I'm not going to beat around the bush if people at work (or volunteers) ask me why I was gone last week.
I realize that this will probably make people feel uncomfortable. And probably a little guilty for asking. But that's not why I'm doing it. I'm going to tell them, "I had a miscarriage which resulted in surgery" because I have nothing to be ashamed of. If I had a heart attack, stroke or accident, it wouldn't be any different.
I think it's fair to let people know so that a) they know why I'm taking it a little easy, physically and b) that I wasn't on some fantastic vacation during the busiest time of my job. OK, part of me is so that once I answer their question with a very honest and frank answer, the subject is abruptly closed. If this wasn't my busiest time of year, I would probably take two weeks off. But I can't. And, according to the handy directions (four pages long, mind you) given by my doctor, it is advised that I try to go back to normal as soon as possible. So, tomorrrow, I go back to work.
Yes, it's personal and again, will probably make people uncomfortable. While I won't share this piece of information, this was my second miscarriage in four months. I'll be honest, I'm traumatized. I try to be very matter-of-fact about it and, most times, I convince myself that it's clinical, above all else.
But there are moments, these moments that I have, in which the overwhelming sadness takes hold of me and I tear up. I know I'm blessed, absolutely blessed, to have the beautiful daughter that I have and the life that I lead. And I swear, I tell myself that every day. But sometimes that damn sadness takes over even though I try my hardest to silence those thoughts, they come anyway.
So why not be honest about what happened?
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Post Haze - Day 1
While there is definitely still pain, the Vicodin is affecting me more negatively than positively.
I find the haziness beneficial because it kind of makes me void of emotion. Unfortunately, it also brings me to the brink of sleep and then yanks me back. Every time. I wake up every two hours, rendering me pretty useless awake or asleep. Another side affect is that I'm seriously constipated. No go, amigo. Even with a generous amount of prune juice.
Since Vicodin takes away most pain, I've had to replace it with an arsenal of alternatives:
I have Ibuprofen, GasX, throat spray (sore from the breathing tube) and good old prune juice.
According to my post surgery directions, I also have to walk to get my bowels active and the shoulder pain (from air pumped into my stomach) to dissipate. So I'm walking extremely slow for 20 minutes, three times a day. All while taking shots of prune juice.
- Posted using BlogPress via iPhone
I find the haziness beneficial because it kind of makes me void of emotion. Unfortunately, it also brings me to the brink of sleep and then yanks me back. Every time. I wake up every two hours, rendering me pretty useless awake or asleep. Another side affect is that I'm seriously constipated. No go, amigo. Even with a generous amount of prune juice.
Since Vicodin takes away most pain, I've had to replace it with an arsenal of alternatives:
According to my post surgery directions, I also have to walk to get my bowels active and the shoulder pain (from air pumped into my stomach) to dissipate. So I'm walking extremely slow for 20 minutes, three times a day. All while taking shots of prune juice.
- Posted using BlogPress via iPhone
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
In a Vicodin haze
After a much needed and appreciated beautiful day with my little family, I woke up Monday morning ready for the week. 5:00 AM, to be exact. I woke up with The Man and just decided to start my day rather than try to get an extra 45 minutes in.
Around 6:30 AM, I started to get really bad cramps. By the time The Bun woke up, I was in tears. I've been constipated before (due to pregnancy) but this was a whole new level. It was so bad that I called my parents to see if they could come over to take care of The Bun while I worked it out. Thank goodness, my mom said they would be right over.
She's the one who suspected something much more serious. I had been moded before about this - going to the doctor thinking it was something else and finding out it was just constipation. Luckily, though, my mom can be very persuasive. She convinced me to let my Dad take me to the hospital while she took care of The Bun. Even if it was just constipation, I could at least get medication for it.
Long story short, I was diagnosed with an ectopic pregnancy. I was told I should have surgery the same day because of the pain and bleeding. My Fallopian tube could rupture and then I would be in serious trouble. I asked and received a second opinion. Same response. I called The Man but his work phone was off. Crying harder at the thought that he wouldn't come in time, I requested an operator to notify his supervisor to have him contact me. He came home immediately. He said the minute his boss told him I was looking for him, he knew I was having a miscarriage.
I had the surgery in the afternoon. The paperwork they had me sign prior to the surgery was scary. Risk of having to remove my tube if the mass was too big. Risk of re-opening my c-section scar if there were complications. Thankfully, no complications.
I am, however, emotionally and physically drained. The doctor also told me that I have a higher chance of another ectopic pregnancy because I now have a history. I think it's a 20% chance. Shit. For certain, we are done trying to have another baby this year. The Man said that we don't have to try again because he doesn't want me to go through this a third time. My mom thinks that I should stop trying because it's a lot to put on my body. I don't know. Maybe we are done, period. The Man says adoption is a consideration but I can't wrap my head around that quite yet.
The one good thing about the pain (and yes, it is far more painful than my D&C) is that, between the discomfort and the Vicodin, I don't want to cry. I'm pretty removed from the emotional pain. Maybe that will return when the physical pain goes away but I'm going to be thankful for its absence in the meantime.
Around 6:30 AM, I started to get really bad cramps. By the time The Bun woke up, I was in tears. I've been constipated before (due to pregnancy) but this was a whole new level. It was so bad that I called my parents to see if they could come over to take care of The Bun while I worked it out. Thank goodness, my mom said they would be right over.
She's the one who suspected something much more serious. I had been moded before about this - going to the doctor thinking it was something else and finding out it was just constipation. Luckily, though, my mom can be very persuasive. She convinced me to let my Dad take me to the hospital while she took care of The Bun. Even if it was just constipation, I could at least get medication for it.
Long story short, I was diagnosed with an ectopic pregnancy. I was told I should have surgery the same day because of the pain and bleeding. My Fallopian tube could rupture and then I would be in serious trouble. I asked and received a second opinion. Same response. I called The Man but his work phone was off. Crying harder at the thought that he wouldn't come in time, I requested an operator to notify his supervisor to have him contact me. He came home immediately. He said the minute his boss told him I was looking for him, he knew I was having a miscarriage.
I had the surgery in the afternoon. The paperwork they had me sign prior to the surgery was scary. Risk of having to remove my tube if the mass was too big. Risk of re-opening my c-section scar if there were complications. Thankfully, no complications.
I am, however, emotionally and physically drained. The doctor also told me that I have a higher chance of another ectopic pregnancy because I now have a history. I think it's a 20% chance. Shit. For certain, we are done trying to have another baby this year. The Man said that we don't have to try again because he doesn't want me to go through this a third time. My mom thinks that I should stop trying because it's a lot to put on my body. I don't know. Maybe we are done, period. The Man says adoption is a consideration but I can't wrap my head around that quite yet.
The one good thing about the pain (and yes, it is far more painful than my D&C) is that, between the discomfort and the Vicodin, I don't want to cry. I'm pretty removed from the emotional pain. Maybe that will return when the physical pain goes away but I'm going to be thankful for its absence in the meantime.
Friday, August 17, 2012
I'd love to say it ends well ...
but I'm pretty sure it doesn't.
I'd like to believe I'm not superstitious. I believe in God and faith doesn't exactly go hand and hand with being superstitious. When I took this test, I thought about the first time and how everything ended up OK. That was when I told The Man in a very unromantic, unceremonious way that I was pregnant. The second time I took this test, I decided I was going to be creative, loving and sweet in my approach. I wrapped up the test in a little box along with scantily yet tastefully photos of his wife. He first saw the photos, then opened the box. I joked after he saw the test that he better remember when his wife's body saw better times because it was going to go through the ringer again. Although I'm glad I was able to tell him in such a fun way, the pregnancy ended much too quickly.
So here I was, a month late when I decided to take a test. Yes, a month. I knew I was being irrational but I wanted to delay knowing as long as possible. I had already been taking prenatal pills and when I suspected I was late, I laid off the alcohol. But I delayed taking the test because I almost didn't want to know. The doctors don't see a person (unless there are complications) until she is at least two months along. I didn't want to be anxious in the interim because nothing can be done until then.
But after a month, I figured I should just do it. So I did:
I was so nervous because the last time I had been down this road, it ended badly. Remembering how the first time versus the second time went, I practically tossed this on the bed next to The Man and nonchalantly said, "So, I guess this settles it" or something to that effect. Just like the first time, he didn't even know I had taken it. He replied, "Really? So you're pregnant?" And I nodded. He leans over, gives me a hug and kiss and says, "I love you" and " ... good luck", with a concerned look. I mean, it's really all one can say.
A week later, I started to bleed. It started as spotting and then it got heavier, like a period. So this past Wednesday, I saw the doctor. Excluding the blood, it was like deja vu.
"Well, you could be really early but I don't see anything yet." No flutter. Not like the first time. Much like the second. But, again, the doctor said I could just be really early. I wasn't going to fall for that false hope again. I was then asked to go to the lab the next day, then possibly the weekend and then see my doctor the following week.
The part that broke my heart, though, the question I was surprised would bring tears to my eyes, was when the doctor asked, "How many pregnancies have you had, including this one?"
"Three."
Three pregnancies. One child. I'm not the greatest at math but it doesn't add up. How could I be pregnant three times and only have one child?
How many more times do I want to put myself through this before I'm done? And, just like last time, they can't tell me that there is no baby until they do more tests. I tried so hard to harden myself before attempting this again. But no amount of mental preparation is enough to overpower the overwhelming defeat I feel that I can't seem to get past being a one-hit wonder.
I feel so blessed to even have one child. But I didn't know it would be impossible to have more. Why?
So here I am, waiting again to hear back on my lab results and while I'm expecting bad news, they still won't give me a definite answer until I see my doctor next week. So I wait and I wait.
I'd like to believe I'm not superstitious. I believe in God and faith doesn't exactly go hand and hand with being superstitious. When I took this test, I thought about the first time and how everything ended up OK. That was when I told The Man in a very unromantic, unceremonious way that I was pregnant. The second time I took this test, I decided I was going to be creative, loving and sweet in my approach. I wrapped up the test in a little box along with scantily yet tastefully photos of his wife. He first saw the photos, then opened the box. I joked after he saw the test that he better remember when his wife's body saw better times because it was going to go through the ringer again. Although I'm glad I was able to tell him in such a fun way, the pregnancy ended much too quickly.
So here I was, a month late when I decided to take a test. Yes, a month. I knew I was being irrational but I wanted to delay knowing as long as possible. I had already been taking prenatal pills and when I suspected I was late, I laid off the alcohol. But I delayed taking the test because I almost didn't want to know. The doctors don't see a person (unless there are complications) until she is at least two months along. I didn't want to be anxious in the interim because nothing can be done until then.
But after a month, I figured I should just do it. So I did:
A week later, I started to bleed. It started as spotting and then it got heavier, like a period. So this past Wednesday, I saw the doctor. Excluding the blood, it was like deja vu.
"Well, you could be really early but I don't see anything yet." No flutter. Not like the first time. Much like the second. But, again, the doctor said I could just be really early. I wasn't going to fall for that false hope again. I was then asked to go to the lab the next day, then possibly the weekend and then see my doctor the following week.
The part that broke my heart, though, the question I was surprised would bring tears to my eyes, was when the doctor asked, "How many pregnancies have you had, including this one?"
"Three."
Three pregnancies. One child. I'm not the greatest at math but it doesn't add up. How could I be pregnant three times and only have one child?
How many more times do I want to put myself through this before I'm done? And, just like last time, they can't tell me that there is no baby until they do more tests. I tried so hard to harden myself before attempting this again. But no amount of mental preparation is enough to overpower the overwhelming defeat I feel that I can't seem to get past being a one-hit wonder.
I feel so blessed to even have one child. But I didn't know it would be impossible to have more. Why?
So here I am, waiting again to hear back on my lab results and while I'm expecting bad news, they still won't give me a definite answer until I see my doctor next week. So I wait and I wait.
Monday, August 13, 2012
More power than she'll ever know
Sometimes I have awful, miserable days. Sometimes, she is the saving grace of my day. She makes me put on a brave face because I can't let her see my misery. She makes me be better because I'm selfless instead of selfish. And, if I'm really lucky, I forget the black cloud following me around.
It's a lot of power for a wee little one. I can't really say that I give it to her because that's too much responsibility. But I think, beyond her and me, it just is what it is. For that, I feel so blessed that this wonderfully sweet, funny, charming and beautiful girl is my daughter.
I love her so so much.
It's a lot of power for a wee little one. I can't really say that I give it to her because that's too much responsibility. But I think, beyond her and me, it just is what it is. For that, I feel so blessed that this wonderfully sweet, funny, charming and beautiful girl is my daughter.
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| The Bun's first coconut. Yum! Well, fan of the juice, not so much of the flesh. |
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| First time bravely climbing the fence to see the water (yikes!) and the first time seeing this little creek. She was so happy. Lucky for me, her happiness is infectious. |
Wednesday, August 01, 2012
Quality time with out-of-town family
It just seemed like a good day to head out to Half Moon Bay. While it was warm in our city, I warned my mom-in-law, Nanay, and brother-in-law, CJ, that it was going to be cold. I'm not sure if they believed me. They live in the Central Valley which was in the midst of 100+ degrees so my suggestion probably sounded nuts. But they donned some jeans and sweatshirts.
I did not lead them astray. We got to HMB and it was chilly!
Who would've thought this photo was taken in July?
Is my girl giving stink eye? Noooo, she's just squinting:)
It is really difficult to find a photo in which everyone is looking into the camera. The bigger the group, the more challenging the task!
Nanay LOVED this weather. She said it was like a different world.
We went on a Sunday and stumbled upon a Farmers' Market. There was produce, of course, but inside the harbor center, there were artists. I fell in love with this piece:
How beachy is this? I'm familiar with sand dollars but I don't think I've seen puffy shells like the ones framing the mirror. So pretty!
But The Man wasn't a huge fan. One, he didn't like that the artist never said hi to me. I had gone back several times to admire it and then to bring The Man over.
I'm the type of person who will walk out of store in a hot second, even if I really wanted to buy something and had items in my hand or cart, if I felt like I was being ignored or slighted in comparison to other customers. But I wasn't deterred by this artist. She was ignoring EVERYONE. I wasn't being treated unfairly. The artist evidently didn't like people, in general. The Man wasn't buying it though, figuratively and literally.
Second, he thought $60 was too much. I understand his point. Sure, this mama has a glue gun, can buy paint and go out to the beach and collect shells. But would I? It takes some effort and, quite frankly, I have never seen those shells before! How would I ever find that many of them? While a bit steep, I would be willing to pay that amount. But marriage is about compromise and The Man didn't like the attitude or price.
If you know where I can find those shells, let me know!
I did not lead them astray. We got to HMB and it was chilly!
Who would've thought this photo was taken in July?
Is my girl giving stink eye? Noooo, she's just squinting:)
It is really difficult to find a photo in which everyone is looking into the camera. The bigger the group, the more challenging the task!
Nanay LOVED this weather. She said it was like a different world.
We went on a Sunday and stumbled upon a Farmers' Market. There was produce, of course, but inside the harbor center, there were artists. I fell in love with this piece:
How beachy is this? I'm familiar with sand dollars but I don't think I've seen puffy shells like the ones framing the mirror. So pretty!
But The Man wasn't a huge fan. One, he didn't like that the artist never said hi to me. I had gone back several times to admire it and then to bring The Man over.
I'm the type of person who will walk out of store in a hot second, even if I really wanted to buy something and had items in my hand or cart, if I felt like I was being ignored or slighted in comparison to other customers. But I wasn't deterred by this artist. She was ignoring EVERYONE. I wasn't being treated unfairly. The artist evidently didn't like people, in general. The Man wasn't buying it though, figuratively and literally.
Second, he thought $60 was too much. I understand his point. Sure, this mama has a glue gun, can buy paint and go out to the beach and collect shells. But would I? It takes some effort and, quite frankly, I have never seen those shells before! How would I ever find that many of them? While a bit steep, I would be willing to pay that amount. But marriage is about compromise and The Man didn't like the attitude or price.
If you know where I can find those shells, let me know!
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