An Embarrassment of Riches

This will be the title of a book I'm writing, hopefully. Because really. This is ridiculous.




You each, you women, have warmed my heart and made me overflow with gratitude with your donations. I just . . . you are not the ones I meant to donate to the cause enfant, but you did, and I'm pretty sure you are not wealthy and I'm pretty sure you have bills just like me, and I've never even met you in person. And yet. . . .



and yet and yet and yet, you clicked that button and gave a substantial amount of money to me, a virtual friend.



And you know what it has taught me? That even if Brody never has a brother or a sister, he will have a family of his heart, as I do here. What wondrous women you all are. How can I be alone when I have all of you? Thank you thank you thank you.



Now for the rest of it.



April 30 - intake appointment at the ob/gyn. But NO ULTRASOUND.

May 4 - next ultrasound.

May 11 -  we leave for France.

This was the thought flow in my head yesterday:

I need another check NOW, NOW, NOW! How can I get it? How can I get it? What could I tell them? I called and she said I couldn't absolutely couldn't get an ultrasound on Friday. WTF? What do I do? What can I do to make them give me an ultrasound? I don't think there's a heartbeat anymore. I want to know now if there's no heartbeat. What can I do? What can I do? I should just assume there is no heartbeat. We'll find that out on Tuesday, May 4. . . . ok ok ok ok. . . . I have no time at work to schedule a D&C between May 4 and the day we leave, May 11. Hmmm. . . . ok ok, think think think.....If I stop the progesterone May 4, I'll probably start miscarrying on May 7, oh lovely, just in time for Mother's Day and my mom's visit, but I'd rather have a natural miscarriage rather than a D&C, because I don't want to have general anesthetic. Well, if I miscarry in France, that will ruin the vacation. But last time it just hurt really bad during two nights, then it was fine. I'll be fine. Should we cancel the trip? This is crazy to go when I'm miscarrying isnt' it? Ah, jeez, on that long flight while miscarrying? Shit shit shit. I need another check now now NOW.

And then .. . . . my head imploded a little bit. And then this was my thought flow:

What the hell are you thinking, Chris? My God, I am having the same control issues I’ve always had. I don't even know if there's still a heartbeat or not and I am planning how and where to miscarry? That's sick. But I don't "feel" pregnant. But I didn't "feel" pregnant last Tuesday either. It's like I haven't learned anything in the years between 2004 and 2010. Life happens. Death happens. Miscarriages happen. I control zero of it. I cannot bend a doctor's office scheduler to my will. They aren't going to give me an ultrasound til the 4th. It's a week. If the worst has happened, so be it. I will be okay. WE will be okay. No matter what, I have Jeremy and Brody, and my friends, and our family, and we are blessed in ways uncountable. We'll be alright, and we will have the trip of our lives in two weeks no matter what. No.Matter.What.

So that's where I am right now.

I'm just so tired of trying to control this. It feels like trying to climb a 100 foot high wall with only my fingernails. I'm tired of living in an angst-filled limbo. I'm tired of worrying, and wondering, and waiting and worrying. I'm tired of putting my life on hold and becoming obsessed with trying to do something that isn't my job to do.

Just like it's not my job to figure out whether another ash cloud will prevent us from going to, or returning from, France, it is also not my job to obsessively fixate on whether there is still a heartbeat. There was last week. Since then, I've done all that is within my power to keep her in there, and I will continue to do all within my power to keep her healthy. Shots, meds, tests.... but I am going to stop trying to unsuccessfully do the other stuff.

I'm done. I'm giving it up. I hope.

It is maddening, madness, trying to control what I really cannot. What I'm not supposed to control. I control when I take these meds and how often I shower. I control what speed my car goes; I control what clothes Brody wears.

I'm not supposed to control miscarriages and volcanos. I'm supposed to hope, and to pray, for the best outcome.

When I think about the things in my daily life that seep into me and make me anxious, it is the things I cannot control. Other people's opinions, whether Brody's kidney will keep functioning, whether he will have good friends in school, what the judge will rule, what the jury will say, what the clients will think, what the doctor will say, what the genetics will be, what the review will say, what the witness will testify. . . .

I think it's healthy to hope for outcomes, but why do I spend my energy on worrying about them? What the hell is that about? What purpose does it serve? None.

So I'm done. Or I hope I'm done.

I give up.

I have no idea how these next two weeks before our trip will go. (Duh, you say. But to me, it’s a revelation). But whatever happens, I will be okay. I have Jeremy and Brody and friends. . . I have friends on facebook that I’ve known for decades that have posted the nicest messages to me. I have you, I have my sisters, and my mom. And whatever happens, it is an adventure. Perhaps one I do not want to experience, but one I am determined will teach me things I need to know.

The man who said this is probably a bit of a charlatan. But I like the quote anyway. “Control is never achieved when sought after directly. It is the surprising outcome of letting go.”

Here’s hoping.

Is this growth? Or narcissism?

In a state of elation and confusion, I posted not only yesterday's post, but a status update on facebook.

Worlds colliding a little bit.

My husband was a bit shocked that I did. "Aren't you waiting the 3 months?" Apparently not. A friend who has known me for over 30 years was also surprised I posted a blog about the pregnancy. 

They have good reason for shock. In 2004, I didn't even tell my sisters about my miscarriages. Or most of my friends. Eventually I did. It was after the third one. We were supposed to go to a family reunion out of state. We were going to be the only couple without children. I told my husband that there was no way I could face them and just to tell them everything. I didn't care anymore. I needed to escape.

Now, five years later, I'm writing about this pregnancy on the internet. Repeatedly. And I know a lot of people I have lunch with read this blog. Why this change?

Before this latest happening, a few months ago I was talking with a friend who is also going through fertility issues. She talked about not understanding why she was so reticent to talk to others about what she was going through. She really struggled with why she could not talk about it, and after much soul-searching, she concluded that it was because she felt shame.

Shame about infertility. Shame about miscarriages.

I still remember it because, I think, I felt the same shame.

The definition: painful emotion caused by a strong sense of guilt, embarrassment, unworthiness, or disgrace.

Yes, yes, yes and yes.

Huh.

Intellectually I know I "shouldn't" feel shame. In my heart, I don't want to feel shame, and I don't want others going through something similar to feel it either. But I  think I still might feel that way. A little bit, at least. Every thought that if it wasn't for me, Brody would have a sibling already, and Jeremy would have more children....I think those thoughts are based in shame.

And I think to try to decrease that feeling, I'm writing about it. A lot.

I hope this isn't narcissism, though. Definition: Person full of egoism and pride; One who shows extreme love and admiration for oneself. Dear God, I do not want to be that person.

Also,  I think it's time I was honest. For a long while I was different versions of myself with different people, and my whole real self with just a few. I think I should be my whole real self wherever, and whenever, I want to be. And my whole real self is pregnant, with a pretty high risk of miscarriage. Why not be that person? Granted, I don't reveal that to most of the people I work with, or strangers on the street.

I know a lot of you, I know everyone on facebook. Why not tell?

And let's face it, if this pregnancy ends, I'm going to need . . . . something, and probably in the form of some kind of support.

If I had appendicitis or broke my leg, I'd tell. So why not this? This which is more important than most anything, and has the potential to affect me for the rest of my life. . .

For the record, though, I feel incredibly off-balance trying to be my whole real self with every set of friends and acquaintances.