New Year, New Hope

Miscarriage is big in the news right now.  Social media moguls, actresses, singers, wanna be bloggers...we're all opening up.  I read an article that suggested it was a 'secret' for some.  It's not a secret, it's a hole in your heart and it's not something you want to shout from the rooftops.  It's not a piece of information you just offer up.  It's tragic and awkward to bring into a casual conversation.  It's a sad sisterhood that you don't understand until you're an unfortunate member.

The paperwork called it a missed abortion.  That's what it's called.  The one thing I will never get used to is the terminology.  Did you know that the definition of infertile is being unable to get pregnant on your own for 1 year?  That's it.  1 year, no luck, you're labeled.  But really, it's just a designation; it doesn't mean barren or unable.  And yet, it stung the first time I heard it.  So it shouldn't have surprised me when I got the bill for the D&C and it was called a missed abortion.  Or that we had the tissue tested.  It seems so cold, but this part of medicine needs to be factual.

The extra testing we had done revealed the gender, and the fact that there was nothing wrong.  No chromosomal abnormalities that caused the loss.  No anything that could have caused the loss.  Sometimes, these things just happen.  And you're at a higher risk to miscarry on your first pregnancy, and other facts that mean nothing to a grieving woman.  So I did what I needed to do: I watched a lot of Hallmark movies and ate a lot of really bad food.  I wrapped my head around the fact that sometimes things just happen...things don't always happen for a reason, like my teenage self would have you believe.  Because sometimes, there can't possibly be a reason that it happened.  At least not an acceptable one.  And I pushed forward to round 2 because I needed a light at the end of the tunnel.  I spoke with one of the nurses who mentioned that some people like to wait for round 2.  For me, I needed to push forward.

So here we are, I'm 28 birth control pills, 13 (giant) intramuscular injections, 23 oral estrogen pills, and 16 progesterone suppositories in to this cycle.  Tomorrow is our embryo transfer.  This is the easy part, but it's scary and exciting at the same time.  After tomorrow's transfer, it's another 2 weeks before we find out whether it got cozy enough in my uterine lining to stick around.

I feel good.  I feel like this could be the one.  And if not, it's not over yet.  I will keep going.  I will eat liver (because someone said it's one of the five things I should be eating), I will take shots where ever they tell me and as many as they tell me.  I will track my medications on a calendar in my phone so I don't miss any.  I will have the joy of being miserable in my last trimester.  I will get to wince when my toddler asks 'why' for the 5 millionth time in an hour.  I will be a mom and I will love every moment.