Sugar Withdrawal

So first of all – thank you everyone. Your comments on my last post were amazing.

Things have been slowly sinking in, today being the first day of the new GD regimen. Here are some conclusions, pardon the bullets:

• Always read instructions on your glucose meter. It took me 5 pricks to get a reading this morning, all because I thought the nurse’s training was enough, and I didn’t bother to read the meter instructions. It was a bloodbath. A funny, comedy of errors type of bloodbath, but a bloodbath nonetheless. My fingers don’t like me anymore as a result.

• Squish pointed out some smart things to me yesterday (that were echoed in the comments). This is exactly the type of control-freaky stuff that I love. I have numbers and regimens to deal with, and that totally feeds into my control-freak nature. So that’s a plus. I have numbers to obsess over! Yay! Or something!

• When I mentioned the increased C-Section rate with GD to her, Squish wisely pointed out that since my last labor and birth were traumatic beyond words, maybe something that is the polar opposite (i.e. a C-Section rather than a natural birth) would be a good experience for us. Even healing. It’s not that I want a C-Section, in fact, that’s one of the things I LEAST WANT EVER. But thinking about it that way makes that option feel far less daunting. Does that make any sense?

• This actually means I get to see my high-risk OB more often. That means more cervix measurements and ultrasounds. That is always a good thing in my book.

• I did A LOT of reading and asked A LOT of questions yesterday. I was purposefully looking for things that would endanger B5. I wanted to know the worst-case scenario. I now understand that the worst-case scenario here isn’t that bad. As long as I manage this, she should be fine. All the warnings I saw were only if the condition went untreated, and I plan on treating the hell out of it. I’ve never looked so hard for disaster ever without finding it. This time I didn’t find it. So that is a huge relief.

• I really need to wrap my head around this viability thing. I’m still acting and thinking as if we haven’t hit that point. I’m still feeling like things could easily go terribly wrong, even though the odds are way more in our favor this time. I’m hoping this will go away in time, because I’m sick and tired of being terrified.

• I don’t think I realized just how much sugar and how many carbs I was ingesting in a given day. I thought that at least in the last month or so I started eating healthier. I was wrong.

• Sugar withdrawal is a bitch. Seriously. I’ve been craving sweet stuff all day. And B5 has been much less active today as things even out. I even pulled out the doppler at one point because she was too still for my tastes. I guess we both have to get used to this no-sugar thing.

• Three months and I can have chocolate again. Only three months.

• I bought the “I’m With Stupid” maternity shirt last night, as sort of a “fuck you universe” statement. It is officially the first true piece of maternity clothing I have ever purchased (I’ve been making due with tunics, stretchy dresses and plus-size). I hope nothing explodes or catches fire as a result. I’ll keep you guys posted.

• GD sucks, but I think we’ll manage.

 

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It’s Official

As of yesterday, I officially have Gestational Diabetes. Got my glucose monitor and all that fun stuff today.

I don’t even know how to react at this point.

Apart from being fucking terrified as usual, I mostly I feel guilt, because everyone was concerned this would happen. They tried to be tactful about it but the fact is this happened because I’m fat.

I can’t even describe the amount of guilt and self-flagellation going on in my head right now.

I’m hurting my baby and this time it is my fault.  Yes, I’ve been on bed rest for the last three months. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t have the chance to shut my effing mouth and just eat less.

I fucking hate this.

Urgh

Just found out that I got a 169 on my 1 hour glucose tolerance test.  Of course I did.

I hate this. I feel like a beached whale and there’s barely anything I can do about it. And now I have to go in for the 3 hour test.

And considering we’ve always fallen on the ass-end of statistics, I’m thinking it’s not a stretch to believe that I’ll fail that one too and I’ll have Gestational Diabetes to contend with.

Ugh. Just urgh.

Why Do I Keep Counting

The last year or so, there’s this thing I find myself doing constantly.

Math.

When I look at a mother and child on TV or in real life, and I hear both their ages, I automatically subtract and start judging.

“She was 28 when she had her first baby”

“She was 23…”

And so forth.

I can’t let go of it. I can’t let go of the fact that I have been on this path for three years. That if this pregnancy lasts, I will be a couple of weeks shy of my 33rd birthday when I have this baby.

I was supposed to be thirty for my first. Just barely thirty.

I rarely talk about my long-term goals when it comes to kids because the first one still seems out of reach. But the truth is, I wanted 3 kids, and now, I don’t know if that’s ever going to happen. With bed rest and me already being 2 years shy of advanced maternal age. We already needed clom.id to get this pregnancy, who knows what trouble we face if we want to get pregnant again. If I make it through this pregnancy, who knows how hard it will be to achieve and sustain a second one, let alone a third. I also promised myself and Shmerson at least a two year break if we make it through this pregnancy.

And I can’t ignore the fact that if all goes well, I’m going to be a first time mom at 33. That’s a helluva lot later than I was planning.

These last three years have taken my body, they’ve taken my identity, and they’ve taken my dream of a big family.

Women I started blogging with are already thinking about TTC number two and I’m still here, fighting to hang on to what will hopefully be number one.

And three years have gone just fighting for this.

I wish I didn’t feel the need to compare. I wish I didn’t feel like I was losing a race.

But I do feel that way, and I can’t seem to shake it.

I can’t seem to stop counting.

The Double-Edged ‘V’ Word

Ok – I never thought that viability would be a clear-cut transition, as in one minute I’m an anxiety ball and the next the queen of zen. That didn’t happen and I didn’t expect it to.

Yeah – today we reached viability. Yesterday we had our second Level II scan.

And how am I feeling? Weird.

Seriously.

Your comments on my last post kind of shook me, I admit.

Don’t get me wrong – I am unendingly grateful for your support but they were all so cheery. It scared the crap out of me. Am I really ready to be cheery?

There’s a huge part of me that is feeling better. But that’s what’s scary. Feeling better means getting more attached. Getting more attached means having more at stake if something were (FSM forbid) to go wrong.

Shmerson is now more anxious than ever.  He’s been hovering and scolding me to take it easy. And me…? Weird. Weird is the word.

I still can’t visualize a positive outcome, but I’m visualizing a negative one less often, and that’s huge for me. But then each time I dare myself to see something good, I retreat back into emotional detachment out of complete terror.

But again – this feeling is SO WEIRD you guys. The truth is I don’t know how I feel, and I guess that’s how it’ll be for a while.

I guess I’m drawing a new calendar now – counting till 28 weeks. Maybe by then my emotions will be able to sort themselves out.

In other news, B5 is doing just fine, and that is, truly and without cynicism, a miracle.

Oh – and the doc wrote “difficulty with examination due to obesity” on the scan results. That kind of sucked.

Hey! There are two emotions right there! Guilt about being a beached whale and awe at the fact that there is definitely a non-alien (10 fingers and 10 toes! We counted!)  camping out in my ute.

That’s a start I suppose.

A Shift

Today I’m 23 weeks, 3 days.

That’s 4 days away from viability.

There’s a little chalk board hanging outside my kitchen, and about a month ago I drew a calendar on it, which ends on May 14th, with the 14th circled in yellow chalk. I’ve been blocking out the days left. Somewhere after my last post, I stopped blocking them out.

After all “viability” is really just an arbitrary date, kind of like the due date. Viability doesn’t happen ON the day, it kind of happens around it. During my blogging black out, I was emailing back and forth with a few women who had stories similar to mine. One thing they kept on saying was that there were three major places where things distinctly started to feel better: the day after the day everything went wrong last time, viability, and 28 weeks.

For me, everything went wrong just a week and two days short of viability, so I’m starting to find that for all intents and purposes, those two dates kind of blended into each other.

I go to a high-risk OB once every two weeks. He’s really ok with seeing me once a month because that’s the frequency he usually sees women with preventive cerclages, but I asked for every two weeks to ease my mind and he obliged. He’s cool like that.

So yesterday I had another appointment with him. Usually I get nervous before these appointments. Yesterday things were different. I felt anticipation, not nerves.

I at first chalked it up to the fact that Shmerson and I had decided to take my short parole and use it as an excuse to go see “Iron Man 3″ and grab some dinner after the appointment since the mall is so close to the high-risk OB. Now I’m not so sure that it was simply looking forward to a few hours of freedom.

I go into the nurse’s office to get weighed in and see that I’ve gained another whopping 4 pounds. My blood pressure is taken and I see that the nurse uses the “fat cuff”. However, I manage to forgive myself and am happy to note that this is the lowest BP reading I’ve had since I started going to the high-risk clinic (my BP is always a bit on the high side).

Then we go into the high-risk OB’s office and I have a date with la wanda to check out my cervix. He pronounces that it’s nice an long and that everything looks “perfectly gorgeous”. He takes a look at B5 too and pronounces her “568 grams and just fine”. She has her back to us in the U/S so we don’t get to see much, but that’s ok.

Then, on his way back to the desk he says the following words: “Yep, I think you are going to be just fine this time around. “

As in – everything is looking good. I think this is your take-home baby.

At every single doctor’s appointment until now – with him, with a second opinion guy I saw about a month and a half ago, with the Russian – they’ve all kept the same line: “I think you’re fine, but I can’t see the future, and I can’t make any promises.”

And here we are – “I think you’re fine.” With no caveat. With no “but”.

I’m not taking this doc’s word as gospel, but he is a high-risk OB. He’s been around the block so-to-speak. As he said what he said I thought: “Hmm. So this is what viability feels like.”

When Shmerson and I walked out of the clinic, I couldn’t help but high-five him. Something about all of this made it feel like an accomplishment.

When we got to the mall, Shmerson started acting a bit weird. I asked him what was going on with him as I was waiting for my bubble tea to be made and he said that it was as if all of the tension of the last six months was washing over him at once. Like something had come loose.

Then we went into the theater. I kind of let my mind wander for the fist 20 minutes or so of the movie. Then something weird happened. I started having butterflies in my stomach. I felt like someone was giving me electric shock. The thought literally hit me like a ton of bricks: “We might actually have a baby at the end of this. A real, live baby.”

Of course panic set in right after. Then I let it all wash over me and sunk into the movie.

After the movie, over burgers, I described the moment to Shmerson. He was shocked. “You mean that never occurred to you before this? You never thought this would end in a baby?”

“Not really. Not in such a real sense. I guess I was just really emotionally detached from it all. “

He was in shock. I guess he didn’t know how serious my isolation and depression have been. I don’t blame him. I truly think the depth of it is a bit hard to fathom.

Then I said: “If B5 actually comes out of this healthy, I think my head might explode.”

Pretty much sums it up.

Of course today I’m more or less back to where I was a few days ago, but yes – I think there has been a shift. Yesterday, for the first time, I let hope sneak in. Just a little bit. It’s a scary feeling. But it’s there.

Next thing you know I’ll find myself ordering an “I’m with stupid” maternity shirt.

Ok probably not. Let’s not go overboard. I’m getting a panic attack just sharing yesterday’s events, so probably not any time soon.

One step at a time, I guess.

This is How Deep it Goes

Today I’m 22 weeks, 6 days. Officially the longest I’ve ever been pregnant.

I was talking to ABD today when I let myself actually speak for a bit as if B5 is actually going to arrive safe and sound in 15 – 18 weeks.

It was nice.

But then I hung up and immediately started to freak out that I may have jinxed it. I was very close to a panic attack before I managed to talk myself down.

Anybody else go through this? Does it ever get easier?

Grrrr.

Randomness – Or – The Return of Bullets and Bunnies? Why the Heck Not

• Too many things racing around my head tonight, so bullets it is! I may even add a bunny at the end for old time’s sake. 

• So mommyodyssey.com has officially been sniped and put up for sale for an obscene amount of money. That’s what I get for not renewing on time, I guess. I’m just hoping that everyone is finding the wordpress address again without any problems.

• I feel like a frickin beached whale. I’m 22 weeks, 1 day and I have gained THIRTY POUNDS during this pregnancy so far. I’m officially the heaviest I’ve ever been and it’s scary because I’m finding it harder to lug around this body. I’ve started seeing a dietician but I’m really scared of the extra weight causing more problems like GD and high blood pressure. Never mind that if by some miracle I make it to term I will be a giant. And I’m only 5″3, that’s saying something. I’m afraid of becoming as wide as I am tall. I know I should go easy on myself because of bed rest and all that. But seriously. I am huge. And I hate it. And yet I’m too depressed and at risk to really be proactive about anything except cutting down on sugar. Urgh.

• One of my best friends just had a baby with his partner via donor egg and surrogate, and he brought her over to meet me today. He’s probably reading this so I hope it doesn’t make him feel bad – but on some level meeting his beautiful girl made me sad. Usually I embrace babies and just crush on them like crazy and that makes me feel better. This time it didn’t work. I couldn’t help but look at her and feel how far away my own baby girl feels for me right now. I hope reading this doesn’t make him not bring her around again. Because I still love her to bits and want to see her as much as I can. I didn’t realize how sad I was until after they left. ABD don’t be mad I didn’t share that with you today. I love you both like crazy,

• Everybody keeps reminding me how ridiculously close to viability I am right now. But the thing is the closer I get, the farther away it feels. Does that make any sense? I lost Nadav 1 week and two days before viability. So the closer I get, the more dangerous and precarious everything feels.

• I think this is what gets me most: I know I was scared last time, but deep down I truly believed Nadav would arrive safely. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Now I feel like believing that B5 will get here safe and sound somehow jinxes it. So I can’t let myself even dream about that. Does that make any sense?

• I hate this so so effing much. Seriously. Can someone knock me out for the next couple of weeks? That would make things so much easier.

Here’s a bunny to end on a nicer note. This one always makes me laugh:

 

On Being a Bad Fortune Cookie Joke

First a couple of notes: My domain default is now set back to mommyodyssey.wordpress.com, so anybody who was having problems getting to my last post through their email and/or commenting –  hopefully that will no longer be a problem. Hopefully I’ll have my old domain back soon enough… In the meantime, if you’re still having problems, please contact me so I can work out the kinks. Thanks!

Second: Thank you! The positive outpouring from my last post has been overwhelming. You guys rock.

Now back to our regularly scheduled blog post.

I guess it’s time for a “head space” update, since I’ve been away for so long.

So most of you know how it goes. You open up a fortune cookie, read the fortune, and tack the words “in bed” at the end of it, because – you know – that’s funny and stuff. (That’s what she said.)

So to demonstrate: You will have a great windfall… In bed. Bend the rod while it is still hot… In bed. And so forth. So that’s been my life for the last 9-ish weeks (is that all really? It feels like so much longer).

Ok that’s not exactly true. I’m on modified bed rest. Which basically means I can do some stuff. And I don’t really have to stay in bed. It’s more like couch rest, really (but that’s not nearly as catchy). However, that doesn’t make me any less stir crazy. I can’t cook, clean, or do laundry. I leave the house on average once every two weeks for a doctor’s appointment. I think the couch is already taking on a nice little indentation of my butt. So that’s awesome.

I lucked out because I spent the first third of my pregnancy securing long-term content clients, so I have plenty of work to keep me busy. The problem is it doesn’t keep me distracted from the SHEER TERROR. Because seriously guys, I’m terrified. Constantly. And I love this little girl already so much that it hurts. And the thought that I can still lose her paralyzes me.

I’ve also been really detached from friends and family. I don’t call people much or text or do much of anything, because I just feel like on one hand, I don’t want to talk about what I’m going through, and on the other hand that’s all I can think about so I can’t really talk about anything else.

And watching TV or movies isn’t working well to distract either. We even bought a new Xbox and that’s not making a dent in distracting me from the sheer terror. So that’s fun.

So everything I’ve done in the last 9 weeks has only really been done with about 25% of my brain power, because I can’t stop thinking about how scary all of this is, and about how everything can go wrong in a matter of seconds. That’s where 75% of my brain power is right now. If not more.

Just don’t tell my clients. That would be baaaaad.

Eff This

I spent two years building and nurturing this space. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I want to abandon it after all.

But heed this oh ALIers, I will not take any shit from anyone. If one person dares to make a bitter comment I will unceremoniously serve you with a can of whoop-ass. I don’t quite know how to whoop ass virtually but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

Yes, I am pregnant. I am also terrified. I’ve spent the last two months on modified bed rest. I’m now two and a half weeks away from viability. I am now a week away from the date I lost Nadav. I am having daily panic attacks.

I cry when people ask “how are you”. This is how bad things are. So if anybody dare question my pain and difficulty, step away now. I don’t want you to read this. I don’t want you to read anything I write because you are an insensitive selfish asshole.

Seriously, go away.

Everyone else, feel free to hang around. Or come back. or whatever. I don’t know how often I’ll post here now, but I do know that things are getting really hard around here, and some bloggy venting certainly won’t hurt. And this is where I would like to do it.

So if there’s anybody still out there, welcome back. I hope you stick around for a while.

Unless you’re a bitter asshole who can’t handle the fact that I’m pregnant and freaking out about it. In that case I really want you to go away. Comments are fully moderated for the time being, so it won’t even get you the attention you may be seeking.

Ok good. Point made. Hi there everyone!

**Edit for a technical note**

My domain name needs renewing, so for the time being find me at the wordpress.com URL. Hopefully I’ll get that sorted soon. In the meantime, hope it’s not messing too much up.

Moving On

Two weeks ago this blog turned two years old. At the time, it occurred to me that I probably should write something to commemorate the occasion, but nothing came to mind.

That’s when it hit me that it may be time for a change, and I started to think about the future of this space.

I realized that the reason I no longer write here is because this space doesn’t feel like it’s mine anymore.

I think this is because of few reasons. The first is the perceived etiquette and expectations that come with being a part of the ALI  community. Part of being in this community, as amazing as it is, is that there are certain conformities that you end up feeling obligated to adhere to. There is an unspoken sense that if you don’t adhere to this etiquette you will face a backlash. We don’t talk about it, but it’s there. Another issue is the “obligation” to update constantly about your cycles and treatments. I no longer feel te need to do those things, and that need to over-share is more than met on the podcast.

I admit I also have another underlying issue. A while ago I wrote here about rubber necking, and how for every three readers who come in to show you support,  with a history like mine, there will always be one looky-loo that comes here to see how far your train has gone off the rails.

This space is burdened with my history. I am in a place in my life right now where I have to look forward in order to survive and to maintain my sanity. I think the heavy weight that Nadav had left on this place doesn’t allow for that. For every person that comes here seeking out my successes, there is another who checks to see if I have failed yet. That may follow me to my new blog, but I know I will feel less burdened by it there.

This isn’t an indictment of this community. It’s human nature at its core. I’ve been guilty of that myself. Because of that I am acutely aware of this happening, and this knowledge, coupled with my history, makes it impossible to truly look ahead here.

I have been in the trenches for three years now, and blogging for two. Most of the women who I started this journey with have long since moved on to pregnancy and parenting. For me, a pregnancy is not the happy ending, and a happy ending has yet to come. I’m still fighting, but the fight has taken on a new shape, one that no longer feels like it fits into this community’s norms. Though I love the support that women in the ALI blogosphere show each other, I hate the pettiness that rears its ugly head here on occasion. The territorial nature that this community has taken on in the last year, also disturbs me.

And I’m going to be truly blunt about things, because you all know I never mince words: I am over it. Seriously. I’m sick of obsessing over pee sticks and temps. I just want to move on with my life.

And there’s Nadav. Always Nadav. Because of this space, my son left an impression on this world. That is because of all of you, and I am forever grateful for that. But this space is truly his. It is heavy with the weight of him. Blogging about anything else here has seemed petty and wrong to me. It never quite rang true. I have decided that I will respect that this place has become his. I would like it to stay that way.

So, my dear friends, I am moving on. I will not delete this space, but I will no longer update it. I will leave my ties to the ALI community at the podcast, which fulfills my own OCD needs and hopefully helps a few others on the way. I will leave everything else to the new space that I have created. I hope to reclaim my voice there.This new space will not be announced on the LFCA. It will not go on the Stirrup Queens’ blog roll. It will not have a TTC timeline, and my bio will not be made up of my medical history. Because I am so much more than that. And it’s time I start to rediscover it.

Fair warning: I will also not be sticking to the accepted ALI ettiquette. I will not worry about triggers or jealousies. I will not use abbreviations, I will not be updating it with the minutia of my lady parts. I want the “normals” to read it without feeling like they’re reading a foreign language. I want to write it not for any audience, but for myself. Though I reserve the right to stir up trouble there whenever I feel like it.

So please feel free to follow me there, but do so at your own risk, because it will be unapologetic.

If you don’t choose to come, I will not be hurt. I hope you continue to follow me on the podcast and subscribe to that blog and twitter feed to stay updated about new episodes, because I will probably not be updating my new space when a new ep is published.

This isn’t me abandoning this community. It’s simply reframing my relationship with it, something that has been a long time coming.

As I close up this, my final post on this blog, I’d like to thank each and every one of you. You held me up when my world collapsed. I would not have survived the last two years without you. I hope to see you around in my new digs, and on the podcast blog.

Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for loving my Nadav. Thank you for reading.

Love,

Mo

Episode 15!

Episode 15!

Our guest seriously blew my mind this week. Happy listening!

Episode 14!

Episode 14!

Happy listening everyone!

Finally

Some good news to report for a change!
HSG was clear. Ole’ righty is alive and tubing.
Thank FSM.
Oh, and unlike the last time, it wasn’t even that painful.
Score one for the Shmersons!

Episode 13!

Episode 13!

Happy listening!

In other news, HSG is scheduled for Thursday. I’ll check in with an update when I’ve got one.

Episode 12!

Episode 12!

Happy listening everybody!

Oh – and for those curious, I am indeed NOT one of those annoying women who get knocked up after one cycle of clom.id.

Just sitting around waiting for the red lady to sing.

FML

Episode 11

Episode 11

happy listening!

Do You Have What it Takes to Be a Bitter Infertile?

Do You Have What it Takes to Be a Bitter Infertile?

Click on the link to find out!

Episode 10!

Far lighter than episode nine, I promise.

Happy listening – and for all you US Americans out there – GO VOTE!

 

Episode 10!.

Episode 9

Episode 9.