The Good Part

WORST. BLOGGER. EVER. I'm sure there's an award for that. There's an award for everything in the blogging world. I've been writing about twice a week (sometimes way more in the midst of my first IVF cycle) and just about dropped off the face of the earth. I also timed this right after I promised a follow-up post. Genius, just genius. I've been on this major personal campaign to remind/convince myself that my life is about much more than getting pregnant and now, when I'm forcibly kicked off the TTC wagon, I can't muster up the strength or creativity to write a single post?!?! Oh no. This must change.

Here's the long and short of what's happened. Very importantly, I finally completed this damned miscarriage. 6 weeks, folks. That's right. 6 weeks from the day that Dr. Robot told me there was no heartbeat to the day I stopped bleeding and my HCG levels settled back down to zero. What does a six week miscarriage look like? Well, one bout of bleeding after trying to go "au natural" (I didn't get pregnant naturally, not sure why I thought I could get unpregnant naturally) followed by spotting, then elevated HCG levels and a cancelled D&C. Boom, sister pregnancy announcement. Cue curtain of darkness. Freako rising HCG levels (more pregnant! with nothing!) and a shot of methotrexate in the ass. HCG levels gradually fall, bleeding resumes and eventually ends several days after HCG reaches 0. All in all I had 3 major bouts of bleeding, never stopped spotting in between and wore pads or pantie liners for a total of 8 weeks (plus 2 for Endometrin leaks post transfer). I win again. That's a second award. First for worst blogger, second for most obnoxiously drawn out miscarriage of 2013.

The worst, my dears, is over. The sun is shining - it really is. I'm on an airplane flying over the desert and it's basically blinding - and I am on the other side of this. My sister remains pregnant and healthy and we are figuring it out. Life is moving on and so am I. Once I get my period again J and I will decide whether to do another round on that cycle or the next. That I am willing to wait another second to try again is a testament to how far I've come in the past few weeks. A big part of me still feels like a successful pregnancy is the only way to completely heal the heartache of the miscarriage and I do want to be pregnant yesterday, but I also want to be able to relax and not run around like a madwoman during the next go round. Let's give this all we got. I'm not seeing that kind of R&R happening this summer.

Here's the promised follow-up to the post I wrote about the conversation with my sister. The Good Part of all of this. Somewhere along the way - and well before all this infertility junk - I stopped being the creative person I've been since I was a little kid. I stopped drawing, dancing, writing, and most other creative outlets. It started slowly sometime around graduate school, where I needed to focus single mindedly on academics, and continued through this career-building phase of my life. Infertility put a nail in the coffin. Here's the real downside of being a Type A: when life gives you something to focus on, you focus like hell until it's achieved, often to the detriment of everything else. Relationships included. Like many others I've talked to, fertility feels like my full-time job. My miscarriage was a lesson that single-minded obsession would not get nor keep me pregnant. Creating a life is not like writing a master's thesis. There's a little more science, magic and something far beyond my cognitive reaches. You cannot force those cells to divide and thrive.
Thankfully, I had begun blogging this experience a few months before and in doing so, remembered why I used to love writing. It's fun, it's cathartic, it's both distraction and expression. One creative activity back on the map. I also have begun to take on a lot more interior design work at my job. I'm loving it so much. Everyday I have this perfect diversion thinking of nothing but aesthetics (oh right, and function too). As soon as I felt that I had "failed" at the job I had set forth for myself - fertility and pregnancy - I got this perfect reminder that it was not my job, more of a side project, and that my life could be far more full with activities and people that I love. And so, I am making a promise to myself to be more creative. Creative in what I wear, what I eat, what I write. I will resume dancing around the house and doodling in the margins. Because that is who I've always been and it's time to scoop the old me back up. She's what will get me through the next cycle and beyond.