Vindauga

Coming Around Again

Last week we had three back to school nights. One for preschool, one for junior high and elementary school, and the last for high school.

As we cruised block after block looking for a parking spot, I remarked to Bert that I couldn't believe we had a child in high school. I didn't mean it in the way most people do, that my child has grown up so fast, or that I am approaching middle- age faster than Bush's approval ratings drop. Though all of that is all too true.

I was stunned that we had a child, period. After nearly 15 years and 4 children, infertility occasionally comes rushing back at unexpected moments. The area around Apple's school is where we always wanted to live. When we were trying to conceive and having miscarriages, we used to cruise those streets looking at the houses. I would dream one day we would live in one of those cool old places, and we would be joined by children. We spent many a Sunday afternoon strolling those streets trying to take our mind off our grief.

So now, when I stroll those same streets walking to my daughter's high school orientation, it just seems unreal. It seems like yesterday. I can touch that grief that sometimes used to choke me. I can still touch it, but thankfully it no longer touches me.

I got to keep my pants on

for the first time during an ultrasound. It's also the first ultrasound where I haven't expected to hear "we see no cardiac activity" that meant my baby was dead. Happy little post, eh? Really I spent so much time getting ultrasounds during the three years I was having miscarriages and the outcome was always bad. I had one happy ultrasound with Daughter #2, and then an hour later they called and said I had to come back in because the measurements of her brain were off. All was well when we returned, but it shook me enough that I refused ultrasounds with Daughter #3.

So about today's ultrasound… when did they start making the gel warm? And who knew that I would have to take my shirt and bra off but leave my pants on?

The conclusion is that I am a better hairdresser than diagnostician. Just so you know, I recently left my Dad's hair a couple inches longer on side than the other. They saw nothing wrong with my gallbladder, nor my liver or kidneys or any of those other organs that Hannibal Lector would treat as a snack. No surgery. My doctor wants my to go on Prylosec. I am thinking of just monitoring my diet and see what happens. I really don't want to take drugs just so I can eat fat. That seems stupid and irresponsible. So I will do some research and remain on the straight and narrow. Tofu recipes?

The results are happy; no surgery, and troublesome; no concrete answers. It's miscarriage land again, yes there is something wrong but we can't tell you what.

Miscarriage Alumni

I just happened on someone’s blog who is going through a miscarriage. I had six miscarriages fifteen years ago. Her feelings are so familiar. Her symptoms seem like mine only yesterday. My heart breaks for her in that lonely place she is in right now. That place where the ultrasound isn’t your friend. No heart beat blinking like a Christmas light. This ultrasound shows you that Hope left, slamming the door, and now you have to figure out how to proceed until she tip toes back in again. No baby in the fall, or spring, or summer, or whenever, it’s back to the beginning. I hated that place. I always moved quickly out of that place, probably too quickly. I don’t know if I ever allowed myself to really grieve those losses. I always brushed myself off, offered Hope a donut or two; begging her to come back, and moved on to what’s next.

When commenting on someone’s blog who is going through this I usually only say “I’m sorry.” It was the only statement that was consistently right with me. There were tons of other words of consolation that sometimes fit, but they sometimes didn’t. So I stick with the simple.

Frankly I don’t even know if women like me are wanted as part of blogs that deal with infertility and miscarriage. Maybe now these women look at my house full of children, and hear how I bitch about them on occasion, and suddenly I am a Fertile. Fertiles are sometimes resented, often say the wrong things, and usually offer assvice. I don’t want to be that girl.

But, there is another part of me that remembers I only knew one person, one, who had multiple miscarriages, and I loved to talk to her. She was 20 years older than me, had 3 kids, and had suffered five miscarriages. I would call her and bug her at home, at work; thank god there weren’t cell phones then. I just needed to hear someone who had lived it and come through it and had real live babies.

So there is another part of me that sees me as alumni for these women. Proof that they can become mothers. I truly believe almost everyone can achieve motherhood that really wants it.

Some may triumph over their body’s shortcomings, some may move on and adopt. I did both. Now I am a mom. I believe you will be too. But I know the road is hard and awful, and I wish you didn’t have to go through it.