April 7, 2014
What a truly bizarre two week wait.
I expected some of this. But not all of it.
I know how I felt during my FET. It was WAY WORSE than I imagined it would be (even though I didn’t write about it all until later). I thought that this time, since it’s not my body, it would be easier. And it is. At least in the fact that I’m not worried for my physical self. I thought I might be worried for B’s physical self. But I’m not. Not yet, anyway.
What is happening is that I’m reliving the 2ww from my IVF (PTSD much?). My first injectibles cycle. The one I postponed because Pops was in the hospital. And then he landed in the ER at 4dp3dt. Which was yesterday for this surro FET cycle. He recovered fairly quickly from that ER visit. Thankfully, he was at home doing fairly well by the time I landed in the hospital a month later.
And of course his cancer came back while I was still recovering from that pregnancy. And then he died. And then I was cleared for FET.
And now my almost 16 year old hyperthyroid renally challenged kitty seems to be boycotting both food and the litterbox.
The two week wait. Pregnancy.
They STILL equate – in my brain – to death and dying. Even when it’s not my body.
So yeah. This is tons of fun.
It is a truly bizarre thought process. My headshrinker says it’s completely normal. Memories are stored chronologically and when you access one you tend to get all the ones around it. Particularly if they are traumatic. So apparently I am not a raging lunatic for equating pregnancy (or even potential pregnancy) with death.
A negative beta will end it most likely as that will be a different outcome from the past.
A positive beta (or home pregnancy test) will likely keep the triggers coming for a few more weeks. This is not about the outcome of this surro FET cycle. I mean, it partly is but it’s about so much more.
I should have seen this coming. I suppose I did to a certain extent. But it’s proving to be far more powerful than I anticipated.
At least I’m not having panic attacks. I am not literally terrified like I was last time. I just can’t stop the emotions from coming. Instead of abject terror engulfing me I’m staring at a tidal wave of grief. Preferable, yes. But still quite large and consuming.
I miss my Dad. I want to talk to him. I want to cuddle my sick kitty but she won’t let me.
I will be OK. I always am. But this is going to be rougher than I anticipated. But also, once again, reaffirms that those embryos are way better off with B right now.
June 28, 2011
I feel like I’m always apologizing. I have good excuses… but, still. I’m such a bad blogger.
Here are the highlights from the last week or so.
We had the memorial service/funeral/wake for Pops. It was fairly informal and untraditional. There was no minister. I didn’t see the point in hiring a clergyman who never knew my father to get up and speak a bunch of platitudes. So we did it ourselves and then opened it up to the attendees to speak if they so desired. We were kind of winging it. But it worked. Pops had made quite an impression on people throughout his life and that was made evident in the many impromptu speeches given.
Right Guy was not there. We are in the middle of a move so we decided that he should not alter his plans. He has now arrived in Seattle and is working on new hire paperwork. While my brother and I work on “estate” paperwork. I use quotations marks because although “estate” is the proper term for a deceased person’s property, he doesn’t have a large one. There will be some money (for my next IVF?) but we’re not rolling in the dough or anything. Not that I expected to be. It’s just that word – “estate” – it sounds so… hoighty toity. 😉
Hopefully I have now seen the last of the relatives I dislike. And have formed new and stronger bonds with the ones I do like.
I am the “Executrix” of the will. Somehow I feel like @DeadCowGirl with that title. 😉
I was prepared for Pops’ death. I knew I would be in for some serious paperwork. But… you’re never really ready for this. I am still glad that his suffering is over. But… I MISS him. And I am sad.
June 20, 2011
I’m not really sure I’m ready to write about all this but I think I’ll just hit the highlights.
Pops took a rather sudden turn recently. One day he was up eating, drinking champagne and making plans. The next day he couldn’t get out of bed. The day after that he couldn’t hold himself up in a sitting position. The day after that he could no longer feed himself. The day after that he could barely swallow his meds crushed up in ice cream. Later that night he could barely breathe. He was really struggling to get oxygen. Right Guy and I were with him and did everything we could to make him as comfortable as possible. We stayed up all night to make sure he got morphine at least every hour. Along with anything else we could think of to make him comfortable. He passed at 4:10am this past Saturday morning. June 18th. The day before Father’s Day.
I called Hospice and they sent out a nurse to confirm death and remove his catheter, etc. And they called the funeral home people for me. I have to say that I always thought it was a stereotype but funeral home people are CREEPY. Really. They are. But they probably thought we were nuts. Since they showed up around 6am and found us drinking champagne. Pops loved wine and champagne and he would have wanted it so. So I drank a bottle of champagne at 6 in the morning to honor my father, celebrate the end of his suffering and numb my pain.
My father always said he wasn’t afraid of death. He was afraid of dying. And it wasn’t pretty. But it was mercifully short. His battle with cancer was long but the actual “active phase of dying” (that’s what they call it) was mercifully short.
Please raise a glass and toast my Pops. And if you’re lucky enough to be pregnant it needn’t be an alcoholic beverage. 😉
June 17, 2011
a.k.a. Daddy Monitor
Is that anything like a Baby Daddy? My apologies. In my sleep deprived state many things sound funny to me that may not actually be funny. But if I don’t laugh… I will go insane.
Hospice recommended that I buy a baby monitor to monitor my Dad when I’m not in his room. I had a few other things to pick up at the drug store for him so I just bought it there. They only had one. I know most (new) parents spend quite a lot of time and do a fair amount of research before purchasing a baby monitor. But I just grabbed the only one they had at Ri.te A.id. It’s not particularly fancy. It only has one receiver. But it’s a small house so that’s no big deal.
But I wanted to tell all my IF tweeps and bleeps that when you finally get your bundle of joy the Safety 1st baby monitor has served me well so far. For whatever that may be worth.
I will blog about this whole experience with my father at some point but I think I need a little time. He is still hanging on but he is declining rapidly. Very rapidly. A week ago he was and about in his scooter chair eating and sipping champagne. He is now confined to bed, cannot feed himself and cannot sit up on his own. I have been instructed to keep him heavily and steadily medicated with morphine and ativan. For his own comfort. As well as mine.
June 7, 2011
Oy. I’ve been AWOL from the blog and twitter again. And all I can say is OY. Right Guy leaves in less than 3 weeks. The movers come in just over 3 weeks. I need to pack. And Pops is going nuts.
Apparently it is relatively common among the dying to go through a sort of “manic” phase where all they want to do is plan trips and projects. There’s just a frenzy of activity. A desire to live life to its fullest – or at least think about something other than your own impending death. It can manifest in different ways for different people. It can last a day, a week, a month. Or longer.
Unfortunately, I’m discovering that this phase is hardest on ME. I don’t mind so much that I’m not in the driver’s seat anymore. But I do mind that he drove the train off without me. So now I just get to put the pieces back together after the inevitable train wreck.
Pops wanted to buy a power weheelchair to better get around his small house. After 24 hours with one he wants to get rid of it due to a hole in the door, a bloody knee and other such damage it caused. We all warned him against this idea but he did it anyway. And our predictions came true. However… he does not consider it a BAD idea so much as an equipment failure. So he wants to sell this one and get another one that’s better suited for tight spaces. Oy.
He also has come up with the notion that installing a walk-in tub will solve all of his hygiene issues. Never mind that he can’t walk. Never mind that the tub, plus grab bars plus installation will be about $10k. Double Oy. I’m conspiring with the Hospice workers to stall him on this one.
His latest idea is that he needs to add a storage shed to the house. He says he doesn’t have enough space for all this “medical equipment.” He needs to store it because everyone says he might need it one day but he doesn’t need it now. In his opinion. Never mind that he has lung cancer and he made someone move the oxygen tank to the spare bedroom.
Getting rid of things is apparently not an option – logical though it may be. He likes knowing that his old paperbacks are in boxes in the garage along with his old Air Force uniforms from 1964. Things that are designated to go to particular people when he dies… can’t give them to those people now. He wants them in the house with him until he’s officially gone. I can’t say for sure how I’d react staring down at my own impending death, but I think at the very least I would like to see people’s reactions to my bequeaths BEFORE I go if I had the opportunity.
I have to keep reminding myself that you can’t know how you’d react until you’re there. So I try not to judge. But jeebus he’s driving me freaking nuts! He’s like a kid in a candy store. With a big fat wallet. And I can’t play Mom anymore or he has a HUGE tantrum about no one letting him do what he wants to do. EVER. I strive to see the humor in all this. If I lose the ability to laugh I will lose my sanity as well. But I think I can cope better when he’s sick than when he feels well.
Mind you, he FEELS well. But the disease is progressing and taking its toll. He has so much swelling he can’t wear shoes or fit into any pants that don’t have elastic waistbands. He thinks this is temporary and will just go away on its own. So he’s refusing to elevate his feet or take the diuretics. He is almost constantly agitated and cussing about something. The nurse says that may be due to low oxygen. Remember that oxygen that he says he doesn’t need? Yeah. THAT oxygen.
So… essentially… I got my wish. I have a child to care for. Except he’s 71 years old and not so cute anymore. And he’s WILLFUL. Be careful what you wish for….
**UPDATE: My apologies for the timing of this post. After posting it I checked in on twitter and found that too many of my tweeps, and my tweeps’ tweeps, have had miscarriages recently. My heart goes out to them. **