The Duchess

Hide n' Watch

One of the best people I have never met in person said it best.

You better hide n' watch.

 

this blog is coming back full force and password protected. Want in? Email me. Don't want to? Your loss.

 

“In a chronically leaking boat, energy devoted to changing vessels is more productive than energy devoted to patching leaks.” -Warren Buffett

Every now and then my memories ache*

It would seem that tomorrow (or rather today when most people will read this) is my least favorite day. I can find nothing good about the day this year. Some years this anniversary sneaks up on me, here before I know it gone before I feel it, leaving a bitter taste in it's wake. Other years the dread starts a few weeks out, the questions start to crop up, the doubt sneaks in, the sad middle right below the sarcastic exterior.

Tomorrow, the twenty-fourth, marks the 19th anniversary of my father's death. This year feels so particularly hard, I have spent the last few weeks inside my own head trying to figure out why but nothing seems reasonable to me. Nothing seems so big that 19 years later I would be so darn sad. I would have assumed I would be numb to it.

Ahhhh Grief, you are one sneaky mistress.

I recently became somewhat obsessed preoccupied with remembering the last time I saw my father. Or rather the last time we saw each other. I remember very vividly the last time I saw my father down to the room and everything and everyone in it. I remember the last fight we had, something stupid and pre-teenish on my part, exasperation on his end. I remember the last phone call. I remember the first phone call of the new forever. But no matter how hard I try I can't remember the last time we hugged.

Or laughed.

I often feel like a baby for still missing him as much as I do. I'm not sure where or when I decided that grief has a time limit. Dude. It totally doesn't. It is a major bummer to realize that there will be more moments for the rest of my life where I feel this intense...there really are no words to describe this particular blend of emotion.

Someone tried to compare the death of my father to the choice absence of theirs. It was not a choice for him to go (forty-eight is too young for anyone). I can't hire a detective to track him down or send him letters and hope for a response. Oh, how I wish he would have had the foresight to write each of us letters. Nothing long or dramatic but just something. Anything.

So *sigh* nineteen years, sometimes it feels like nineteen minutes and sometimes like nineteen lifetimes. So much has changed in the world and in my life but one thing remains, steadfast and clear, I love him just as much today as I did nineteen years ago.

   

 

*From the song Now and Then by Adkins, Adele Laurie Blue

 

 

 

Purple Roses

It happened at Costco. I was just trying to waddle through the crowds and there in the flower section was bouquet after bouquet of purple roses, they were your favorite. I stopped and stared for a moment and let my mind wander. What would it be like if you were still here? Would I have to decided between you and mom for the holidays? Would you spoil S.? Would you think me irresponsible for having a second baby so soon? Would you be proud? Would you notice the purple roses in a small vase in your guest room?

It has been 18 years since our last Christmas morning together and I miss you more this year than any other.

Not what I intended to write...

I logged on to my google reader tonight, after a long day of car travel, with great excitement, a few bloggers I have been following since my days at the Lost and Found table are expecting babies and I hoped someone had popped over the weekend.

In truth I started following Cece because she was on my list of people, I kept following her because she was fun to read, so different from me and yet so very much in the same boat; we both WANTED a baby. I am lame and have no hobbies, Cece knits and bakes and decorates and remodels, she is crafty and smart and sweet leaving me kind messages and overall just rocking. We both became pregnant within weeks of each other me via IUI and her IVF she was due before me and had Hulk via C-section. When she found out that she was pregnant with spontaneous twins due right around the time of her son's first birthday I couldn't believe it, I may have even giggled and thought that could never happen to me.

Needless to say finding myself in a different but similar spontaneous situation just a few months later had me running to her blog for comfort and another dose of Cece's can-do spirit.

She gave birth to beautiful twin girls on the 29Th of November and it is with the heaviest heart that I say one of her daughter's Nora passed away on Friday the day before Hulk's first birthday. I am writing this in the hope that you will go over to her site and offer words of love, encouragement and hope and also congratulations to Hulk on hitting a very major milestone. I haven't always been the best at leaving comments but as we all know they are verbal gold in times of need. Please go now and share your kindness and love with someone who has always taken time to share herself with us.

To clarify again:

I used the wrong terms in my last post, what I suffered from was really more of a postpartum anxiety than depression. I have had anxiety for many years and the characteristics I displayed after the birth of my first child fell more into that of anxiety. Postpartum anxiety is the lesser known cousin to PPD, I was so tired of trying to explain to my family and friends what was wrong with me (anxiety? huh? isn't it just depression women suffer from post birth? NO) that I just let them think it was mild PPD when really it was raging anxiety. I am sorry I was not clear about this in my first post or even in the update that followed. I have anxiety, not depression, I am not on medication, I did take medication when I was 18 after I was attacked for PTSD. I have a great team of doctors, friends and family who are here for me. I am not a doctor, please consult your physician.

Also please quit sending me mean email, this is exactly why I said nothing for over a year and why other women suffer in silence, if you want to disagree with me then fine but do so in the comments don't be a coward and hide behind email. I am not advocating or putting down medication I am simply telling the story of my life.

Silly Girl *Updated*

"This is the biggest thing you are going to do for awhile"

Famous last words spoken to me by my doctor at my six week post-partum appointment, I was sitting there crying telling him I must have made a huge mistake, I am so not cut out for this new "lifestyle" which by the way is crap at that point there was no life let alone one with style.

I wanted a baby so badly, more than I wanted anything it was a craving that ran so deep and it only increased with every passing negative cycle or loss. The more the universe seemed to resist the more I shoved right back demanding to have it my way. When I finally won and had my positive beta I thought to myself, ahhhh the hard part is over.

Silly girl.

I had a very long and rough pregnancy with S. filled with the highest of highs and lowest of lows I kept telling myself I just had to make it through one more week and then the next week I would tell myself one more, I could do it I had to do it because in my heart of hearts I knew all I had to do was cross the finish line, as soon as that placenta was out of me the pregnancy was over and I could relax, the hard part would be over.

Silly girl.

I hadn't worried to much about post-partum depression, which seems downright foolish to me given the fact that I have like six of the five (yes you are reading that correctly, I believe that neurotic should be on the list as well) warning signs. My second night in the hospital was so bad I had to be mildly sedated; I was beside myself with panic and fear. Every time my eyes would shut I would have these horrific dreams that they took my baby and my husband had left and I was all alone in the same place where I had been alone one year and fifty weeks earlier. I called my mother hysterical beginning her to come telling her I hated her for not being there, how could she choose C. over me (a side note: my sister was undergoing experimental chemo at the time my mother had used the last of her vacation to be with her during her treatment, something I had told everyone I was fine with because I had really thought I would be fine with it, also we discovered that I cannot take the drug perc*et as it cause these horrible nightmare hallucinations) she promised me she would get in the car first thing in the morning and drive here, she would be here. Even as she said it I knew it was a lie to calm me down I knew she wouldn't be able to be there but I didn't care it was what I needed to hear and so it was said.

I cried everyday for the first two weeks, I was moody and irrational and I wanted to send back this beautiful baby, this baby I would have sold my soul to have, I wanted my old life back. I told my doctor these things and before I had finished he stopped me and said it wasn't my fault this is chemistry not the baby or Duke or myself that I really had no control over it. He wrote me a scrip and told me that I would have to stay on the drugs until spring. I was relieved anything to stop this feeling I was having, anything so that I could look at my daughter and not feel guilt and remorse. I took the first pill and figured that was that it was up to the pills and my brain to sort out this battle and all I could do was sit back and wait. Apparently I am one of the lucky people in this world who become manic on a certain set of anti-depressants, these pills made me so high so fast it was frightening - for everyone. I immediately quit taking them (under the advice of my doctor) the other drug option for me would have impacted my ability to breastfeed (which is a whole other post/topic/beast) so I chose to wait another two weeks until my post-op appointment. I was very closely monitored during this time between Duke and my doctor and my family. By six weeks I still felt on edge all the time but I had begun to at least miss S. when I was away from her, I felt less resentment at my life being so obliterated; don't get me wrong I was still overwhelmed and distracted and quiet crazy but I at least felt like I was going to make it somehow. This went on for the next five months and it wasn't really until I quit nursing (another story another time) that I felt a tiny part of myself even out and come back to life. It wasn't until nine months after giving birth that I started to feel true joy at the tiny moments, I appreciated them but the joy wasn't there. I have embraced all of these moments but now I do so with such overwhelming joy and gratitude that I find I have tears for a different reason.

I was quiet for so many months on this blog space, how do you say that the one thing you wanted more than anything you wanted to send back. This wasn't a sweater this was a human, my tiny beautiful daughter that I would do anything for; then and now. I was embarrassed and could never find the right words, even now they don't feel adequate to fully described how it was. I am choosing now to write about this because having S. was supposed to be the biggest thing I would do for a long while and as we all know this isn't the case, I am doing another big thing in 14 weeks and I am scared this time.

I have hope that it will be different, not as scary as the first time, but I have real and true fear that it will be the same only worse because I will now have S and this new baby. The difference is that I won't be quiet about it this time; I won't sweep it under the rug and pretend all is well. I will take the time to heal and if nothing else I will lean on you, my Internet family, because whether you have crossed the bridge from infertile hell or you are still stuck on the island we all know what that fear feels like and we all know it becomes a little less when we have each other.

Goodbye Silly Girl.

*Updated*

I just want to clarify that I did not/am not taking drugs for the post partum troubles I suffered, this in no way shape or form to imply that pharmaceuticals are not helpful to some people, they were not an option for me in my case. I repeat drugs rock but only if they help you and in my case there was more harm then good. As always I am not a doctor I just play one for my family on google please consult your physician before making any decision about your health or medications you may be on. I am not advocating in any way that people should just "tough it out" when it comes to PPD or even the baby blues as stated on my about page this is my story and mine alone, I'm selfish that way.

 

I hope your sitting down....

I'm Pregnant.

How are you feeling? Do you need a glass of water? Just breathe deeply; I myself could use a whole bottle of vodka.

Are you ready for the super gut kicker...I am 9w1d. This means I conceived just days before my D&C and implantation occurred just days after. I have been feeling sick for weeks but blamed it one thing or another seeing as how I had not had sex since the D&C there was no way I could be pregnant. When I actually threw my cookies on Sunday and then again on Monday I knew something was wrong so I called the Doctor.

They told me he would not order a beta because there was such one in a billion odds that I could be pregnant, he would however test my iron and other hormone levels, the nurse called me around two on Monday and said the lab sheet was ready for me whenever. I loaded S. into the car in 100 degree weather with her pissed and me exhausted and drove all the way across town to pick up the lab sheet, I get down to the lab and they inform me that I would need to fast before being drawn.

Now totally pissed that the nurse had me drive all the way over there to turn around and drive home and come back the next day I stomped back upstairs and promptly lost my shit, I was quickly shoved ushered into an exam room and told a nurse would be with me shortly.

She came in and I just started to cry, I told her how awful I felt and that I have only ever felt this way twice and BOTH times I was pregnant. I told her I was mad that they wouldn't test me, it is my nickel after all and if I want to throw it away on a blood test what do they care? She said she would speak to Doc Bowtie and be right back with me.

I then sat there shaking, what if I was right? Could we survive another ectopic as there was no way (famous last thought) this could be viable. How stupid am I? What was I thinking? I tried to tell myself to calm down but I already had hives on my chest and was shaking. Nurse "I so don't believe you" came back into my room and told me they would do a urine test, you know just so I would calm down. I went and did my business and less than 3 minutes later she returned to the room, "The Doctor will be in to see you shortly, I'm so sorry"

I knew this meant I would have to have surgery; I am not a candidate for the methotrexate shots. I switched into emergency mode and began to try and get a hold of Duke so he could come and take S. and drop her off at his parent's. I called my work and told them I had a medical emergency and as soon as I knew how long I would be gone I would call and update them. Doc Bowtie had to run off and deliver a baby so I had to wait a little over an hour to have an ultrasound.

At this point Duke had arrived and taken S. to play down the hall so I was alone with Nurse Super Love and Doc Bowtie, we started the ultrasound and his jaw dropped, there in my uterus was a small 8w6d embryo, heart beating, arm buds waving bouncing around.

I started to hyperventilate.

This is not what we had planned and yes I do know how babies are made. Duke is over the moon with excitement and I feel lost and alone and overwhelmed. I had a horrible pregnancy with S. followed by an even worse postpartum. I am considered a threatened miscarriage again because I have been bleeding on and off.

I want to be happy, I know how special this is, we had decided within the last few weeks that we would not cycle again and instead we would just enjoy the gift we have with S. I wish I could shake this feeling that I have done something so wrong. I feel like I have robbed S. of her babyhood and irrevocably changed our lives for ever.

I feel overwhelmed and alone and sad and guilty and stupid. Then I feel even guiltier for feeling all of those things, I should be happy, I should be over the moon after all we went through to have S.

I have been trying to think of how to write this for the last two days wanting to tread carefully for those who are still in the trenches, for those who would kill to find out they were pregnant. In truth this is my space about my life, good, bad and ugly. I understand if some feel angry about how I feel, I am angry at myself for feeling this way but this is my place to be honest and so honest I will be.

I need support and maybe a hug and someone to tell me it will be okay and that I haven’t ruined everything and that it’s okay that I just want to cry and not jump up and down today, that I will get there and we will make it.

The memory never goes away.

Two weeks ago Duke and I went on a double date with a sweet couple we met about a year ago. In that year they have become good friends of ours, close friends but not the type where you have exchanged full life stories, when we met I was 22wks pregnant and H. was about 14wks along. H. and M. had decided to "try" for a baby and fell pregnant that very first month. So different from Duke's and my story that I never really felt compelled to share the road that brought me to that 22nd week.

Sometimes I forget that people don't know my story. Sometimes I minimize those three long years and the loss in my mind, I speak of them in a clinical way using medical terms and little emotion because honestly if I let the emotion come through; the hurt, the pain the gratitude, I think it would be very off-putting and a bit overwhelming.

As we were leaving the movie we were all looking at a movie poster for Burno and the tag line was 'Borat was so 2006'  As the three of them started dropping lines from the movie I couldn't think of anything to add, noticing I was quiet H. asked if I had seen the movie. I told her I had seen part of it but I had fallen asleep in the movie theater, it was out of my mouth before I could stop it. Of course she asked why and I was honest when I told her I was pregnant and sick and exhausted even though I didn't know why I felt that way at that time. H. kind of cocked her head to the side and was all, "but you just had...oh" and there it was that awkward moment where I insert a joke and try to make the other person forget that they had just stumbled onto my emotional landmine.

I can call it an ectopic instead of a baby it tends to affect people less but the only difference between those two words for me was the four inches that embryo failed to travel. For six weeks I was pregnant even though I didn't know it, I had the symptoms but thought they were all stress related, for two hours after getting the positive blood test I was on cloud nine and in a 90 minute ultrasound all of that was ended.

On the car ride home from our double date I allowed my mind to wonder back to that place to those memories, the ones that never go away.

I thought I had won.

When I first moved to Typepad Lane and rolled out my welcome mat I was a young bright eyed infertile hoping to meet some other ladies in the same saddle er, stirrup.

Then I finally became pregnant with a viable pregnancy. I was going to have a baby (yes I was borderline smug and bitchy) I had won, I had kicked my stubborn, un-agreeable, downright mean reproductive (or unproductive) bits into submission and while they did not go quietly they did their job. I had a real live healthy baby and I was almost smitten with my lady garden. For the first time in 11 years we were on the same page. I figured we would go our separate ways, well as separate as you can when you are all wrapped up in the same annoying, pretty package.

I was so wrong.

It started about thirty days after the c-section, I had my first period. 30 days.On.The.Dot. Even though I was breastfeeding AROUND THE FREAKING CLOCK. I thought it was a fluke, it couldn't be real,  I had more carefree time coming my way after all I was breastfeeding (!) (I could write a book on that one) then thirty days later I had it again and again. It was weird and yet strangely familiar, unlike dealing with the squalling infant that left the hospital with me I knew how to deal with Red.

Red was different at first I thought maybe she was just working out the kinks after her long absence, stretching her legs and reacquainting me with the routine. The second and third months were also different, longer, odd, and more painful. I started to think maybe this was going to be the new normal and that is when month four hit me harder than a Mack truck without brakes.

The pain alone was enough to leave me laying on the bathroom floor head buried in a towel wondering if I had any pain killers left from the c-section, I had to change my clothes, sheets, SHOES but after NINE days it was gone leaving only it's memory and a cotton bill that rivals the national deficit.

When Red came to visit for month five she brought her friend Spot along. Spotting in the middle of the month has always meant my cervix is on fire, in need of attention. I don't mess with the spotting, weird bleeding when I am supposed to be bleeding is one thing, random "Oh jeez I guess white was a bad idea even though I should be golden for at least another 12-15 days" bleeding is reason to pick up the phone and make an appointment for the stirrups.

To say I was shocked when Doc (I can't remember his nickname at the moment) told me my cervix looked lovely (What the...) is synonymous with GM having a few extra cars sitting around. So I scheduled a sonohysterogram (SHG) for the following week. Dr. Google had already informed me that nothing was wrong; I was insane or possibly pregnant. For the record I am cool with insanity as pregnant without third party help isn't going to happen. So I showed up for my SHG and after taking a pregnancy (snicker with me won't you?) test we got down to brass tacks. All in all the SHG took a bit longer than the HSG but with less pressure...more leaking, less sticky. It only took about four seconds for me to know this was not going to go my way.

Hanging off of every available surface were these stalactite things, knobby and long and ugly. My lining was measuring 18 instead of 7-9. Double? How did this happen? The last time I saw my Ute this close without a baby inside, it was so pretty and calm, the one part of my reproductive posse to always behave, the shiny Breck girl among us. Now I felt betrayed and surprised and sad. Oh so very sad, one more thing to add to my gynecological resume.

Uterine Polyps

Altogether not a big deal, ya know if they don't end up being cancerous because that is one of the few things not on my resume yet. To be clear I have no reason to believe that the polyps are or will be cancerous. I am just PISSED that my body is failing me AGAIN. Doc (can't remember his nickname) told me to go home a talk to Duke and decide if I want more children because a hysterectomy may be the best route.

Hold the fucking phone. I am twenty-nine, a hysterectomy?!?!? Do I want another child? I don't even know what I want to be when I grow all the way up or what I want for breakfast or if I even want breakfast, maybe I will just have coffee.

I did the only thing possible I left the office and cried. Hard. Then I called Doc (super amazing and can't remember his nickname either, delivered S.) for a second opinion. After he talked me off the ledge we decided that the best course would be Surgical Hysteroscopy and D&C.

Joy.

As long as everything goes well I get to keep my body parts, and I get a guaranteed nap. Surgery is set for the 24Th, AM style.

An update of sorts

I apologize for my lack of updates; all is well and quiet for the most part in the kingdom. My Nanna took a very nasty fall that landed her in the ICU last week so last weekend Duke and I drove to Portland Saturday night so I could see her on Sunday. She has a shattered pelvis, broken ribs, a broken cheek bone and two separate brain bleeds that seem to have stopped on their own. She has a comfort measures only DNR and it is more than likely she will never leave the hospital. I have a lot to say about my Nanna (I know this may seem spelled wrong but in my family we spelled it Nanna and instead of Grandpa we call him Poppa) but that will be saved for another day.

I had my first regular OB appointment on Monday and as of last Saturday there has been no more bleeding - nothing! I was worried it would start again after my exam and cultures were done but there was absolutely nothing. Puking however continues to be my favorite and only pastime. I have lost about 14 pounds and this is with eating every two hours. However with that being said I can no longer button my regular pants...they are loose everywhere except my lower abdomen SO I stole Duke's jeans and while they are a little big they pass as acceptable for the time being and they are made by seven which are like my old ones.

So all in all the last week has been a little bad a little good and a lot of normal life which is a relief. Duke and I are going on vacation for 10 days starting on Tuesday, first we start with three days in Miami at this hotel and then we head to Cancun and 7 wonderful days at this resort. I am not sure the laptop situation but if I can I will update.

Have a happy Friday and a wonderful weekend.