Next Steps

Next month I will be medically approved to TTC again. But do I want to? Do I want to set myself up for another loss? I’m not sure I can do that again so soon. On the other hand… I’ve got a birthday comping up. And that clock is ticking. I don’t feel like I can NOT try. There’s NO TIME to wait to recover mentally. I’m still under 40 but I’m over 35. And my POF may be more DOR and not as bad as originally diagnosed but it still means my ovaries think they are older than they are.

But after 2 ectopics from IVF and FET I am terrified of being pregnant. Literally terrified. So what to do?

It may not make any medical sense, but I think I feel less apprehensive about trying naturally than I do about another FET. Maybe I’m less apprehensive about it because it didn’t work in the past and the odds are now decreased with only one tube. SO maybe I’m willing to try naturally simply because I don’t think it will work. But if it did work I’m still at a higher risk for another ectopic. Or genetic abnormalities and miscarriage due to my age. Maybe I just want to save those last two frosties for later since they are “younger.”

On the other hand (how many hands do I have?), when we tried naturally before I ovulated ONCE on my own. So… um… of course we didn’t get pregnant. Of the three clo.mid cycles we did one of them was a complete mess. SO… maybe we COULD do this on our own if I keep ovulating. We haven’t really given natural TTC much of a shot. Because we couldn’t. But now we can.

So that’s where I’m at. I tried to talk to Right Guy about this to see how he felt about it all and what he wanted to do next. Did he like this plan of mine? The plan is to TTC naturally until the summer and then revisit the issue. His schedule will lighten then (his schedule is another reason that treatments would be difficult right now). He said he was “too tired” to think about it.

At first I assumed he meant literally too tired. He is pretty much always sleep deprived. But then Jen(@thisispersonal) responded that she understood being too tired of disappointment. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might have meant it that way. That he’s too tired of loss and disappointment. Too tired of crazy hormonal me on drugs (or off them for that matter).

In any case, I’m pretty sure I ovulated the other day. So I told him he has a month to think about it. And if he chooses not to think about it during that month then I am still expecting a Yes or No when I come to him with a positive OPK and say, “It’s GO time!”

Let’s just hope that I get that positive OPK regardless of what we choose to do about it.

2012: You’d better not disappoint

Goodbye 2011 – don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.

Sadly, this sounds very familiar.

I believe I said the same thing last year after my first ectopic pregnancy and my father’s 3rd cancer diagnosis. Actually, I’ve said this about a lot of years.

But THIS year. THIS year. That pregnancy FINALLY ended. My father died. I was stupid enough to try again and experience yet another ectopic pregnancy. I moved across the country. Quit my job. It looks like I found a new one. I got pseudo-engaged.

This year, I’ve experienced a majority of the the items on the “Major Life Stressors” list. I’m kind of hoping not to experience any more of them for awhile. Aside from starting my new job. And maybe getting officially engaged and/or married. So long as there’s no stressful wedding planning.

But I think I have unrealistic expectations. I’ve had such a monumentally crappy year that I feel almost entitled to have not just a good year but a stellar year. A year where I win the lottery (despite the fact that I almost never buy tickets). A year where I get pregnant easily and not only have a healthy child but a stress-free pregnancy (despite the fact that it would be impossible for me NOT to stress if I were pregnant).

At the moment I am full of hope. Which is good. Right? But am I expecting too much? I’ve started new years like this before. And been disappointed. I feel like I’ve had a bad DECADE. Maybe I’ve had a bad decade because I expect too much. Perhaps I should set the bar lower. But hoping that no one will die (in my family or in my body) or have a serious illness seems kind of low to me already. Or am I being silly?

2001 – Not too bad a year until 9/11 despite the fact that I was living in po-dunk in the Deep South. But there was 9/11 and the start of TTC and the impending deployment of my ex, Wrong Guy,

2002 – Wrong Guy in Afghanistan – I was glued to CNN. Endometriosis pain and treatment with Lupron. Continue TTC when Wrong Guy returned. Only to have him lie, cheat and leave me for his high school sweetheart. And tell me he never loved me.

2003/2004 – I suppose, nothing else major really happened, but the aftermath of Wrong Guy and the official divorce. But that aftermath was ROUGH. And filled with super crappy jobs, no money and ultimately being laid off.

2005 – Pops’ first cancer. I moved home to care for him. I cared for him full time. Which was really rough. But it also gave me the opportunity to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Which was a good thing.

2006 – Grad school. Health issues. Grad school was a great thing for me but it was a rough schedule and new health issues emerged. Pops was mostly OK that year but it was a battle to get him to take back control of his life. But it really wasn’t a BAD year – just not good.

2007 – Grad school. Pops’ cancer #2. Ongoing health issues for me (working, school and caregiving were just killing me). I graduated and found a job at the end of that year. And Pops miraculously survived cancer #2. So it ended well. But again, it was a rough year.

2008 – This was probably my only truly GOOD year in this decade. Pops’ cancer stayed away. Although it left him weakened so I had to step up my caregiving duties. But I was no longer in school so it was less exhausting. I met Right Guy. I had a good job that I liked. I bought a house.

2009 – Not too bad a year I suppose. Despite the hot flashes and night sweats and the ultimate diagnosis of POF/DOR. And the stepped up caregiving that began to be more of a burden than a labor of love. But no one died. There was no loss. There was no cancer. Right Guy moved in.

2010 – Start TTC again. Whirlwind surprise IVF ends in the ectopic pregnancy from hell. Pops’ cancer comes back. By the end of that crappy year it’s super obvious that 2011 is going to be worse. I knew Pops would die in 2011.

2011 – Pop’s dies. I move across the country, quit my job and get the *oh so lovely* experience of ectopic #2 and lose a tube.

2012 – Who knows? My aunt has been in the hospital a lot recently. I hope she gets better. I’m worried about more loss if I TTC again. But I really want to break this cycle and have a GREAT year. But are my expectations TOO high?

Momz

It never fails. My mother will always make everything about her. Although, I have to admit, this trip (so far anyway) is not as bad as usual.

Situation: Older niece upset about not being able to play games

She’s the oldest so she’s frequently told they have to play “family” games – games that everyone can play. Her younger siblings don’t quite grasp Monopoly. Or even Monopoly Junior. And especially not Chess (which she loves). Along with LOTS of other games. So I said to her, “Sometimes it’s hard being the oldest.” Me personally – I have NO CLUE about being the oldest. I’m the youngest. But I can still imagine what it’s like to want to play one game and be outvoted. But Momz, from across the room – not a part of this conversation – pipes up with, “I wouldn’t know. I’m a middle child.” By definition a middle child is older than someone else. Just sayin’.

This is a frequent issue. At the ripe old age of 71, my mother still has issues with being a middle child. She has attempted to bond with my cousin (who is a 3rd of 4 children but doesn’t identify as a middle) about this. Seriously? Get. Over. It. Already.

Situation: Common Sense

When ordering Thai food, it is NOT acceptable to ask, "What is wide rice?" when the menu shows "wide rice noodles."
When watching a movie set in the 1500's, why would you think that the king's sheets should be 'monitored' just like the queen's? Does he menstruate?

[I have countless other examples from previous occasions but this is all I have from THIS TRIP]

---

I’m still waiting for the height argument. I claim 5’8″. She claims 5’8 1/2″. She insists that she is more than 1/2″ taller than me. Perhaps I am only 5’7 3/4″. Who the eff knows? Who the eff cares? I concede that she is taller than me. She cares. It’s all a competition. It’s not enough for her to be taller than me. She has to be an extra 1/2″ taller. This issue has, so far, not reared its ugly head this trip. But it usually makes an appearance so… I’ll just be waiting for it. Why my exact height is an ongoing issue I will never understand. But generally she comments on it every time I see her. And I have (non-familial) witnesses that will attest to this fact.

Situation: It’s all about her

The saddest part of this trip has got to be my aunt – her sister. My aunt has been in and out of the hospital all month. 3-4 times in December. I’m worried about her. REALLY worried about her. I’m worried about me. Can I take yet another loss? And I recognize that Momz has legitimate reason to be upset. Her sister has been in and out of the hospital all month and her brother was also in for surgery. If it were me, I’d be upset. BUT. BUT. Momz has a tendency to exaggerate, to be a hypochondriac, and to make everything about her. She *loves* a tragedy. But even when it IS kind of about her, I get cynical because she so often makes it about her anyway.

We should feel sorry for HER because her sister is sick. Her brother is not so well either. Well, yeah, that’s rough. But, ultimately, it’s not about Momz, it’s about my aunt. And my uncle (ongoing issues from a motorcycle accident 3 years ago). And it is NOT acceptable to ask about whether her sister made the time share payment this month. The world cannot possibly end if the payment is made a little bit late due to hospitalization. But she asked me if it would be OK for her to ask my cousin (who wouldn’t know anyway) about it. You’re worried about money and your time share right now? Really?

I’ve (amazingly) avoided her miscarriage stories. Her divorce stories. I’ve previously heard how her divorce was worse than mine (um… I don’t think so but it’s debatable – I’ll admit that). I think she must know better that my ectopics were worse than her miscarriages (in the sense that there were hospitals and surgery involved). And when I say these things… please don’t think that I’m in competition with her. I don’t care who had a worse time – I only care that SHE tries to make comparisons and make her situations worse than mine.

Why are women in competition with each other outside of sports? Why? And why do mother’s want to compete with their daughters?

Apparently my mother only knows how to relate to other women competitively. It’s not a competition. Or, t least, it *shouldn’t* be a competition.

What the fuck is up with that?

Really. Can you enlighten me? Why does my mother want me to… do worse than her?

Balancing Act

How do you find your balance? Maybe it’s easier if you’re a gymnast. I did gymnastics when I was little. I always really liked it. But I sucked at it. I really wasn’t allowed to do much balance beam work because… well… I sucked. And had no sense of balance. I’m a little uncoordinated – not quite a spaz but certainly NOT graceful either. I did ballet too. Oh, the horror.

But how do you find your balance in life? I’m very much struggling with that at the moment.

In the last year (well, 14 months) I have had two ectopic pregnancies, become engaged (sort of), lost my father to cancer, quit my job and moved across the country. All while my partner has been going through his roughest and busiest years professionally. We moved for his job so he’s started a new job. One that’s more stressful than the last one. Which I didn’t think was really possible.

When viewed objectively this adds up to a majority of major life stressors. Changing jobs. Hospitalization/illness. Pregnancy/pregnancy loss. Loss of a parent. Move. Holidays. Family visits.

So I have a right to be… out of sorts. BUT. When is enough… enough? When should I expect myself to function like a real productive member of society? Because I’m not. Doing that. Yet.

Maybe I just feel insecure because I don’t have a job (although it seems I now have one – I wrote this a while ago). I know I could certainly use the structure of a regular schedule. And my bank account could use a cash infusion. I’m supposed to be the “breadwinner” in this scenario. Not that I really support us but, at the moment, I have more earning potential than Right Guy. And not having a job makes me feel vulnerable. And we are living off of savings.

Maybe I’m just feeling insecure because Right Guy, who normally is not a talker, is REALLY not dealing with anything lately. He’s too exhausted from work. So I definitely have worries of a repeat of the past. I worry that he’ll suddenly wake up one day full of emotions he’s been suppressing – and that those emotions will want me gone. Kind of like Wrong Guy did to me.

I, of course, can very rarely manage to NOT think about babies, infertility treatments and next steps. Right Guy can’t manage to think about them until they are staring him in the face. So while I attempt to not think about all that stuff, he really isn’t thinking about it AT ALL. I gave him until January. I’m benched until February anyway. I wish I could forget about it all. But I can’t.

I need a life. But for the next seven months… I’m essentially single. Right Guy comes home to sleep. And take phone calls about other people’s sick kids. So, in the interest of managing my expectations (i.e. setting the bar really low) I should really not expect much of him. He has nothing to give right now.

Thankfulness

A lot of people did Facebook or Blog posts every day in November of “30 Things I’m Thankful For.” I just couldn’t manage to do that. I spent most of November dreading my first Thanksgiving without Pops. And I’m still kind of wallowing in self pity. And when you start to get sick of your own pity party you know it’s time to end it.

So maybe I can start the process of ending my pity party by listing the things I’m thankful for – in just one post. And I may not make it to 30. But who’s counting? So here they are, in no particular order.

• my 3 adorable kittehs
• my 2 adorable nieces, my awesome nephew and being an Aunt in general
• living closer to the kids so I can be a better Aunt
• the basics: a roof over my head & food to eat
• Right Guy (even though I barely see him)
• my inner strength
• my IF tweeps & bleeps
• IRL friends & family
• my computer
• my camera – eventually I’ll get back to taking pics
• modern medicine (although I could do w/o the trips to the ER)
• my education and the opportunities it gives me
• peanut butter
• crossword puzzles
• wine
• any good story told (orally, in a book, a movie)

Here are a few more that are rather difficult to wrap my head around. But I am still thankful for them… in a way. All of these things caused a lot of pain. And sorrow. And none of them ended well. But I think I am thankful for the life experience I gained.

• the opportunity to care for my father when he needed me
• the opportunity to try IVF even though it didn’t work out so well
• having experienced being pregnant, if only briefly

So there. That’s what I’m thankful for. In December.

On the Topic of Suicide

No, not mine. Don’t worry. That’s not an option for me. Unless maybe I had a painful and terminal disease. Which I don’t.

Right Guy found out yesterday that one of his former co-workers, someone I only met once but he worked with every day for two years, ended his life. It’s horrible. I can’t imagine feeling THAT hopeless.

I’ve had a rough year this year. And I’ve had rough times in the past. I’ve even had several successive YEARS of rough times. And I’ve experienced feeling so shitty that I asked myself, “What’s the point? Why go on?” But I have never seriously contemplated suicide. I simply can’t understand it. I understand not wanting to go on. I understand losing the hope that things will work out how you want them to. But things do CHANGE. Even if you’ve lost the strength to change them yourself, life brings change – even if not the exact change you were hoping for. And I guess I’m just too curious to ever end it. I want to know what comes next. What’s around that next corner?

What comes next could always be worse. That’s always a possibility. But it could also be better. And at the very least it will be DIFFERENT. And I get the sense that people who end their lives do so because they are no longer able to recognize that things can and will be different. Eventually.

Things change. Life goes on. No matter how much I allow myself to wallow in self pity (which I’m currently doing and getting sick of myself for it) I never forget that. And I feel so sad for the people who do forget it. So sad.

November ICLW

Hi everyone. I think it’s been over a year since I participated in ICLW. I’ve been… kinda busy. In the last 14 months I’ve had two ectopic pregnancies, cared for my dying father and moved across the country (which also meant quitting my job and trying to find a new one). So… yeah, just a little busy – with pretty much every major life stressor there is (and yet people still ask when we’re getting married – like I have time for that right now). Since it has been so long perhaps I should fill in any newcomers with a summary of my story.

I was originally diagnosed with Premature Ovarian Failure while I was still on birth control. I was having hot flashes and night sweats. At the ripe old age of 35. When I went off birth control I rarely ovulated on my own. I did the clomid thing. And then moved on to injectibles. Right Guy’s swimmers are AOK so we were just doing timed intercourse. But it seems my ovaries decided to make a come back and I ended up with 6 eggs in play. With the choice of canceling the cycle or converting to IVF, we converted. We weren’t sure I’d ever be able to produce that many eggs again.

The IVF worked. But at 6w6d I went in for an ultrasound and they saw nothing. I was told I probably had a missed miscarriage and would start bleeding soon. They checked my beta for confirmation. A few hours later my RE called and said Go To The ER NOW. My beta was 42000 – right where it was supposed to be. Fast forward through lots of tests, a D&C and a laparoscopy and they determined the pregnancies were in the muscle wall of my uterus. Rather than remove part or all of my uterus I spent 10 days in the hospital (waiting to see if my uterus would rupture) and ultimately received 7 doses of methotrexate over 5-6 months before beta=0. That IVF was August of last year. I was officially UNpregnant in February.

During those months, Pops’ cancer came back. For the third time. It was difficult, if not impossible, for me to care for him while I was going in for beta blood draws 2-3/week. And I ended up having to get methotrexate shots the same days he had chemo. Three months in a row. The chemo kept putting Pops in the hospital so we decided to stop and call in Hospice. During this time I was forbidden from trying to get pregnant while my uterus attempted to heal. Despite the fact that I might have been ovulating. And I was trying to plan my move knowing that I likely couldn’t move myself until Pops passed. We moved for Right Guy’s job so I still had to coordinate everything for him to move on time. Which turned out to basically coincide with Pops’ death (Right Guy was driving across the country during Pops’ funeral).

Fast forward. I managed to get through Pops’ death and funeral, clean out both our houses and ship stuff across the country and drive myself across the country. Somewhere in the middle of all that my RE finally gave me the green light to try again. I scheduled a FET for September before my insurance ran out since it was partially covered. I thought creating life would be the perfect way to honor Pops. I rolled the dice. I made a bet that the universe couldn’t possibly hate me enough to give me another ectopic. I was wrong.

Since I had just moved I had trouble finding a doc to give me an early ultrasound. So my old RE ordered tests from across the country and there was an inevitable delay in getting the results. In any case, this time it was tubal. We tried methotrexate again, but I ended up in surgery and they removed the tube.

That was about a month ago. And here we are. The bills for surgery are just starting to arrive. And I’m waiting to see if I will ovulate on my own or not. The original diagnosis has been called in to question due to conflicting bloodwork. But when your RE uses words like “anomalous” and “wonky” to describe your body… and another RE agrees with the description… all bets are off.

So welcome. Life (and therefore this blog) has been a little tragic of late. But there’s some humor here. Somewhere. If nothing else there is crazy and that’s always good for a laugh. Click on something in the tag cloud on the right and explore.

Anxiety. I haz it.

Anxiety. I haz it. About Thanksgiving. And other things.

I kind of freaked out yesterday. More accurately, I freaked myself out. I went a little Rain Man walking around Tar-jay shopping yesterday. I don’t think anyone else really noticed. Cuz I’m that awesome. But I noticed. It wasn’t quite an anxiety attack. I never froze. There were no real heart palpitations or difficulty breathing. I didn’t pass out. I didn’t feel like I was having a heart attack. I just went Rain Man on myself.

I think, in order to avoid having an actual attack, I just had to talk to myself incessantly and make OCD hand gestures (I’m really not completely kidding about the Rain Man comparison). I had to talk myself through each aisle. “Just go get this item and then we’ll go.” But then the item wasn’t there. And of course I’m in the aisle next to Babyland. It seems everything I was searching for was located in the general vicinity of all the baby crap. *sigh*

Most of the anxiety wasn’t even baby related. I just knew I didn’t need to add to it. I was having to talk myself through each step of shopping. Yes, out loud. Muttering under my breath to myself but the lips were still moving and I was audible. And making weird gestures with my hands.

Here’s the deal. I may or may not be having hot flashes again. I’ve been a little sick lately but don’t seem to have a fever. Maybe I just overdressed for the weather yesterday. Maybe the covers were too thick. I AM, after all, adjusting to a new climate. Or maybe, just maybe, my body has AGAIN decided to do a 180. Am I menopausal or not? I can’t take this yo-yo crap. Dr. Google tells me hot flashes can be a symptom of anxiety. So now my anxiety is giving me… anxiety?

I’m waiting to have a period after the ectopic. I’m supposed to go for bloodwork on CD21 to check my progesterone to see if I’m ovulating. And, just for the hell of it, my RE also wants to check my FSH (on CD21?). I wasn’t too worried about AF not showing up since I was having cycles earlier this year. I just wasn’t sure I was ovulating because AF was so short. But now I’m worried that I’m back to hot flashes, night sweats, no ovulation, no AF. Total reproductive shutdown. Just like 2 years ago. Good times.

It’s too early to worry too much about that. It really needs anther week or two. But adding that to my plate right now just tipped me over.

The anxiety I’m feeling is mostly not about all that crap. I’ve resigned myself to worrying about that stuff next YEAR. Or at least trying not to worry about it until next year.

It’s Thanksgiving. It was Pops’ favorite holiday. It will be my first major holiday without him. In the last 20 years I missed being with him on Turkey Day TWICE. Once because I was out of the country. The pain of his death has recently been surfacing – now that I’m moved, not pregnant and basically have nothing else to think about. I had thought the day, or maybe just the meal, would be difficult. I didn’t realize I would start freaking out about it in advance. It probably doesn’t help that I have four in-laws descending upon me next week. Two I haven’t ever met. They are not staying at our house thankfully (ooh, something to be thankful for!). We don’t have enough room. But I have to manage to get the house in order (still unpacking our own boxes and I have a garage full of stuff from my Pops’ house, some of which I need for entertaining).

Unpacking the boxes from Pops’ house really threw me for a loop. All I really wanted was to find a few nice red wine glasses. Maybe an extra baking dish for all the cooking I have to do. Instead I had a breakdown. A complete bawl-fest. Obviously I have not dealt with all this yet. Right Guy did his best. But I was, well… Hot Mess doesn’t even begin to describe it.

And two days later I went Rain Man in Tar.get.

I am not right in the head. Really. I’m being completely and totally serious. But, as I said to Right Guy, I can’t be that wrong in the head if I realize I’m not right in the head. Right? I know I’m not right in the head. I know why I’m not right in the head. Drugs might help. Talk therapy… I dunno. Like I said, I KNOW why I’m crazy. I don’t need a therapist to tell me why. And what can be done about it? I can’t bring my father back. I can’t undo my disastrous pregnancies. I can’t not ever unpack my dead father’s things.

I just have to grieve. And get past it all. And I think that must mean that I’ll be crazy for a little while.

I’m hoping it’s just the crazies talking (really the PTSD on this one) but I am now afraid of having a child. By any means. I think WAY too far ahead. What happens if I get my dream? Right now, I feel SURE that that child, whether my own or adopted, will die young. Probably of cancer (you know, cuz of the irony of Right Guy being a pediatric oncologist and all). The universe seems determined to take away what I love most. To make me feel constant loss. So if I defeat the odds and achieve my dreams… they’ll just be taken away at a later date.

Loss deferred.

I know that’s crazy. But at the same time… it isn’t. It happens every day.

[This is why I've been a little AWOL from twitter. I can't be of much support to anyone else right now and although I know you all care, you can't get rid of my crazies. Better not to bring everyone else down - not this far down. Oh yeah, also, twitter client FAIL.]

Morbid Humor

I know it’s not for everyone but I couldn’t get through rough times without it. Morbid Humor. Morbid humor got me through 7 years, three cancers and my father’s death. And my last ectopic where I “carried” the “Zombabies” for 5 months. I mean, if you don’t laugh then surely you are going to cry. I’d rather laugh. Although that’s a battle I’ve been losing lately.

In a previous post I made light of my ectopic pregnancies saying that either my uterus is hostile or my embryos need a mini GPS. This thought continues to grow in my brain. Sometimes scaring the shit out of me if it’s the former but making me laugh if it’s the latter. I mean, come on… tiny GPSs? That’s kinda funny.

Now I’m a fan of horror flicks – particularly cheezy ones. And creature movies. And disaster movies. Pretty much, if the planet is going to be destroyed by some natural disaster or overrun by killer creatures (vampires, zombies, weird hybrid creatures like a Sharktopus, or giant fuzzy killer bunnies) I want to see it happen. On screen, anyway. Just another side of my morbid humor. I think I’ve mentioned this before and I come by it honestly – I grew up watching all the old B&W horror movies and 50′s nuclear creature movies with Pops (and more recently my Uncle).

Confession: I’ve been watching a lot SyFy channel lately. I am unemployed at the moment so what else would I be doing?

So I’m reminded of Armageddon and Owen Wilson. Owen’s character (Oscar) is asking what the environment will be like on the asteroid they going to try to blow up.

Oscar: Ok, Mr. Truman, let’s say that we actually do land on this. What’s it gonna be like up there?
Truman: 200 degrees in the sunlight, minus 200 in the shade, canyons of razor-sharp rock, unpredictable gravitational conditions, unexpected eruptions, things like that.
Oscar: Okay, so the scariest environment imaginable. Thanks. That’s all you gotta say, scariest environment imaginable.

Owen Wilson ROCKS that line. It’s not just the words but the way they are delivered.

So. “Scariest environment imaginable.” Is that my uterus? I mean, we’ve put three embryos in my uterus. They were all there. In the right spot. And STILL they got lost? ALL of them? Maybe they were just running scared. Away from the big bad uterus monster.

Or do we need to come up with a new SciFi movie? Some sort of twisted combo of say… InnerSpace (tiny technology) meets Eagle Eye (we know where you are all at times) meets Volcano (avert impending disaster by rerouting the disaster). But good. Although I doubt that’s possible with this line up. It would be Tommy Lee Jones operating the GPS inside me herding the embryos to just the right spot. OK, how f*cked up is that? I can’t believe I just typed that. I must be losing what little sanity I have left.

NOT tiny enough

Making Friends

I’ve at least made peace, if not friends, with my new RE. We got off to quite the bumpy start. I absolutely LOVE my old RE. Which makes her very difficult to replace.

To fill you in (in case you missed this saga)… I moved across the country and did a FET at basically the same time. So I had to find a new RE or OB pronto. With my ectopic history I needed an early ultrasound. Long story short, no one would take me as a patient AND give me an early ultrasound. Everyone I spoke with said I had to wait until I was 8-10 weeks pregnant for an ultrasound. Even after I explained that I was hospitalized at 6w6d with my first pregnancy.

Generally speaking, REs are (I think) the only docs who do early ultrasounds – at least on a regular basis. But no RE wanted to do followup care for another clinic’s patient. I suppose their reasoning is that it’s silly to take on a patient for 2 weeks and then release them to another doc. But I was worried about a repeat performance (a 10 day hospital stay will make you a little paranoid). So I was… a little crazy and A LOT scared. After calling many places and being refused early care, I had to call my old RE and they were able to arrange for me to go to the new RE but the old RE was ordering the tests and calling the shots. From a different time zone. Which meant that I didn’t get test results in a timely fashion. I had accepted the fact that there would be a delay. BUT. One beta took 4 days (it was a weekend Thurs-Mon) to get back to me. I went… well, just a little ballistic about that.

That Monday, I was already upset that I didn’t have my beta back from the previous Thursday. I was 6w pregnant and having my 2nd ultrasound (they didn’t see anything on the 1st at 5w3d). The new RE wasn’t ready to make the official diagnosis but it seemed probable I had ANOTHER ECTOPIC. And so… ballistic I went. I was sobbing hysterically and questioning the competence of this new clinic and its staff. And I was lectured for it the next day. Which did not endear the new RE to me. I do not enjoy being lectured by my doctor in general. Especially not for advocating for my care. And REALLY especially not while I’m being told I have ANOTHER ECTOPIC pregnancy.

I may not have handled the situation with my usual grace (haha) but I stand by my behavior. I had to get someone’s attention to get the care I needed. I was officially transferred as a patient that afternoon. Whether I liked the new RE or not, at least I knew I had someone to call locally. Some recourse other than the ER.

By that Wednesday I had my methotrexate shot. But I guess it didn’t work quickly enough. By Thursday night I was in horrible pain and I went in to the clinic Friday morning. The ultrasound revealed no change in the “mass”/”fluid pocket”/blob in my right tube. I was given what I consider to be painkiller Lite and sent home. Painkiller Lite, at the twice the dose prescribed, did NOTHING for my pain. I called back. The nurse finally called back and said the RE would not give me anything more for the pain. If I couldn’t take the pain then I should go to the ER and they’d take my tube out.

You should really know better than to offer me a challenge. If I can’t take the pain? I have a high tolerance for pain. And I’m kind of stubborn. And I loathe the ER. And I’m quite literally attached to my body parts. But I was going to go to the ER. I called Right Guy and asked him to come home to take me. By the time he got there I was reevaluating. Who wants to spend Friday night in the ER? He examined me and pronounced me “stable.” So we waited. The RE called and asked what was up. I guess she had been waiting to be paged. I told her we were waiting it out. She said she thought I should go to the ER. The conversation was short.

She called again Saturday morning and invited me to the clinic for another ultrasound. I immediately accepted. It was becoming clearer by the minute that the hospital was in my near future. This time the ultrasound showed that the blob was bigger. And possibly leaking into my abdomen. I finally accepted that I was going to have to be cut open and lose a tube. She called the hospital and arranged everything.

I’ve had some pretty speedy and good care at another ER/hospital. But this time… they rolled out the red carpet. I never sat in a chair in the waiting area. I bypassed triage. They IMMEDIATELY whisked me away to a room (with a door!! not just a curtain) and a bed and I had 4 nurses fawning all over me taking vital signs and putting in 2 IVs. I even had the charge nurse caring for me. Whether it was my diagnosis or my new RE, I had people jumping to take care of me.

Surgery went fine and I went home (although they gave me the option to stay overnight). But then I stewed for two weeks worrying that I was going to be lectured again for not going to the ER sooner. Or for not trusting her. Or something. You never want to be lectured by your doc. It’s not conducive to follow up care. But then I saw this: Best Reproductive Endocrinologists. My new RE is on the list.

I decided to give her a chance. More importantly, I decided to try and NOT be a basket case (for once) in her presence.

I had my follow up appointment a few days ago. It seems we now get on fabulously. I might even like her.