondering. The fasting people and the "early bird special" cohort who make up the majority of people undergoing lab tests are all there first thing in the morning. I decided to try to beat the wait by finally trying to book an appointment. I called Life Labs and they said I should register and try booking an appointment online myself, but if I had trouble to call them back and they'd book me an appointment. I wasn't thrilled by this unnecessarily convoluted process first thing in the morning, on very little sleep, with a horrific, unmedicated cold, and the weight of the world and my entire future on my shoulders (and pelvic bones). I tried registering online, but of course the system wouldn't work. I called Life Labs back, only to find out that there were in fact no appointments left for today (when they pulled up the list of appointments and looked, which they could have done when I called the first time).

I couldn't delay the lab test to another day with an available appointment, so we drove to the location of Life Labs where I have my standing order.

Why not wear cashmere pants and fur mukluks in June when it feels like the darkest winter day in your heart?

I predicted it would be an hour wait. My husband, deliberately wearing a dour black suit, predicted 1.5 hours. I waited in line to check in. The lab technician predicted an hour wait.

We found two of the last seats available in the crowded waiting room, filled with patients who would probably have rather been solving sudokus at Tim Hortons or eating dinner rolls at Swiss Chalet. I worked on my blog post, while my husband tried to work remotely. It was difficult though, as cretins around us took phone calls in the waiting room, had alerts chiming on their unsilenced phones, and played loud mobile versions of solitaire with abandon.

This is our worst nightmare.

I retreated to the bathroom for another selfie in their awesome lighting.

My nose dripped, my eyes burned with fatigue, and I had a terrible headache that I couldn't treat. Most of all though, I didn't want to be in public when it felt like my whole world was falling apart, I might lose it at any moment, and that I was just going through the motions of living when I didn't even want to exist anymore.

The wait to move from waiting room to blood drawing cubicle was only about forty minutes. Then I waited about five more minutes in the cubicle.

Natural light or incandescent, doesn't matter, I'm miserable.

Vampires prefer lavender coloured latex gloves.

This time the woman found my vein in one attempt.

Lavender coloured gloves and a lovely blue rubber band to tie me off. Pretty!

Arm candy.

I was out of the lab in about 45-50 minutes total.

The drive home was quite quiet, except for occasional broken philosophical and existential expositions from one or the other of us and heavy sighs.

And then we had to go about our days as if we weren't bothered by waiting on the blood test that would likely confirm that we are not going to be parents. We felt numb, wooden, and raw.

On a side note, I just read two days ago that around 50% of pregnancies in the USA are unplanned. Not a statistic you want to read when you're in our position, twisting in the wind, as cruel fate plays tether ball with your heart.

We checked the lab results online towards lunch and they were not up yet. Agony delayed.

We checked again after lunch. Nothing.

My father called me to ask how I was doing. I told him that I was terrible. He said that I was always terrible and then he told me to look on the bright side. I told him that there was no bright side because in all likelihood I had a dead fetus inside of me or worse yet might have an ectopic pregnancy like my mother had had (and she almost died from hers). He suggested we have lunch soon. I said I didn't think I'd be up for going up anytime soon and in any event that I might have to have surgery. He suggested then that we put it off until the weekend. I was too numb to even cry at his insensitivity.

I was being tested again for hCG, progesterone, and TSH to see how the levels were progressing or not. The hCG results didn't show up until the mid afternoon. It felt like the longest day of my life as I kept checking the website. When I saw the hCG results, my heart sank. At 82, they were sinking, rather than rising like they were supposed to. The fetus, or whatever it was, was dying or dead. The progesterone and TSH results were not up yet, but it didn't really matter, because we knew that what the nurse had said yesterday was for sure true, we were not going to have a baby.

Yesterday and today are the two darkest days of my life. I felt too numb and overwrought to even cry after the hCG results. I can't imagine ever getting over this fresh agony in my life. Worse yet, I have to grieve while I still carry a dead or dying fetus in my swollen body with tender breasts and I'm filled with hormones that make me feel even more emotional and irrational.

The ugly feeling I had had in my stomach earlier, worsened over the afternoon. I felt crampy and had stabbing pains in my stomach and abdomen.

The progesterone results and TSH results were posted around 4:00 p.m.. They were not good either.

I went to the washroom after reviewing the final results and I was bleeding. Any hint of a hope I had that the results were in error has been dashed. My body is vibrating with fatigue and emotional stress, I feel like I'm going to throw up, I have a strange tingly feeling across my abdomen mixed with sharp stabbing pains from my stomach all the way down through my abdomen on top of the feeling of cramps like normal menstrual cramps. My head aches, but I feel like I can't take anything. I want to feel it all and say goodbye to the baby that never was. In any event, no painkiller is ever going to dull the pain in my head and my heart.

I called the after hours nurse coordinator number at the Victoria Fertility Centre. She told me that I was in the first stages of a miscarriage by the look of the numbers on my lab tests and the sound of my symptoms. She warned me to have my husband come to the bathroom with me in case I faint from heavy bleeding. She also told me that it's best to shed "the remnants of my pregnancy" at home instead of at the hospital if possible. I should stay hydrated, but if I am bleeding very profusely, if I'm very lightheaded, or I'm fainting, I should go to the hospital. I must repeat the blood tests on Friday to see where my hCG is. And I will have to keep doing this until my hCG level goes below 5. Then I can think about next steps she said.

At this point, the thought of a next step is overwhelming and terrifying to me. It took me a long time and a lot of counselling and soul searching to accept that I could undergo IVF and that I was going to go that route. Now I feel worse than back to square one. My aversion to having IVF is back with a vengeance and I feel like I can't handle the pain, disappointment, physical strain, emotional roller coaster ride, and the possibility that I may go through all of that agony and still not conceive or worse yet, not carry the baby to term again.

I just keep thinking that maybe this just isn't meant to be and I should reassess my entire life and my goals and do something different, leave, and never come back. This has been the most agonizing experience of my life, because it's primarily emotional. I'd take a dozen more surgeries in my life, over this fresh emotional agony. In the fight or flight scenario, I feel like I can't fight anymore and all I can do is flee. But when you're running from yourself, there's nowhere to go.