waiting. done.

Logic sucks.  And yet we cannot really run away from it.  In some ways, feelings suck too.  Guess it's all relative.  In the past couple weeks, I have had to weigh heavily on which I could rely on regarding my waiting game.

Another appointment after the last post still left me unsure.  Even more emotional.  Angry.  Lost.  She is probably a really good doctor, but I felt no reassurance from her.  As we walked out of the office, I saw the doctor that delivered E.  I popped my head in to say 'hello'.  He turns and greets us and then asks what our visit was for.  So in we go, into his office, door closed, and we tell him where we are at.  Let me say that he is the husband of my original OB, who has since left the practice to pursue another venture.  His nature has always been one that puts a person to ease and I was so glad that he was the one to deliver E.  So we shared out story..and then he shared theirs where they had a miscarriage on their first pregnancy before they got their two.  The sharing of that story brought a feeling that I can't explain - possibly the point of him trying to make the connection, to lessen the feeling of being alone that made an impact.

So off we go to discuss some more.  Time is not our friend as we approach the holiday season and vacation.  From the conversation with Dr. L. we realize that assurance and understanding is key to our decision making.  I request another bloodtest to check the numbers.  At least if the numbers were going down, I knew it was close.  Instead when I call to get results, I get the reply that she needs to call me back as she can't interpret the numbers.  I should have known from that point something was wrong but I was giving her the benefit of the doubt.  Doctor ends up calling me herself.  The numbers are high, not the direction that I had expected.  Of course there is explanation for it.  The nurse went ahead and scheduled an ultrasound for me based on her own conversation with S.  As much as this doctor didn't think it was necessary, I went to the ultrasound.  I finally saw the empty sac.  I cried.  It had continued to grow and now measured 8 weeks and 5 days.

To see a tv screen that I have watched through the years show me each of my babies, I felt dejected to see that sac just empty.  But I needed that confirmation.  I needed to see it for myself.  It would have a miracle to see anything else in there, but I do believe in them...but not this time.

Friday I called the nurse to tell her to put me on the schedule for either Monday or Tuesday as later in the week didn't work with the kids schedule and the nearness of the holidays.  I wanted Dr. L. but he was already booked solid for Monday.  I was scheduled for the new doctor.  The nurse already knew I needed to meet her so she scheduled the appointment before I spoke with her.  I had many hopes that I would be able to call on Monday and cancel everything.  Nothing.  So frustrating.

I met the doctor Monday afternoon.  Matter of fact answers.  Inflection in the appropriate spots.  Although I didn't know her, I was okay with it.  Maybe it was best that she didn't know me either.

My original surgical time was 2:30 Tuesday.  I was bumped up to 10:30.  As we drove down Woodward, all I could think of was the day we drove down to have E.  Such a different thing to know that we were not going there to have a baby.  We checked in a little before 8:30 at the Cancer Center (yeah, I laughed...of all places, the alternative surgical suite was in that building..talk about feeling like I was getting kicked in the shins).  In the hour of so that I was alone in the pre-op, I think I was pretty okay.  The only times I shed tears were when I would see the procedure listed on the paperwork I had to sign.  Dilalation and cutterage with suction for an empty sac.  Uggg.  She finally came.  She met S.  She asked if we wanted to send the tissue to be examined.  I started to cry.  I felt her hand on my leg, rubbing it to say it was okay.  I cried some more.  Somebody please wake me up from this nightmare!  Apparently they could possibly determine why it was not viable.  He didn't want it.  Part of me did...I needed answers.  I told her no.  Anesthesia started to work.  I remember him kissing me and then nothing until I was trying to wake up.

11:24 I saw on the clock.  Nurse said I had been there for about 30 minutes already so it had gone quickly. I was just glad I was waking up on my own for once.  I was calm.  I didn't cry.  They got him.  He looked relieved to see me.  After that things moved quickly.  Changing.  Leaving.  Driving away and leaving a part of me there.  I slept most of the afternoon.  Back to normal activities with the kids when they got home.

I don't know what will happen the next few days.  I have to move forward for my kids and family.  December 18, 2012 - another marker day in my life.  I think I have way too many marker days for someone my age...but I guess that would be totally on-point for me then, eh?

waiting

They say patience is a virtue.  I've never been good at the waiting game.  But I've been waiting...it will be a week tomorrow.  In many ways I don't want to publish this post.  I think I have accepted my fate, but I still haven't really.  I guess the longer my wait, the more I try to make those deals with God that are fruitless, but they are human reactions.

So what's with the ambiguity about?  Why am I so vague?  Because the flip side is that I have not accepted my fate.  Last Tuesday, I was by a calendar, nine weeks and five days pregnant.  Did I say that?  Yes, I said that.  Last week, I was to head into my first (and last) OB appointment.  I was nervous.  I wasn't ready.  I had figured the worst that would come from it was that we were going to have multiples.  Instead, I received the complete opposite.  No multiples.  An empty sac measuring seven weeks and a five days.  ((exhale))

So where do I go from that?  That was not the diagnosis I was expecting.  I was expecting the actual due date.  I was expecting the pictures.  I was expecting that we were going to devise this plan of sharing the news with the family...

I was relatively calm.  I think I was more in shock than anything.  I rationalized, internalized, and rationalized some more.  I did my usual.  I shrunk into myself and wanted to hide.  I felt like a failure.  I felt rejected.  I felt bewilderment.  Only when I felt his hands squeeze my leg did I even let out a whimper and then a tear escaped from the corners of my eyes.

I am a board member at UMCC for their Patient and Family Advisory Board.  I was at a meeting the other evening and was listening to the story of one of the other members.  She is the sister of the patient.  Her sister's story was the story that I had feared when I learned of my diagnosis.  A mother of three kids under the age of 10 at the time, with stage IV cancer.  She was terminal, which was not my fate, but something that haunts me to this day.  And then to top it off, I learned that she had lost a daughter at 2 weeks to cancer....really devastating as I recalled my own fears when I learned that E was on her way.  That night would have been her sister's 51st birthday....

We painted the living room and family room over the weekend.  He pulled the piano away from the wall and there was my poster signed by family and friends my celebration of life party after treatment.  I turned away from it quickly as I felt the tears sting.  The emotions of that time just rushed forward.  I would think that I would have moved on and yet I still feel like I'm standing still.  The tears still burn, the pain still reverberates in my bones,  my breath still goes shallow and my chest tightens.  Why can I not get beyond this??

I am a five year survivor.  Five years.  I have been blessed over and over, everyday.  And then I get hit with the pain that others have - this member's sister story, A's daily turmoil, story upon story of those who have lost and I realize that I have not done enough, no where near.  I have drowned in my own sorrow each time.  Yes, I feel pathetic...

I stayed beyond the meeting end to help a staff member with a project she was doing.  She was creating a video for her advocacy class.  On white boards that we were to hold up, we were to write what we wished we had known during our treatment.  My sign simply stated "I wish I had known more than I was told."  That statement was simple, yet holds so much.  There is still much I don't know.  And honestly, sometimes I don't want to know more.  A double-edged sword.