I’m so addicted to this show! I’ve been watching it On Demand for several days now and have almost gotten through the whole first season. Love it!! And damn that vampire is hotttt! Off to watch more…
So I’ve been on this TTC roller coaster for a little more than two years now. I’ve been through five clomid cycles, three injectable/IUI cycles, and 2 pregnancies, both of which have resulted in early losses. I really should know all the ins and outs, what to do and what to avoid with a ten foot pole.
So, imagine my surprise at my first acupuncture appointment today, as my needle guy is going over my paper work and notices the area on harmful substances consumed. I fully expected to be reprimanded for my several glasses of wine a week (when not pg obviously). Nope! He even said that wine, in moderation, is okay during pregnancy and while TTC.
What wasn’t okay? THE COFFEE!
I only have one cup a day. Really. One cup in the morning and then I don’t touch caffeine again until the next morning. He said, ‘I’m really concerned about the caffeine intake.’ Um, what? My measly one cup of coffee? I don’t even drink soda or tea or any other caffeinated beverages during the day. Just that one stupid cup of coffee. Then he said, ‘Well, one cup doesn’t really tell me that much…how big is the cup?’
I hadn’t really thought about that. It’s a pint. It’s 16 oz. of hot, steamy, wake-me-up-in-the-morning goodness. He said, ‘you know that’s really like three traditional cups, not one. And with your level of anxiety, you really shouldn’t be drinking any.’
Now I feel like a piece of shit. How could I not have know that? I’ll tell you why. Because I’ve watched a coworker of mine drink coffee, soda, iced tea and regular tea on a daily basis through two of her pregnancies and then have two healthy babies. I just really thought it was okay.
So I guess that’s it for my morning ritual. I suppose decaf is probably okay, but honestly, what’s the point of that? Of all the things I have to give up to have a baby, for some reason, this one upsets me most of all. It is was the one peaceful moment I got during my day. But we do what we have to do, right? Of course I’m going to give it up. 😦
In times like these, when I should be addressing my emotions and grieving yet another loss, I often push everything away and go to my happy place–a place that wasn’t actually happy when I was there for real, but that I have carefully modified to meet my needs. I indulge in memories and fantasies about a certain ex, thinking about things that actually happened and then what if we were to run into each other now. Would we still have feelings for each other, would it turn into something more? Blah, blah, blah…
Healthy? No, certainly not. And what makes it worse is that I get so involved in these fantasies that I have to pull out old journals to remind myself that the real him was NOTHING like my avoidance-fantasy him. And that after a decade of not seeing each other, I doubt he would even recognize me.
So here I am again, surrounding myself with old and probably wildly inaccurate memories, in the hopes of avoiding grief and depression for just a little while longer. But at some point, I need to remember the truth. What happened was NOT fun, save a few short months at the beginning.
He was married and 37 when we met. I was 20. He said all the things they always seem to say…
My wife doesn’t understand me
If she wasn’t pregnant we never would have gotten married
I don’t even sleep with her anymore
I love her as the mother of my children, but I haven’t felt anything more for her in a loooong time
I fell for it, truly believing that I–some twenty year old girl who still lived with her parents–had the capacity to understand him so much better than her. I was incredibly foolish, but also completely infatuated.
All that went on for two years, I won’t bore you with the details because if you’ve seen any Lifetime made for TV movie, you get the gist. Basically, he told me he was going to leave her so we could be together. He lied and I stupidly believed him. Then, after two years of empty promises, I took my head out of the sand and ended it.
I think we both made the right decision–him not leaving and me giving up. I never would have been able to tell my parents ‘Surprise, I’m running off with a 40-year-old, soon-to-be-divorced father of three!’ I never really considered what it would mean if he left her, all I knew is that I’d be in a pretty tough spot. And, no, I really wasn’t concerned with how it would affect his family–I was essentially still a kid and it was all about me. Conscience, shmonsciene…
I was (more than) a little bit afraid of him, for various reasons. I knew if he left them and then I flaked out (which was bound to happen) I would be in big trouble…not that it would ever have happened, but if it did. Those things started to occur to me toward the end. If I kept pushing and for some reason, he caved and left them, what would I do? Was the prize worth all the struggle? In the end, I realized that it wasn’t. And when I ended it, I felt nothing but relief.
But that feeling has evaporated over time. His transgressions (and there were many of them, trust me) faded into the background and my memory replaced it with older, more pleasant ones. Instead of thinking about being ditched, being talked down to, yelled at, left in cheap motels when he had to go back home, I thought about the first time he kissed me (amazing) or when I’d meet him in the park during his lunch break…
How strange that I’m still dwelling on all this, even if it’s just from time to time. I had boyfriends both before and after him. I’ve been with my husband for more than five years, married for just over two. I love him and I’m happy, infertility aside. I have never and would never cheat on him and I know that. But it still bugs me that I’ve never been able to really let that one go. I think I just miss being young and stupid. And maybe I miss the drama a little bit too.
Last Friday, after receiving the call that officially informed me of the impending miscarriage, I headed down to the shore for my make-up Thanksgiving with my parents and family. Stefan had to work, so I was on my own. My two brothers and sister-in-law were up from Florida and we’d made plans to go out to some of our old hangouts after dinner with the ‘rents. A few days before, I had worried about how I was going to do that without them noticing that I wasn’t imbibing as I normally would, but ‘the call’ made it a non-issue.
Our first stop was a bar on the end of the boardwalk. When I was a teenager, I remember walking by this place and marveling at all the hot surferboys inside–long, sun-bleached hair, tan, yummy. I couldn’t wait to be 21 and in there with them. When I was finally old enough to get a closer look, I realized that these ‘hot surfers’ were actually just townie dirtbags who didn’t have jobs and drank in the afternoon. The bar was still pretty cool though–dirty and hot and cramped with people.
A few years later, my friends and I went there several nights a week and knew the bartenders and the bouncers. Though we still looked young, we never got carded and our drinks were usually waiting for us when we sat down. We did shots, walked around to greet friends and acquaintances, chatted with the bartender, noticed newcomers and loudly talked trash about anyone we didn’t like. Everyone knew us. We flitted around in little outfits and considered ourselves minor celebrities. Okay, we were a little full of ourselves. LOL
At 25, I moved an hour away with my boyfriend at the time, and my visits to that bar became more and more infrequent. When that relationship ended and I started dating Stefan, my visits ended completely. Driving more than an hour to hang out in a beach bar for a little while just didn’t seem as appealing as it had been.
During the next few years, after Stefan and I got engaged and were planning our wedding, that bar underwent major renovations. They bought out the rest of the building and made the bar three times its original size. They also added a second floor. It was a bit much, IMHO, and it took away from the homey feel it once had.
So back to the other night…
I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting, but I didn’t recognize any of the bartenders, bouncers or customers. There were no reunions with old friends. In fact, we seemed to be the oldest people in the bar, surrounded by young, cute people with trendy hairdos and shiny shirts. Hmph. It was so disappointing and like slap in the face to someone who didn’t realize she was getting older.
I suppose in the 6 years or so since I’d been a regular, my friends had noticed the changes slowly and drifted away from this place and on to other things. In my case, all of my memories were still of us on top, young, the stars of the bar. Or maybe that’s been exaggerated in my mind over the last few years, like how you remember only the wonderful beginning of an old relationship instead of the time he cheated you or forgot your birthday. Who the hell ever said hindsight was 20/20??!!
Anyway, next time we decide to take a walk down memory lane, I’m going to take a deep breath and, instead, figure out where the grown-ups hang out.
I started spotting last night–the official start to my second miscarriage, although I suppose this one is more of a chemical pregnancy. My HCG was down to 15.5 yesterday, so I was relieved to finally have some bleeding. I had been wondering why nothing had happened yet.
So on to the next phase. The nurse told me yesterday that I’d have to have an RPL workup as soon as the hormones have been out of my system for a few weeks. I’m not entirely sure what that entails, but I’m pretty sure it is probably a lot of expensive testing that may or may not yield any answers. The answer I expect is that with my hormones so out of whack because of PCOS, it’s harder for me to hold a pregnancy. No shit.
I’ve also decided to begin acupuncture, which I’d been thinking about for a long time but never pursued until now. At my b/w appointment yesterday, I asked if the RE recommends that and the nurse told me they absolutely do. I wasn’t expecting that–I sort of thought that ‘real’ doctors would frown upon TCM. But the nurse gave me the name and number of a man who regularly works with patients at my clinic (mainly IVF patients) and I called him yesterday. I left a voicemail and he got back to me within a half hour, which always impresses me. He told me all about the benefits of acu. (most of which I already knew) and answered all my questions. My first appointment is on Friday.
Stefan has promised to give up alcohol with me completely, which basically means no beer for him and no wine for me. The benefits of this are two-fold. It’s better for my eggs and his sperm and the money saved on beer and wine can be used towards my acupuncture session, which are rather pricey. We have set the date for next Monday as he still has beers in the fridge and doesn’t want to waste them–LOL.