Validation of Insanity

Yesterday I received my order of two pairs of maternity jeans that I bought on sale from Ann Taylor Loft. ::shaking my head wondering what I was thinking::

They cost me a whopping $8.42 (for both pairs, including free shipping). I hope I get to wear them to death soon. Until then, they will be hidden away with the unused maternity clothes, baby clothes, formula, books, and bags.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Kekis is crazy, too.

I need a secretary to take dictation.

I've had it.

Go the bathroom (or insert a catheter), get some popcorn (or a couple of meals), pour a cold drink (or ten), & let's see if I can get this down. I don't even know how to type all this crap out now. I need to get it out so I don't go completely insane and to help me remember when I do go nuts. Plus, I need the reminder in case I ever consider talking Dr. G&D ever, ever, ever again. Before I forget - I called the RE to whom I had been referred by friends and the first available appointment is at the end of February (aka as another cycle gone).

After the first call from Dr. G&D's office, my cell phone rings again. Two more times. While my class is taking a test! (Thank goodness for the vibrate ringer.) Dr. G&D wanted to at least do a phone consult with me. They asked if he could call me at 3:45. Sure. WTH.

So, the office calls AGAIN --- remember, they are efficient --- and when I call back, Dr. G&D is there to talk with me. I think he had enough sense to know that I am pissed at him and he is not my friend anymore. (I've been on the playground with the kids too much lately.) I was VERY short in my responses and my monotone voice showed my curtness, not courtesy.

Bottom line: I do not have a bicornuate uterus. I repeat, I do not have a bicornuate uterus. I do not have a septate uterus. I repeat, I do not have a septate uterus. WTF????? I'll be using a lot of quotation marks from here as I quote exactly what I wrote down while talking to Dr. G&D.

The HSG report showed "bicornuate uterus suspected." The MRI results "were not consistent with a bicornuate uterus or a septate uterus." He said on more than one occasion that my "uterine cavity is not normal." In looking at the HSG and MRI, Dr. G&D said that it appears there is a :uterine fibroid in the fundus (top) of the uterus." Another fibroid? And why is that damn thing STILL THERE? Didn't I just have surgery just 60 days ago to get all that crap out of my bum ute? I digress . . .

Dr. G&D also says that this is probably the only reason I'm having difficulty; that basically nothing else points to my losses. (I think he's more concerned than I am about WHY I've lost three babies. I've had to write off getting those answers to prevent me being taken away by the nice men with a three-armed white jacket.) I digress again . . . I responded, "Well, that and the MTHFR." He then states that "MTHFR by itself is not associated with an increase in miscarriage." Oh really, Sherlock? That's not what the research I've read offers. Through my research and talking with other women who have the MTHFR mutation, I beg to differ. Actually, I won't beg. I know that can't be true. There's just no effing way.

Then comes the suggestion that "we need to address the fibroid." As in send it a postcard? As in I need to send invitations to everyone for another hooha party? Dr. G&D vacillates between the facts that (1) I'm running out of time, (2) the fibroid needs to be "addressed", and (3) I need to get pregnant. I try multiple times to figure out what exactly he's talking about, and I begin to wonder if he even knows. (Funny that I would question that - AGAIN.) When I asked him what options he means, he says that it needs to be "addressed either abdominally or hysteroscopically." I think he's talking surgery. Again. The fourth in less than two years. Me = not happy. Still.

He continued to vacillate more than a cheap, old, metal fan with rust on it at your Meemaw's 100 year old house. He said that I could get pg, and if I "made it past 8 to 10 weeks" then things would probably be okay. How reassuring! I always spot in the sixth week of pregnancy (6w3d to be specific) and have miscarriages in the eighth week, so gosh, let's try the pg crapshoot again. I finally tell him that "I am getting mixed messages here. Are you saying that I need to get pg or have surgery?" I need one or the other. He finally says it - "Surgery."

Then I'm getting even more angry. I told him (while choking back tears because I cry when I don't scream) that "I wish I would've known this before the end of last year. I spent close to 1/10 of my annual salary last year, and this is STILL NOT FIXED." His heartfelt response? "I'm sorry." Asshole. That's just not enough. I then told him I needed to speak with my husband and ended the phone conversation.

Crying, I leave everything behind at school (and you have no idea HOW BEHIND I am right now) & trying not to completely lose my shit. For the bajillionth time in the past 22ish months, I have my personal cryfest in the car. I curse at people, I cry, and then the phone rings. It's DH. He knows I'm upset, so I tell him I talked to Dr. G&D and I'm not happy. We can talk when I get home.

Continuing on my quest, I call Dr. Terrific's office & leave a message with "Nurse Excellent" (Dr. T's wonderful, excellent, empathetic nurse) that I need to speak with Dr. T. She calls me back within twenty minutes and is not happy to hear what Dr. G&D said. When I mentioned surgery, Nurse E said, "Why don't you let Dr. T do it if it has to be done?" I hadn't thought of that. I told Nurse E that I will be contacting Dr. G&D's office on Monday to get all of my files together. "I want all reports, charts, films, and (party) pics. It's my uterus, and it will become a part of my uterine briefcase now." She wholeheartedly agreed. I'm going to become Rain Man after all by keeping my "red, severe injury book".

So . . . the next part of this screwed up story is a consult with Dr. T on Wednesday. If he can get me through this, get us pregnant, keep us pregnant, deliver us a precious little baby, and up my Prozac dosage in the meantime, then we might have a plan. He's my main man anyway.

Aannnnddd - SCENE.

The Great Debate Inside My Head

So when we do get pregnant again (notice NO IFs there), will we tell people? Part of me says, "YES!" and part of me says, "NO WAY!" My DH has always been of the mindset to keep it quiet for a while. I've had a hard time doing that but have also learned through experience it's not such a bad thing.

Some people were excited with our first pg, but not like I thought they'd be since we got pg on our honeymoon with our first bfp only two weeks after our wedding date. Our second one, the few people that did know were nervous while also trying to be hopeful. The third pg, not many people even knew about because it happened so fast. There are many people in my immediate circle of family, friends, and colleagues that have no idea I've lost more than one baby.

I'm tired of being the one who not only lets people know we're pregnant but let's them know when we're not. I've spent the past year doing that. I'm tired of being the person who constantly updates people with the bad news in her life. I'm tired of people looking at me dumbfounded because they don't know what to say - again. I'm tired of people knowing that I'm on pins & needles waiting for the axe to fall. So far it always has, so why wouldn't it again? I just feel like I've become "that person" who people avoid so they don't have to always hear sad stories and bad news.

The other part of me thinks of how much fun it would be to wait until after we've made it through the first tri. I mean not telling ANYONE. It would be a fun little secret just between the two of us. A fun little secret that would be ours - our baby. We could surprise people and actually show them pictures of our BABY (not just a speck on an u/s). How fun would that be? I even have some fun ideas on how to do it.

However, people often figure out pregnancy. Anyone who knows me knows that I like to get my drink on. Not drinking at happy hour is a definite bust for me. Yeah, I know all the ways to get around not drinking, but how long would that fly? How would I be able to hide m/s - especially as a teacher? What if I have a medical question and need to call my mom, the nurse? What if I'm scared and need my sister? And what if, God forbid, we lost another one? Where would that awesome support system of mine be?

So, the great debate continues . . . but only inside my head and on this blog for now. Hopefully I'll have the opportunity to exercise the "to tell or not to tell" decision soon.