Monday, September 29, 2008

Bring on the apples and honey!

Tonight begins the two day observance of Rosh Hoshanah, the Jewish new year.

Tomorrow, I'm off to see the pharmacologist. After my regular therapy appointment.

Let us hope this next year brings some peace for all of us, my dear friends. I know I could not have made it this far without you.

May it be a good and sweet new year.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Losing Track

I can't thank you all enough for your love and support this week. It means a lot to know that you are there, walking with me, and holding my hand, holding me up. I don't really have the words to say it, other than thank you.

Edited to add: Thanks to Tash for posting this. It's how I felt with your love and support.

Our grief counselor from the local hospital called me today to check up on us. I was sleeping (nice thing about depression, you get your rest - WHMS) and got the message a half an hour later. We haven't seen her since June, I think, or maybe it was July... No, it was June, right before C defended his Diss. We were stuck in the hospital during a tornado threat.

It makes sense that she'd call today, the 25th, though I don't know if she did it on purpose. The 25th. Nine months. Or is it 10? No, it's nine months since my water broke. We were scared, but still pretty much in denial on the 25th. JK's dad died on that day, too.

It was on the 26th that reality hit, and hard. JK's birthday, too. On the 26th we got confirmation of what the doctor suggested. We got the falling leaf on our door. We got transferred to the big city hospital.

On the 26th of September, last year, I was puking my guts out. I had spent that weekend "praying to the porcelain god" as I put it in an email to JK, then. Wednesday of that week was the 26th, the heartbeat ultrasound. 8am. I puked 3 times before we got to the RE's for our appointment. (Once behind a S.teak & Shake off the highway at 7:45am -- not pretty).

Considering all my nausea, I felt pretty sure we'd see at least one heartbeat. I wasn't too worried, and I was distracted because of the way I was feeling physically. I was hoping I could get a shot of something to help with the nausea, since I had thrown up the Zo.fran on the way to his office.

We showed up for our appointment and got right down to business. The size of each sac was good, and hey, see that blinking? And that over there? There are the heartbeats. Two of them. Good rates, too. 85% chance of each surviving now. C was speechless.

Yeah, that's great, Doc, can I have some drugs please? Something so I won't puke so much? I had looked forward to the appointment, expecting to be teary and excited. Don't get me wrong, I was really pleased, but really, I expected them to be okay. Somehow, from the week before, I knew they'd be okay, that it was going to work out. I just wanted to stop throwing up.

The doctor sent me to a local medical center to get fluids and IV Zo.fran, and the nurse there told me that she was sick during her entire first pregnancy and had a healthy baby at the end of it. Once the fluids and drugs started working, I was making jokes about how I was only 6 and a half weeks along and my kids were already sucking the life out of me. Hah hah. Isn't that funny. Yeah.

A year ago, I was miserable, physically, but excited. Hopeful.

Now, I'm physically fine, but miserable. Trying to find hope. Not really succeeding.

Did you know yesterday was National Punctuation Day? Someone said that to me at school, that it was NPD, and all I could do was bite my tongue about how perfect it was that I had just gotten my period.

Yeah, yesterday was CD1. I hesitate to say that, aside from the fact that, well, readers, what do you care? And, also, I don't like the idea that it might be suggested that my emotional breakdown the other day was brought on just by hormones. Since my pregnancy, I've been having a lot of pms -- lots of physical symptoms and I've been pretty emotional in the days preceding my period. Symptoms I've only had in relatively mild form in the past.

On Tuesday I had an extremely rough therapy session. Combined with this major depression I've been developing. And then there's the grief. And the reliving of the fall and reminders everywhere of what I had last year. All I went through and how I'm right back where I started with nothing but pain and frustration. More doubts about school. While the class I'm teaching is going better, I'm not nearly as focused on my own studies as I should be. Not nearly.

So, Tuesday. Yeah, so I was talking with S, my shrink, about how I was feeling and we were talking about how I seemed to be punishing myself, how I seemed to be holding on to all this pain. Not moving through, not moving forward with it, but stuck, holding it. We talked about what I went through last year, how I felt when I was pregnant. How I was excited, but anxious. Scared to death of having twins. How would we do it. How physically miserable I was, but how it seemed like things were falling into place: family, school, marriage. Getting what I wanted.

The words that stick out for me from Tuesday: a 20-week panic attack. I think my anxiety may have made the sickness worse. I made mistakes. I didn't get taken care of. I couldn't take my pills. Or I did, but puked them up. I missed some of my love.nox doses. I didn't demand good care. I didn't go to a high risk OB (except the peri). I wanted to believe that things weren't as hard as they were. I pushed myself physically.

I was ambivalent. I had moments where I thought, I just want to eat something. I remembered that I used to love eating. I was frustrated because I couldn't have a normal pregnancy. There were moments where I just... and this is...I can't even say it out loud. I didn't want to be pregnant anymore. I just wanted to feel okay. Not sick. Not dehydrated. Not exhausted.

The rational part of me says, well, that's probably normal, everyone feels physically out of control at some point or another during pregnancy. Lots of people are ambivalent.

But I wonder how much. I wonder how it shaped my actions.

Some mistakes can't be corrected. That's what I said to JK on the phone Tuesday afternoon. I've made plenty of mistakes in my life, some worse than others. I think of how I depended on my inept vet when my 15-year old cat was dying -- how she suffered longer than she should have because I was in denial. I think of other things. But all in all, mistakes I've made have not had long term consequences. They have not hurt anyone like this. Not like I hurt. More importantly not like C hurts. Not like my boys suffered.

My sister happened to call later Tuesday afternoon. I told her a little bit about what I was dealing with. She was supportive, and disagreed that it was my fault, that I failed, and my body failed my boys and my husband. But she suggested approaching this from the other side: what if it was my fault? What could I do about it now? What could I do to live with this, perhaps forgive myself and move forward, live my life?

I really don't know.

I really don't.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008


Sorry about that. I just spent an hour on the phone with JK, who talked me down.

Thank you for reaching out to me. It's still horrible, but I feel a little less insane and a little less alone.

BTW, I made an appointment yesterday with a pharmacologist for next Tuesday. I may call to see if he has anything sooner.
I don't want to do this anymore. I can't. I just can't.

It's all my fault.

Thursday, September 18, 2008


I'm sitting here with a big purring cat with a big furry belly and two fliers for an "Annual Walk to Remember" from the hospital where I delivered the boys. The cat is laying on the fliers, which I encourage, rubbing her big furry belly as she rolls over some more to let me scritch under her chin. Her eyes are closed and I'd swear there's a smile on her face. She has a low purr that's hard to hear over the birds outside, and the kids in the elementary school playground behind my house. I can feel it though, the purr.

The fact that I got two fliers instead of one is curious to me. Was it a clerical error? Or were they trying to acknowledge each of my boys? I don't know why this is so important to me.


Thank you all for your sweet and supportive comments on my last few posts. I am definitely in a downswing, and it doesn't feel good. I have actually been talking to my shrink (an LICSW) about changing up my meds and last week I made a few calls about finding a pharma.cologist/pscyhiatrist, perhaps one who deals with trauma. I called one name my shrink gave me, but she didn't have an opening for over a month (from when I called) and the others were not taking new patients.

After two sessions of practically begging me to get a pharm re-eval, and agreeing with me that waiting a month was not going to work, my shrink (who was on her way out of town) said she'd find some more names for me. She agreed with my sister (who also said she thought I was sounding pretty bad) that going to see my GP for an eval was not really a good idea, because I needed someone who specialized in this kind of thing (at least in psych meds). I realized how bad I must have been when my shrink called me about a half an hour after my appointment with a referral. That was Tuesday.

I didn't call the referred shrink, partly because I didn't fully understand his last name as my shrink left it on the message, partly because I'm all fucked up. Also, apparently his office is in the same neighborhood as the hospital in which I delivered the boys. And because I'm all fucked up.

I'm feeling a little better, but not in a stable way. More like I feel okay for a few hours, then I walk around feeling all weird and shaky. It's familiar, and I don't like it. I've also realized how, well, distorted my views of reality have been when, discussing my class with a colleague, that colleague remarked that it seemed to be a productive class. I couldn't really tell that it was terribly productive, and was thinking that it was not that great. I had a couple of good meetings with students, where I was able to teach them a little something, and connect with them on a human level. That was good, too. Had a good class (one that I take) and a good chat with a colleague. And a nice dinner date with C.

So it was good for a few hours, but then I felt all weird and shaky and unsettled. It's the only way I can describe it. C came home from his own shrink appointment with a few names of pharmas, one of which was the one my own shrink had given me over the phone. I take that as an indicator that he's a good one (since my shrink is 40 miles away, and his shrink is here in town).

So, I'm a little more functional. A little less weepy. But feeling just as fucked up as ever.


I tried writing a post on Sunday, and got about 10 lines in when the power went out. For two days. Apparently the effects of Hurricane Ike were felt farther north than was anticipated. Where I live now, the threat is usually tornadoes; I grew up in the northeast, where hurricanes blew in a few times each fall. Wind, rain, disappearing beaches. Power outages.

I knew it was windy, but initially I didn't think much of the outage. I went out to school at about four to try to do some work, use the computers and internet. There were trees down everywhere, no lights, everything was closed. It looked like a hurricane, only without the rain. Classes wound up being canceled on Monday and most businesses were closed that day. Many were closed on Tuesday. There are still 10s of thousands of people without power. Thankfully ours came back on Tuesday.


The post I started was titled Left Behind. In it, I wanted to talk about how I'm feeling out of step in so many ways with so many people, both in real life and in the computer. In DBL. And with where I'd like to be. Emotionally, mentally, academically, reproductively. I hate the consequences of being oversensitive, physically, emotionally, mentally.

I know, I know, I am where I am, and there's not much I can do to change that, except try to take care of myself. I know. And yet. There's another loss. Goddammit. I'm tired of being so fucked up. Always the basket case, always the oversensitive one. Yes, I'm bringing in drama from my childhood, and I don't care. I'm tired of being the one who can't seem to deal. I don't know how to change that. Any of it, the being tired and the not dealing. Goddammit.

Maybe one of these days I'll finish that post. Or maybe I'll just let it go.

Friday, September 12, 2008

The rest of my life

I know it's not going to feel like this forever. It just feels like it.

I'm so fucking depressed and I'm so tired of being depressed, feeling sad, lonely, envious, jealous, hopeless, weepy, tired, angry, anxious, antsy, empty. Heartbroken.

I thought I was supposed to be done with this part. I'm so tired of having nothing good to say. I should be happy I have a husband who loves me and who is healthy. A supportive family. And yet I feel like I have nothing to be happy about.

I sat at school today for 3 hours after my (sucky) class because I couldn't muster up the will to go home. To just get out of the chair.

I'm so tired of being a basket case. I was doing better. I was.

And now I'm not. Crashing and burning. Again.

I'm so tired of all of this.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008


Tomorrow will mark one year since the beta, the first one for my pregnancy with the boys. September 10, 2007. I had just gotten back from Santa Fe where my cousin got married in her front yard in a beautiful, multicultural wedding and reception (the diametric opposite of my brother's wedding; unfortunately, he decided he couldn't spare the $ for a plane ticket since they were saving for a house). It was such a gorgeous, wonderful wedding; a gorgeous day.

I told my dad on the day of the wedding (on the 8th) that it looked like this cycle worked. I never used the P word, but he knew what I meant. I felt that since I always told him after the fact, that this time I would let him enjoy a little "grandpa time" since I didn't know how long this one would last. He was speechless and misty and couldn't stop hugging me. I was four weeks pregnant, still peeing on sticks (4 days after the first bfp) to see if that second line was still getting darker. It was pretty dark at that point, not much room to get darker.

So we came back Sunday evening, I called the RE's office and left a message that I needed an appointment for a beta. I had talked to the nurse before we left (I needed a note so I could bring my shots), but they wouldn't run a beta. She said it was too early, wouldn't give useful information because it was too soon. So I had to wait until Monday, 16dp.iui, when they always run the betas.

I was there early on Monday, on 5 hours of sleep. Drove back and tried to focus on teaching my class from 11 to 12. The nurse called at about 12:50, and I ran out of the office to answer the phone. Before I even got to the door, she was saying "It's good! You want to know the number?"

I sure did. I was shaking when she told me. It was the highest beta I'd ever had at any point of any pregnancy (stupid pregn.ancies). Shaking, I let C know. He was still holding his breath. Have to see what happens in two days. His inital responses to this pg was "I'll trust it when I'm changing diapers."

Called JK on her cell and just kept saying, "I can't believe it. Wow. Wow. I can't believe it." But I did. With such a great number, I was really starting to hope. I don't know how I got through the rest of the day.

Two days later, at 18 dp.iui, it was 1354. A doubling time of 39 hours. In a few days I would start getting heartburn.

At the ultrasound week later, at 5w 4d, there were two, perfectly sized sacs. I was not surprised. I was thrilled. I knew, somehow, it would be okay. We were going to have twins.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

I'm back

Back in that place. The weepy, quiet place.

I'm a freak with anniversaries. All the pregnancy "milestones." And I'm so sensory/sensitive -- I don't know what to call it -- but time-of-year smells, sounds, activities... they all bring me back to important times. I had the same experience a year after my mom died, all the sensations of spring: the change in the air, the light...

And I think it's only going to get worse before it gets better.

I hate this.