Thankfully...

Things are getting better. They are.

I think my last post was a super downer and as such, lead people to draw conclusions that oversimplified the matter.

First, as I said in a comment on the last post, Thursday's offering was a snapshot of how I felt at a particular time, in that very moment. Even a few minutes later, once I'd gotten everything out there, I started to feel better. And today I feel better still.

My friend S had her baby last night. I'm ecstatic for her and her wonderful hubby - truly I am. I was honoured and happy to be the go to person who got the updates from her/her husband and relayed them to our circle of friends.

My friend L had her baby shower today and I was very glad I went. We had a lovely time, she looked amazing, and she got some wonderful things. I rocked the clothespin game, had some yummy food, and enjoyed hanging out with my friends. I may not have pleased Great Aunt Beverly who took an almost instant disliking to me when I took her clothespins but hey, you can't befriend everyone, right?

So yes, I'm okay. I am happy for my friends and have been able to pull myself out of where I was a mere three days ago. And that's a good thing! Isn't it?

I'm having a really hard time though, knowing that one of my friends, someone who obviously knows me well, thinks that I'm blaming other friends for their success, that I shouldn't be surprised if those friends decide it's time to rethink their friendship with me.

This one really rocked me. I barely even know how to respond. I...I'm speechless, because I can't figure out who thinks this way, who thinks this way about me.

Anyway, just wanted to give that bit of an update for those that were worried about me or thinking that I'm in some nasty place without any hope of escape. Yes, Thursday was a shit day through and through. But thankfully those feelings, while so very valid at the time (and therefore I will offer no apologies for having them), have ebbed and today is another, brighter day.

Thanks to those of you that understand, and to those that don't, talk to me. Send me a fb message, whatever, but please...own what you say so we can actually discuss it.

Hope everyone had a great weekend and is ready to make the leap into December tomorrow!!!

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

I should be...

Today, I should be 12 weeks pregnant.

I should be getting ready to scream from the rooftops that we're pregnant. That we're almost in our second trimester, in that oh-so-coveted safe zone.

I should be finishing those nasty progesterone shots and estrace tablets up the hoo ha.

I should be celebrating with glee my friend's new baby girl, another friend's impending birth (truly any day now) and yet another friend's long awaited IVF success.

I should be reveling in my recent work success, proud of myself for what I've managed to accomplish.

I should be looking forward to a good friend's baby shower this weekend, ready to enjoy the pink-ness of it all as she's having a girl.

I should be gearing up for the holidays, thinking of all the necessities and frivolities to add to my Christmas wish list this year.

I should be....happier. Smiley-er. More carefree. Jovial, even.

But I'm not.

Right now, I'm none of those things.

Instead of being a third of the way there, I'm still dealing with the emotional and physical side effects of a miscarriage only two and a half weeks ago. I tear up for no specific reason over the smallest of things. Commercials, not even baby ones, make me cry. Every once in a while it just smacks me right between the eyes and I'm temporarily paralyzed by it all.

Instead of shouting from the rooftops, I'm screaming on the inside every time someone asks me if I have children. If we plan on it. When I hear someone talking about their kids on the GO train. When I see a happy pregnant woman walking by.

Instead of progesterone and estrace, I'm back on the birth control pill, trying to help shed the lining still left over. To keep us on track and prepare us for our next try. Here comes the mood swings and crazy acne. Awesome.

Instead of celebrating, I'm keeping a safe distance by keeping in touch via Facebook, wanting to be more supportive to my friend who's now 24 hours away from being induced but not knowing how to do it, and feeling terribly jealous of my friend and her success because I so desperately want it to be me. Think it should be me. Not me in place of her, but still.

I'm a horrible person.

Instead of being happy about work and what I've done over this past week, I...it just doesn't register. The president of our organization actually sent me two dozen deep pink long stemmed roses to congratulate me for a job well done and while I've totally enjoyed them, it's all just so tainted. Spoiled. I feel like I'm cheating myself out of happiness.

Instead of looking forward to the shower, getting the chocolates together that I think I'll make to take with me, I'm dreading the experience. I want to be there for her and will totally go, but I couldn't even muster the intestinal fortitude to RSVP - a friend had to do it for me. Who the hell have I become?

And instead of putting that Christmas wish list together, I'm stuck trying to come up with creative ways to tell family members that this year, instead of presents, I'd much prefer cash because we need to cobble together $2,200 by the third week of January to try again. That nothing else is more needed or wanted than that. That this year, embryos trump clothes hands down.

Sure, it's not always like this. I have moments of laughter. The sun does peek through the clouds. I'm not this bitter, resentful, hurtful person 24 hours of every day.

But today, when I should be 12 weeks pregnant and looking forward to all the wonderful things to come, I just can't. Can't be smiley. Can't be jovial. Can't be my normal happy-go-lucky self.

Someone tell me it gets better...

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

A comment on comments

Hello my lovely readers.

I just wanted to paste here a comment I made in reference to the comments in yesterday's post.

Thank you all so much for the comments and kind words. They are very much appreciated.

You may notice a few posts have been deleted. Please note that I have taken them down not because there was anything offensive or because I didn't appreciate what was written but because they contained my and Hubs' real names.

While most of you know exactly who we are, I do try to keep real names out of this blog as much as possible to protect certain people, particularly DeeDee. And since it's not possible for me or most people to go in and edit comments after they're made, I had to delete them instead. Sucks, but unfortunately what needs to be done to protect some important people.

Hope you understand, and thanks again for the kind words. Diva

So yeah, hope that makes sense. I love seeing the comments and the support is hugely valuable so I sincerely hope no one takes this personally because it's not meant to be that way at all.

In other news, today's been a very hard day. I think it's finally hitting me...crushing down on me, for that matter.

I started bawling for no reason at all, just sitting on the couch. I knew I had to call the clinic to find out what the next steps would be, but I also knew that even talking to them had the potential to throw me into a tailspin, so I put it off until the first wave of tears had passed.

Of course, I finally got through and it didn't go well. My doctor and my nurse are both gone this week, so I had to talk to someone else. Who wasn't all that available, and simply told the receptionist what to say instead of talking to me directly. Pain in the ass.

The worst part was the inane receptionist who kept saying 'pregnancy test' over and over again. That I've apparently been booked in for a 'pregnancy test' on November 24 and I'll have to keep coming back for 'pregnancy tests' until my levels are zero.

Yeah, okay, I get that - but I just told you I had a miscarriage. Yesterday. You work at a fucking fertility clinic. Everyone else says beta, why the fuck can't you? Grrr. I got so frustrated at the end of it that I just gave up, said I would talk to Tom when he got back and we'd take care of it from there. Then I hung up, crying. Just couldn't take it anymore!

Hubs called work and said I needed another day, which I desperately do. Not only is the emotional stuff hitting me, but there's pain now, pain I never expected. Cramps but more than cramps....not cool at all.

Anyway, I'm still in my pj's and that's okay. I'm watching last week's 90210 while Hubs is off at the grocery store picking up some staples for our hibernation. We had originally talked about going to see a movie and using our Keg gift card for dinner, but given my breakdown of today, hibernation is indeed the name of the game.

How novel - a mid-day update from me. Hope you're all having a better day than I am, and thanks again for understanding the whole comments thing. :)

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Closure

***warning - this is a very long and at times, graphic post***

After six weeks of agonizing limbo, it's finally over. I'm no longer pregnant.

Despite everything, I never thought it would happen naturally. I truly believed that we'd be kept in limbo for as long as the universe deemed necessary, then I'd finally be able to go for a D&C and that, as they say, would be that.

We were supposed to go to the clinic today at 10am for another ultrasound. One to see if there was still a heartbeat. One to help us make plans going forward. I did get an ultrasound this morning - but not at the clinic, and not at 10am. Instead, I had one at our local hospital.

After spending a fantastic day yesterday at Elmwood spa with my fabulous sister in law, I was wiped. DH and I flopped on the couch, had comfort food for dinner and watched the latest Chris Rock special on TMN. Then we headed off to bed just before 11, exhausted from our weekend.

Just over two hours later, I woke up. I had been dreaming that I was miscarrying, in a car of all places, in the desert. Weird, but true. When I awoke, I thought I had just soaked the sheets thanks to hormone induced night sweats, all too common in my world these days. And then something clicked. I knew, just knew, that wasn't the case.

I got up, moved quickly to the bathroom, and turned on the light.

I apologize if things get graphic from here on out. I realize that not everyone is comfortable, nor should they necessarily be, talking about things like miscarriage and blood and passing large clots...but this is as much catharsis for me as it is update for you. So bear with me, and feel free to turn away or skip over portions if need be.

Back to the bathroom. I sat down on the toilet and there was blood everywhere. Running down my legs, all over the floor, on the carpet, you name it. Like a bad horror movie come to life.

I sat there, stunned, disbelieving that this was actually happening. How could I have gone from zero to bang in a matter of hours? No cramps, nothing. No advanced notice whatsoever. And then all I could think was how thankful I was that this hadn't happened 12 hours earlier, while floating in the salt water pool that's part of the water therapies at Elmwood.

But I digress.

I was truly in shock. Couldn't move. Wasn't fully awake. Couldn't process.

Eventually I got it together enough to wake Hubs. I just called his name, and said "something has happened". That he should check the bed, the sheets were probably covered. And I was right.

He sprung into action, stripping the bed so I didn't have to see it. Sheets straight into the washer along with the duvet cover. Mattress pad to follow. Bless his heart, he remade the bed so I could get back in, but put a garbage bag and towel down underneath the sheets so I wouldn't be worried about making more mess.

Still stunned, I stumbled into the shower to clean myself up. Surreal - again, right out of a horror movie watching that crimson water swirl down the drain, taking with it so much of the hopes and dreams we'd invested in the entire IVF process and the pregnancy as a whole.

I dried off, put on a pad, and sat stunned on the chair in our bedroom while Hubs, not quite awake, decided that Windex was the perfect cleaning tool for the blood on the carpet. A few ticks later and he remembered that we had a SpotBot...problem solved.

I went and laid down in bed and seconds later had the strangest sensation. Again, gross here, but part of the natural miscarriage process is the expulsion of massive clots, and in that moment I passed what was to be the first of many many many freaky, mess with your mind clots. Not cool.

Back to the washroom, and then I noticed I'd soaked through the pad. 10 minutes, and nothing but red. Then I knew that we were on our way to the ER, no questions asked.

Hubs set to work getting clothes together for me, starting the car to warm it up, putting towels down on the seat, putting in a second load of laundry. I put on some deodorant, the clothes he'd laid out for me, and grabbing a whole whack of pads, I headed downstairs. Just before leaving, I changed the pad again. By this time I was quite scared - I'd never bled that much or that fast in my entire life.

Into the car we got and we made our way to the hospital. We decided not to go to our closer hospital, but to take the extra time to get to one with a well known ob/gyn department as it's hugely important that to us that everything possible be considered so when we're ready, we'll be free and clear to try again.

The trip took less than 30 minutes, and by the time I got out of the car I'd soaked through everything - the pad, my underwear, my pants and onto the towel on the seat. Excellent thinking on that one, Hubs.

I stumbled into the ER and straight to triage where I stood. And waited. Finally someone came out and I told her I was miscarrying. Plain and simple. We knew it was coming, we knew exactly how far along I was (and when the baby had stopped developing) so while a shock, it was no real surprise.

From there I flew to the washroom in an attempt to apply fresh field dressings, as Hubs called them. I was greeted with blood everywhere - I can't even begin to explain the fear of seeing that much blood, to have it simply gush like a river right out of you. To have clots everywhere, not knowing which, if any, contained what had been your baby. Some of you reading this will know what I mean all too well - and if so, I apologize for bringing back memories you'll likely never be rid of. But you'll understand better than most.

I attempted to pull myself together, tried to clean myself and the bathroom as best as I could. Then I waddled over to check in, and this time they took me seriously and took me quickly into my own little room in the ER. I could finally get out of my clothes, put on a fresh pad, and just lie down.

They took my vitals, and my blood pressure was 180/98. Yeah, no shit. Could I BE anymore stressed? Guess not.

But even in the room of my own, I couldn't relax. The clots just kept coming, and I soaked through everything. The pad, the gowns I was wearing, the pads on the bed, the sheet itself. Every half hour.

Then my loving husband had a stroke of genius - he found me some adult diapers, yes diapers, and I could finally relax with confidence, knowing I was protected. The nurse came in, started an IV in the worst possible place, the crook of my right arm, and the saline started its work. They took blood, and told me to relax.

The night staff were amazing. I had two male nurses that were absolutely incredible - great sense of humour, really explained everything that was happening, and, maybe most importantly, they actually expressed sorrow at what we were going through. Amazing what a little kindness can accomplish.

Then we saw the doctor, and he recommended I get pitocin/oxytoxin, a hormone that causes the uterus to contract. This would apparently help to ensure everything was expelled and that the bleeding would subside, because it just.wasn't.letting.up.

Of course a lovely side effect of this medication is extra cramping, really feeling like you're having contractions. All things considered I was fortunate - I never really had massive cramping, and the pain was never unbearable. I thank the universe for that.

My wonderful sister in law showed up then, having made a trip to our house to pick up clothes for me so I'd actually have something to wear home. Bless bless bless her.

Hours went by and we waited for our OB consult. But first, I needed an ultrasound so they could know what they were dealing with and if a D&C was necessary. So at around 7:30 am, I was told that my ultrasound would be at 9:30 and I needed to drink four glasses of water to fill my bladder.

Okey dokey then.

Having done a gazillion full bladder ultrasounds, I know how much I have to drink and when. So I based my consumption on being ready for 9:30. You can imagine, then, the lack of bladder fullness I presented with when they took me to ultrasound half an hour early.

Now, through all of this, as scary and hard as it was, I hadn't yet cried at the hospital. These days I cry at any and everything, so this was a big feat. I'd managed to hold it together...until I made it to ultrasound.

They wheeled me over, me madly trying to swig back glass of water number two. Then as we got in the room, they took my glass and tossed it down the sink, saying I couldn't drink while laying down anyway. Okay.

Then all hell broke loose. The technician, a raging thundercunt if ever there was one, tried to tell Hubs that he should wait outside, that there were going to be things he didn't really want to be seeing going on.

Shock and awe.

He fought his way in, saying he'd been with me through all this and wasn't leaving me alone now. He'd seen how many ultrasounds - he wasn't stepping outside now.

She fought him - he won.

And then the good times started in earnest. She tried to do the full bladder ultrasound, but told me I was empty and they weren't going to see anything that way. I felt like a child being chastised - just what I needed.

Then she asked me what brought me to the emergency room this morning. Diva says WHUT? Do you really have to ask me that? You know exactly why I'm here! Ugh.

Then she asked about the date of my last menstrual period. I said I didn't know, but knew exactly how far along I should be, and she, in the snippiest of tones, asked how I could possibly know that. I replied that this was an IVF pregnancy, gave her all the details, and she asked if my clinic had sent the info over to the hospital for them to review.

Uh, well, they might have had anyone asked us to ask them, but nope. They're not mind readers. They're good, they're not that good.

Finally she makes me get up to put the silly pillow thing under my butt for the internal. I give her some guidance on how to insert the probe properly and easily, and she tells me that I'm going to insert it myself.

Yeah, like that's easy. I have a short IV line in my right hand, and I'm right handed. The danged IV box kept going off all the time as it was because I would have to bend my arm from time to time - now you want me to bend my arm and run the risk of ripping out my IV to insert the probe myself? Fuck you very much.

Finally we're in and she gets to work. Says nothing. Clicks, snaps, measures, whatever, then takes out the probe and gives me a small box of Kleenex to 'clean up with'. I asked if she could see anything, and she snapped right back that the doctor would review it and get back to me.

Okey dokey then.

She leaves. Gone.

Another nurse comes in and gives me bigger, better wipes to use. As I'm sure you can imagine, this all makes quite a mess, not something that can be cleaned up easily with a half sized kleened with an IV line that doesn't give me enough slack to scratch my own nose.

By this point I'm standing up, trying to reorient myself and throw away all the wipes I'd been given. I'm straightening out the covers, tryin to figure out how to get back on the bed, and my IV line alarm starts going off, the nurses keep pushing in to see if I'm ready to go back to the ER, and at this point, I lost it. I just burst into tears. I was so frustrated, the alarm wouldn't stop, I felt dehumanized and humilated - truly awful.

I lost it with tears, Hubs lost it with the nursing staff. He called them out - 'will someone please get over here and help my wife?' He got action, that's for sure. They helped me navigate back into bed and got me the hell outta there. What a horrible experience.

Finally back to the ward (I'd been kicked out of my private room and squished amongst the other sickies) and it was all about waiting for my ultrasound results and the final say from the doctor. By this time, it was well after 10am and I was starving. Of course I couldn't eat anything in case they had to do the D&C, so I sat there, watching the minutes pass, craving coffee and a bagel.

At long long last, the doctor finally came and told me that I'd miscarried almost all of the 'products of conception', that there was 'minimal residue' and that it wasn't thought that I would need the D&C after all. They unhooked my IV (bliss, true bliss), and sent me on my way.

Almost nine hours to the minute that we left the house, we were home.

First thing I did was take a shower, and it was blissful. Then I ate. Then I called my mom. Then I slept. And that's kinda been my day.

I'm exhausted in every sense of the word.

Physically, mentally, emotionally, I am spent.

Despite everything, I don't think the magnitude of what's happened has, in fact, hit me yet. I just can't wrap my brain around what we went through today. Or the fact that this is over, really over. I've even surprised myself with how generally 'okay' I am mentally. Maybe it's because a part of me, a big part, started mourning this pregnancy long ago.

The bleeding has stopped - for now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but for the moment, I have some relief. I'll be staying home from work tomorrow as well to try and recover, again, both physically and mentally. But most of all, I just want to sleep.

If you've actually read this, thanks. Hope I didn't gross you out too much. :)

Thanks too for all the support you've shown over the past few weeks - it really has helped me get through what has been a very dark and dreary time. My hope now is that the healing can begin in earnest, and Hubs and I can spend our time comforting one another, healing together, instead of merely stressing out about what the next week, next ultrasound will bring.

So for now, we hope this is the end, we follow up with the clinic, we take some time for ourselves, and we look ahead to the possibility of trying again in January.

And I try to look on the bright side. At least now I can have rum in my holiday eggnog.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Mourning the possibles

Hi.

Yep, it's me. It's really me. With an update at long last.

Apologies for my prolonged absence. I just haven't really known what to say.

Not true...I've known what to say, or what I've wanted to say, but I never could find the strength to actually type it out. Put it on paper.

Because that would make it real. And I would do anything for the events of the past month of my life to be a dream.

But alas, here we are again.

Truth be told, I can't even remember where we left off. I can't even remember if I'd mentioned that Hubs and I had decided to bite the bullet, drop the cash and go for IVF. I think I had, because I'd mentioned that our first go 'round was cancelled because I didn't respond to the meds.

That didn't happen the second time.

I responded, all right. Things went much better on the second try. Valuable lessons had been learned and were put into practice. By retrieval day, they'd gotten 15 eggs, 14 of which were mature. A day later, 10 had fertilized. And four days after that, seven of those 10 remained - we had seven beautiful day five blastocysts.

September 23 we transferred two of the wee things back to their rightful home. The transfer went wonderfully. The doctor was happy and very optimistic. I, for the first time in a very long time, was too.

Fourteen days after transfer I was supposed to go for my blood test (a beta, they call it) to see if things had worked. Never a patient diva, seven days post transfer I decided to pee on a pregnancy test to see if there was anything worth looking at in that elusive second line department.

Well sweet holy shit - there was.

Now, Hubs had to squint and hold it up to the light sideways to see it, but it was there. Truly. I still have the stick to prove it.

A few hours after that wonderful moment - I started spotting.

Not much, but enough to freak me the fuck out. My good friend urged me to call the clinic, so I did. They asked me to come in for some bloodwork - maybe I wasn't absorbing one of the support hormones properly. So I marched right over there and thrust my vein at anyone who would prick it.

Sure enough, I wasn't absorbing the progesterone. And that's not good - you need progesterone to not only get but, most importantly, stay pregnant. Expected levels during this time should be over 100. Mine was eight.

Eight.

I was literally millimeters away from starting a period and losing it all.

They also did a beta test to see if I was indeed registering pregnant that way. Anything under five is negative, over 10 is considered positive.

Mine was seven.

And thus the roller coaster that has been our lives for the past two months began.

Not only was I not absorbing the progesterone in the format in which they had given me, I wasn't making any of my own either. Doctor just shook his head, kept saying 'eight', like it didn't make sense to him either. So we switched to shots of progesterone in cottonseed oil, to be taken by a massive needle once a day directly into the muscle of my upper ass.

Good times.

I took the shots, the spotting stopped, my beta numbers started to increase. But not like they should. By day 10, my number was 27. Tripled (they're supposed to double every 48-76 hours) - this was exciting. But still, it wasn't nearly as high as it should be for that far along. I was told that I needed to see a number of at least 150 to 200 by 14 days after transfer for us to have a shot.

So what was my number on that 14th day? 151.

Seriously. I kid you not.

Numbers continued to increase, just barely along the lines of 'acceptable standards'. Doc booked me an early ultrasound because he was concerned about the viability of the pregnancy.

Turns out Doc's a smart guy.

We showed up for the ultrasound at 9:30am two Monday ago. I was ready to vomit, I was so so nervous about what they'd find - or wouldn't find. I should have been 6weeks4days along by this point. And by this point, they should have been able to see a heartbeat.

Bladder full to busting, I hobbled into the ultrasound room and assumed the position. The technician was poking and prodding and pushing around - and, of course, not saying a word. When she was all done, she told us the baby was there, measuring 5weeks4days, and there was no heartbeat.

I was crushed. Hubs believed it was simply too early to know.

We talked to the doctor. He told us that this is what he was afraid of...that by now there should be heartbeat, and we shouldn't already be measuring an entire week behind. He asked us what we wanted to do, and we were not ready to give up yet. We wanted to keep going, solider on as it were, to see what might happen. This little bean had hung in so far - we needed to know how much it had left.

Doctor warned us not to get our hopes up, that there was less than a 5% chance of this being a viable pregnancy. That horrible word again - viable. Like getting pregnant wasn't hard enough - now I have to fight and hope for it to just be viable? Isn't that kinda the freakin point here? Ugh.

I was a disaster. In my mind, it was the beginning of the end. Just a matter of time. Sure, we'd keep going back to see what, if anything, had changed, but that less than 5% was a death knell to me.

That week of being in limbo was brutal. I did my best to try and merely keep my head above water - to not worry about things too much until the day before the ultrasound because nothing could change the outcome. But every once in a while, these horrible thoughts would creep into my brain...visions of my uterus, so confused by all the artificial hormones, holding on with everything it's got to a baby who will never breathe a single breath.

It haunted me.

Finally, the week had passed and we were back in the clinic. I had an early morning meeting, so Hubs was going to meet me there - and of course, got stuck in traffic on the DVP. They made me go in without him.

The ultrasound technician, Lily was her name, was amazing. She got to work setting things up and said, 'okay, let's get ready to look at your growing baby' and I burst into tears. I didn't think I could handle this without Hubs there....she held my hand, stalled as much as she could, and before you knew it he was there and able to take her place as my official hand holder. She told me she was good luck, and that she thought good things were going to happen for us.

And then she turned the screen to me and showed me our baby's heartbeat.

I cried. Openly and deeply, I wept on that table, legs akimo, cooter cam lodged where the sun don't shine. I cried because I got to see that little flutter, and even if it was only for a few seconds and no matter what the outcome, no one can ever take that away from me.

Then I cried some more when she said to the doctor (who had recently entered the room) that the heartbeat was 89 beats per minute, and the baby was measuring 6weeks1day.

Before he even said it, I knew. But hearing him say the words 'this is not good news' truly solidified things.

He knows me well, my doctor. Knows that I don't want things sugar coated. That I need realism, not a cheerleading squad. And so he gave me realism, right between the eyes. While I was lying on that table, legs akimbo, cooter cam lodged where the sun don't shine. And I cried some more.

We chatted afterwards, and he told us his biggest concern was the slow growth rate. That the baby had only displayed three days of growth in a week's time. And the heartbeat wasn't great either. Yes, it was there, but it was low. Should have been over 110.

Feels like a broken record, doesn't it? Numbers never lining up, always there but not there enough. Yes, this has been my/our life for what feels like way too long.

So we decided to cut the hormones in half and see what that did. And it's back again in a week for, you guessed it, another ultrasound.

Of course, this is the week where I have my nephew's birthday, my niece's first birthday party, and a friend's baby shower. Oh, and Halloween. A truly kid filled week. And I won't lie - it was freaking hard. So hard, trying to keep a smile on my face. The only thing that saved me was thinking of that little flutter, and wondering, hoping against hope, that things might change direction.

Then today rolled around. In we go for another round of poking and prodding. I have the non communicative technician again this time who says nothing while she pokes and prods. Nothing. I have no idea what's happening - but in my gut, I know it's not good.

As I stand up to leave, I'm putting my pants back on when she tells me in her heavy Russian accent that the baby is measuring 6weeks1day. In that moment, I know it's well and truly done. No growth. Nothing.

I wait to ask about the heartbeat, sure that it's gone. That all life has just stopped. But instead, she tells me it's 114 beats per minute.

Yet again, we defy all medical logic.

We gather our belongings and wait to speak to the doctor. He confirms my beliefs - there is no hope left.

No growth in a week. In fact, what was supposed to be our baby actually shrunk in one of its key measurements. And he has no idea why the heartbeat has gotten stronger. Makes no sense, but he's sure there is something genetically wrong with this particular baby. And that we need to be put out of our suffering, our misery. He said that he hates to see us in this limbo.

And for once, Hubs and I both agree with him - this is the end.

So I'll stop taking all hormones and see what happens from there. Because oh yeah - no hospital will do a D&C on an embryo with a heartbeat. Talk about adding insult to injury. We know it's not going to be viable, but we can't help you.

So once again, we wait. We wait to see if my not taking drugs will help me to miscarry naturally. Goodie. Sounds like fun. Can't wait.

If nothing happens between now and Monday, you guessed it!, we go back in for another ultrasound. If the heartbeat has subsided naturally, they'll begin the process of scheduling the D&C. And if not, we have two choices - wait for nature to do its thing, or have it taken care of clinically.

That's right - I'd have to have an abortion.

Nothing like adding a truckload of salt to my already gaping wound. Because there's a heartbeat, we would have to make the decision to terminate the pregnancy and get it done at an abortion clinic despite the fact that there's no genetic viability for this little one. Just doesn't seem fair to me.

What's worse, is that after a D&C, they can/will take the tissue and send it away for testing. We could get answers as to what happened. Why this didn't stick, what went wrong. Not so with abortion. So again, not like it's bad enough we have to go through the abortion process, but we don't get any much needed/wanted answers either.

'Cause sitting in a waiting room surrounded by women who are CHOOSING to end their pregnancies isn't bad enough.

Fuck.

Fuck the universe, big time.

So there ya go. The update to end all updates.

Again, sorry for being absent, but now that you've had a front row seat, hope you'll understand why hibernation was the name of the game for so long.

I can't promise that I'll be back daily, but I'll do my best to update as I can, when I'm feeling up to it. I have no idea what the next few weeks shall hold, but then again that's nothing new for me lately.

So for now I'll sign off and thank you for reading if you've made it this far. Believe it or not, it actually does help to get it all out there.

And that's your long overdue dash. How's your diva doin'?