Crossed fingers didn't work.

Low progesterone and low anti-mullerian hormone and a referral to a fertility clinic. 

It feels a lot more intense than it looks written down.  It looks like there are good options and plenty to feel hopeful for.  It feels like the chance of having a child that is genetically related to both of us is remote.  Statistically, delivering a child at all is not so likely.

I'll go to the initial visit to find out all options, but I can't really afford expensive treatments.

Fingers crossed! Fingers crossed!

That's what Jill at my gynecologist office said after answering some questions and making an appointment for me to have blood drawn for progesterone levels on the correct day. 

It's fertility workup month

There should be a sarcastic exclamation point wrapping up that sentence but I can't summon a smart ass attitude right now.  It feels more like:

It's fertility workup month :(

My mood has been excellent until this point; until scheduling the appointment for the last part of this initial workup.  It's been so easy compared to what some have been through, first was the day 2 FSH (and a slew of other tests), then the peeing on sticks to identify the LH surge (that smiley face came pretty damn early, which if that is a trend then timing has been dismally off), then on Thursday there will be the progesterone blood levels.  And then the results.  And I'm not looking forward to that.

Discussing the fertility workup is such an appropriate topic for my blog but to be honest I don't feel like I have anything novel to say.  It all has been said here before - I'm gutted from Toren's death but have learned to function anyway, I'm terribly sad over not having children and I'm terrified that I never will have a living child.  It's embarrassing to not have progressed along to raising a rainbow baby by now.  These aren't things that I feel comfortable discussing with anyone.  Since hanging out with mothers hasn't been appropriate, my friends are primarily 30-somethings who are childless by choice and starting a conversation about how much I would like a child isn't something I want to do.  My family has probably given up on me by now and some would be all judgy about my quest for a child out of wedlock and even if I didn't feel frowned upon I don't want to subject them to another reproductive roller coaster.  I wouldn't want them to get excited for a new family member only to be let down, again.  SnuggleBunny is on board but doesn't understand just what a big deal it is.  He knows that deadbabies are a very sad thing but not that a missing baby changes everything.

And actually, I haven't been doing all I could to have another baby because pregnancy is frightening business.

But the hope of another baby has been very important and I'm afraid of hearing test results that whisk that hope away.  Up until this point my fingers have been crossed but they are not today because the test results will be what they will be, regardless of what I want them to say.  Not being able to have a baby (even just one!) would be devastating and the hopeful part of me says it would be too devastating to actually happen.  But you know what?  Toren's death was something that was too devastating to actually happen but it did anyway.

.....

Anyway, I am doing the tests and for the most part I've been keeping cheerful.  I'm charging into this holiday season with so many commitments there will be little time to contemplate another Christmas without a child.  I'll probably have a fun part-time job during December so that will be a productive way to keep busy.  But the there's something that I'm so excited about!  I'm doing a 90 day fitness challenge!  Here's how it works, we are in teams of 4 and work out with a trainer 3 times a week.  I've done personal training before and disliked it very much and it's still a mystery why this sounded like a good idea, but I LOVE IT!  It is so fun to work out with in a team!  It's day 16 of the challenge and I have not lost any weight but my body fat percentage was one percentage point lower, which could have been measurement error but at least it wasn't higher!  My trainer has been very encouraging and instead of feeling defeated so early on I'm increasing the amount of cardio I do every week and decreasing the amount of cheese I eat - would you believe he said to limit cheese to once per day?  ;)

.....

Expressing these fears has made me feel better and I'll let Jill be my cheerleader for right now. 

May we all have peace this holiday season :)

November 8th is also Bram Stoker's birthday.  It's kind of nice that Toren shares a birthday with a famous person, I suppose.  Learning a bit more about Bram Stoker was a nice distraction this mornining.  Bram Stoker was Irish and Dracula was published in 1897.  Beyond being a horror novel Dracula presents concerns of that time in Victorian England.  Bram Stoker died in 1912 at 64 years old, after several strokes.

Toren M died on November 8, 2007 by being crushed by his mother's contracting uterus.  He was born later that day at 10:35pm.  I don't know when he died because he wasn't being monitored because he was going to die anyway.

It's been five years.

.....

I still take October 31 and November 8 off from work.  Not to do anything in particular but just to avoid seeing people.  The surrounding days are bad enough and I think if anyone wished me a good day today I would yell at them.  Most days I'm fine and happy enough but I take these two days and his due date (the anniversary of the day when nothing happened) to not have to look happy.

On days that are tough, for whatever reason, I think to myself "at least I'm not back in that week where I was waiting for my son to die".  Most shitty situations look pretty innocuous compared to hanging out in a hospital room waiting to birth the baby who will never go home, never meet his grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins, never make his own friends, never hear you say how much he is loved. 


Those days between the fatal diagnosis and when he was born were the most unremarkable and exhausting days.   Nothing was actively happening.   We were killing time as the inevitable loomed. 
It was terrifying.  I remember being busy researching bilateral renal agenesis and what a baby of his gestational age looks like, and crying, and vomitting, and not getting out of bed, and then not being able to stand being in the house, and not talking to people because what was I going to say?  My parents didn't even know what was going on until days after the diagnosis and then I don't even remember what I said to them.  Probably something about how the baby is dying but everything is ok.  Don't worry - I'm ok. 

Unpredictably, embarassingly, the thing I felt most right after he delivered was relief.  The labor pains stopped and I didn't have to wait for him to die anymore.  It was time to grieve for a bit then get back to kicking ass.  Right?

Beyond heartbroken, wondering how I was going to walk across the threshold to leave the hospital room and go home without my son, I told myself that it would be rough for a few weeks but once the new year came around I would be feeling much better.  Looking back, I gave myself 54 days to "get over it". 

Still waiting. 

I mean, things are much easier than being "there" but beyond that I'm not sure of much.  I thought I would at least be pregnant with another baby within a year and my lousy, cheating husband and I would raise a family together.  You know, all unfulfilled with mountains of hurt and lies between us.  So I HAVE TO be happy about being where I am now.  I must be thankful.  But not on November 8th.

.....

My son was going to have dinosaur pajamas.  We would all learn baby sign language so we could communicate with him before he could speak.  We would visit family and he would get excited with his cousins and all of the adults would cringe at the noise.  He was going to be the oldest child.

Instead it's just me sitting with a pair of tiny dinosaur pajamas that have never been worn.