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| Archive 6: "Prayers Lost" |
| 07.06.04 (8:07 am) [edit] |
Archived from 06/08/04
I have never been a religious person per se. But since I was a child, I prayed. I always believed there is a God, and that God was a caring and loving guide over all living beings. I would pray that my outdoor kitty would be safe from harm. I would pray that my Dad would be safe when he would go away on business trips. I would pray that my flights would be "safe takeoff, safe flight, safe landing". Usually, my prayers were honored. My kitty came home safely when the can opener would alert him to dinner. My Dad's plane would land safely. My plane would safely take off, fly and land.
One day, Brad and I went for a bike ride. It was 5 days after I ovulated. I felt an incredible pinching ache in my lower abdomen. Came and went. Implantation... I knew that was what it was. It had been a particularly HARD bicycle ride and I was terrified I had done something terrible to my unborn child. I begged and prayed to God that my baby not be taken from me because of something foolish I had done. I cried, and begged.
Days later, I got my positive pregnancy test. I thanked God for this. I thanked God again and again in the ensuing weeks as betas doubled, ultrasounds showed heartbeats and my tummy was nauseous. I thanked God and I continued to pray and beg God to please let this pregnancy be safe and healthy and normal, and that my baby is safe and healthy and normal. Every morning, I checked for blood. When I saw none, I thanked God and prayed again. It was a ritual, but I always meant it.
Then Friday, I saw the blood. I felt no nausea. I was scared.
Once again, through the insane tears, I prayed. In the quiet darkness of our master toilet room, I cried and begged and prayed that God PLEASE not take away my baby. Please let this child be a normal, healthy baby. Please let this pregnancy go to term and be safe and healthy and NORMAL.
I felt somewhat calm. I felt that everything would be ok.
Hours later, I felt very foolish when it was revealed that my prayers were answered. And the answer was "no." That months of praying was for nothing. I wondered if there is a point at all. Then I wondered if I had just prayed for too much. Maybe there is a prayer credit limit.
"Oooh, I'm sorry Ms. Drab. But it looks like you went over your prayer limit with 'Normal'. I am afraid we will have to cut up your card." *snip snip*
And then again, there's always the possibility that I was always praying to no one. That option, while appealing to many, leaves me feeling very vulnerable and alone. I am a scientist by nature. I've never been a theologian, but I would consider myself spiritual. Everything in life can be explained, heartily, by science. But I would also suggest that everything scientific has a spiritual equivalent. I think one idea of God is perhaps an incomprehensible force of energy that the mind can wield. I typically apply a human face to it, however, because I am a human and we are self-centered by nature.
I can't decide which is worse, however. To have NO ONE there to answer and grant prayers, or to have someone there to answer prayers but who will deny you something for no apparent reason.
*snip*
Visit the new Mind of Olivia Drab blog for up to date entries.
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| Archive 5: "Glimmer" |
| 07.06.04 (8:06 am) [edit] |
Archived from 06/07/04
Monday
I am still here. I am ok.
Friday was the worst day of my life. I wasn't sure I would come out of it.
Saturday was mostly spent on a Vicodin-induced haze with frequent rounds of uncontrolled sobbing.
Sunday was slightly better with less crying and less drugs. But Sunday night was rife with uncomfortable bloating and achiness.
Today was much less crying, but a lot more bloating and achiness. So much so that we went to the Ob/Gyn for our followup #1. An exam revealed that everything was physically healing as it should, but the bloating was from the digestive paralysis incurred from the codeine. And there are still these infernal stabbing cramps from hell. They've been with me since the beginning of the pregnancy and NO ONE has been able to tell me what they are. Until today.
The new Ob/Gyn is a nice lady. She has this strange facial tick that stretches her face into a contorted grin, interrupting her speaking from time to time.. but after training ourselves to not stare directly at the grin, we realized she is very knowledgeable and very caring. And had her act together. And had some very hope-inspiring things to say.
First, she thinks the cramping is the damnable fibroids that keep coming back to haunt me. They must go.
Second, she thinks that this miscarriage was for a totally different reason than the others. Her belief is that the hormonal/drug cocktail that I was doing (read: progesterone and aspirin) is the right combination and that the miscarriage was a result of a chromosomal malformation (bad dumb luck). Whether this is a permanent and recurring issue, who knows.
Third, she is encouraging me to pursue the aforementioned hysteroscopy/laproscopy to find and fix any and everything that can be fixed. This, she believes, is a must. I can do this over the summer while on a break--when I feel I can handle it.
But overall, I left her office feeling better. Feeling like there may possibly be a chance sometime in the future. Don't get me wrong, I am not engulfed in warm fuzzies and full of confidence, but I don't feel hopeless either.
I also asked her for a birth control prescription because this isn't something Brad and I want to deal with until at least after the new year. It will be a while before any of this comes into play. I will still be gun shy for a long time. It is nice to know that a tentative plan is in order, though.
I do want to thank everybody who posted comments. It does help in HUGE amounts to know there are people who care and sympathize. I think you are all wonderful and hope for the best for every one of you. Thank you thank you thank you. From the bottom of my heart.
Tuesday Morning
It is Tuesday morning, and the roller coaster continues. Today's hill is "rage". I can't seem to shake the fury at myself for the gamut between allowing myself to be duped to the inability to provide my husband and myself with a healthy baby, fury at the doctors I had throughout the pregnancy (up until the ones since Friday who've been wonderful) who practically left Brad and I on our own, with little to no support or help, fury at whomever controls our destinies---or if there is no one controlling our destinies. Pure red-hot rage. The urge to hit something repeatedly has NEVER been stronger.
Visit the new Mind of Olivia Drab blog for up to date entries.
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| Archive 4:"And so the rug is yanked..." |
| 07.06.04 (8:04 am) [edit] |
Archived from 06/05/04
I found myself in hell yesterday.
It started at 7am, when I went to insert my morning dosage of progesterone. Lo and behold. Spotting. Knowing full well that spotting is perfectly normal in any pregnancy, especially when on baby aspirin, I felt a dark, cold cloud cover my shoulders.
In the last week, my symptoms had begun to fade. I was no longer sickened by the smell of popcorn in the company microwave, or by any of a thousand smells that had previously sent me running out the door. My boobs had gone from allover soreness to barely sensitive. I had played this off as the fact that I was nearing the end of first trimester and sometimes that happens, symptoms fade and a new chapter begins.
Well it seems that life is not without a certain sense of irony. In fact, a new chapter DID begin.
I woke Brad and told him of the spotting. I wanted to go to the ER to make sure that everything was still progressing. We arrived at 8:30 am.
A pelvic exam indicated that the cervix was still tightly closed. But he did notice the spotting. He ordered an ultrasound. A nurse pushed me through the hospital to the ultrasound lab where I waited for a good fifteen-twenty minutes with a very full bladder.
I wish I had been content to wait in that chair for a lot longer.
Although the ultrasound tech would say nothing, the ultrasound revealed my nightmares. There was no heartbeat. The baby had died a little over a week ago and my body was failing to fully recognize that fact. I started crying. I looked to Brad and could see the sorrow reflected back. We both wanted to get up and run away, out of the hospital and away from the truth.
But the nightmare had only just begun.
Upon returning to the exam room, we spoke with the doctor about our options. I had to sign my baby away on a piece of paper declaring my consent for a d&c. I felt that I had just been stabbed in the heart.
Because I had been on aspirin, I had to endure a bleeding test to make sure I wouldn't bleed to death on the operating table. They sent in Satan's neice, the chirpiest, most clueless lab tech on staff. And they obviously failed to let her in on what procedure I was having done.
Confusing my mournful sobbing with a tearful fear of the needle, she kept squawking "just relaaaaaaaax, just relaaaaaaaax.." over and over in this shrill Minnie Mouse with strep voice. Then proceeded to tell me to go to my happy place *which made me cry more--my happy place was about to be evacuated surgically*.
Then the wise sage told us with a peppy giggle that "Ya know, whenever something bad happens to me, I think back to something bad that happened two or three years ago and JUST CAN'T remember why it seemed so bad at the time."
I almost punched the woman in the mouth. Fortunately the bitch left.
The next step was being hooked up to an IV and administered a drug that made me cramp, while it softened the cervix. Three or four hours later I was in surgery and the last nine and a half weeks erased.
And now I am just me in this body. And it will likely remain that way. I cannot bear to put myself or Brad through that kind of heartbreak ever again, and given my reproductive history--I can't see any reason why future endeavors would be any different. At least that is how we feel for now. Perhaps that will change down the road.
For now, I am just trying to climb back out of hell.
Visit the new Mind of Olivia Drab blog for up to date entries.
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| Archive 3: "If you can't laugh at crazy, scary pregnant women, who CAN you laugh at?" |
| 07.06.04 (8:02 am) [edit] |
Archived from 06/02/04
Scene: Grungy white 2000 VW Jetta, cruising down the highway at 75mph. The radio is tuned to a middle-of-the-road rock station. Pink Floyd, "Another Brick in the Wall" is playing.
[SUV nearly cuts Ollie off]
Ollie: [fist shakes] DAMN YOU!!!!
Pink Floyd:
When we grew up and went to school,
There were certain teachers who would
Hurt the children in any way they could
By pouring their derision
Upon anything we did
And exposing every weakness
However carefully hidden by the kids..
Ollie: [sudden tears] Oh that's so true!!
*blink*
[insane laughter]
Visit the new Mind of Olivia Drab blog for up to date entries.
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