We've never been good sleepers.
And by we, I mean the maiden name "we's". My dad, my brother, my cousins, my grandmother, myself. It's a family trait, this crazy insomnia, and it runs like a wide river through us.
Both my nephew and niece have it, a legacy from their dad. I'm fairly sure his middle child escaped it. It keeps you up at night, watching bad television.
I've sat through She Spies, Gazelle machines, the Juicer. I'm getting wise to not buying things but the Bobbi Brown Lifetime profile makes me long for a new brown lipstick.
I found my way downstairs last night. When leaving my bed for Ellie's room didn't work. I had two pillows, a snuggie, a fleece, leftover Orange Chicken and a poptart. Low fat.
On some level I thought "You know if you eat after 12, they can't do a D&C" and then I rationed that the poptart would make me feel better in the here and now, and that even if the news is bad, I'll likely leave and pick up Ellie from school then arrange better care. So I'm going to leave regardless.
Sometime around 1:35 a.m. my husband came down. Stood over me. He sleeps naked, and wanders thusly so eye level with your nude husband, meh, penis's are funny looking. Be that as it may I was two episodes into that 70's Show, and my eyes were slitted at the start of the third.
"Sleep. Sleep at last. Thank god almighty, sleep at last."
Then CLICK. Naked husband. With remote.
Clicks OFF tv.
And wakes me up.
And like Nancy Kerrigan I wailed internally
"Why? Why??? WHY????"
Two rules, if the baby is sleeping - you leave the baby alone. If it's not broken, don't fix it.
Why in the world do people constantly do things like cover insomniacs, turn off the lights, move pillows, adjust heat, TURN OFF TVs and wake them up.
I sleep, at best, in two hour increments. Must you - MUST you - try to help.
I've said it before, I'll say it again.
"Honey. Don't add value. You're only going to fuck it up."
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Moody Blues
Tuesday afternoon.
I'm just beginning to see,
Now I'm on my way.
It doesn't matter to me,
Chasing the clouds away.
Tomorrow is Tuesday.
The day I go to the doctor again.
The day we find out ...well...whatever we are going to find out.
Are we in the game or are we out?
Rhyming completely unitentional...
but at least I know I could potentially have a career in infertility greeting cards.
I'm just beginning to see,
Now I'm on my way.
It doesn't matter to me,
Chasing the clouds away.
Tomorrow is Tuesday.
The day I go to the doctor again.
The day we find out ...well...whatever we are going to find out.
Are we in the game or are we out?
Rhyming completely unitentional...
but at least I know I could potentially have a career in infertility greeting cards.
Monday, February 1, 2010
One is The Lonliest Number
I don't want to blog about this...thing.
"The Situation" as it were.
Because it makes for terrible reading.
And it's self serving.
I reread through these notes, and I think, the world could have burned to the ground, my daughter sprouted wings, and yet, here, nothing but me.
All nude, all the time.
Live. Live. Live.
Nothing to make you think, to make you laugh.
Nothing to make you sigh, or reminisce.
Just words, on paper, on screen, about me.
So I guess for the time being I'll be dull.
I'll plod - on paper, on screen, and in person.
Because my offerings are scant.
Because my mind is numb.
I'm not consumed with depression, or death, or fear.
I'm consumed with being ill
and the passage of time.
Because each day I wake up and I wonder
"Are we are day closer to growth, or did these hearts stop yesterday?" "Am I sick with morning sickness or sick with what is decaying."
I told a friend on the phone that the reason we are telling people, you, the universe, everyone really, is that should this end, for a moment, I wanted to feel...pregnant. Like real people. I wanted to tell someone, and talk about it.
Because if I hide it until I'm 13 weeks, well, likely I'll just be telling people what happened over the two months were we thought we were busy after the holidays but in fact my life changed. Again.
I have a friend who could give a fuck.
I've known her for years, we talk almost daily. I didn't bother telling her I was pregnant again because it's not on her radar. It never has been. My miscarriages, my one birth, my life is not something she comprehends. Her with her three now, and her own illnesses. So our friendship is based on love, and a shared history. And caring. But she isn't who I'm talking to about this now. Because she really, and I mean really, doesn't get it. So it's weird to be so isolated. I can tell a million people, I can start the conversation with anyone...but there isn't anyone to finish it with. Even an old friend.
Because empathy for this is a funny funny thing.
Here's the thing. There are bigger fish to fry in this world.
Logically I know I have a house, a husband, bills that are paid. A healthy daughter, the love of friends. Externally I can be charming, internally I try to do the real work of being a better person. I know that compared to other countries, other issues, compared to almost every single real issue in this world, being pregnant, having a child is...NOT a big issue. Because life moves on. It's not breast cancer, it's not a house fire, it's not death. There's no rape, no murder, no child crossing the street at Sunday 6am on his way to work and being mowed down by a Saturday night drunk driver. This is - LOGICALLY - so small.
I am either pregnant, or I am not.
But again, I find myself wishing for, longing for, an understanding arm. Someone that I could say daily to "I got up today, my back hurts, I took a hot shower and managed breakfast. The fact that I didn't throw it up likely means they stopped growing."
No matter what I do, where I place my mind, what other distraction involves me, somewhere daily lingers the thought "Did they die yet? Are they dead yet?" Because given the amount of hormones twins produce, even when they die, I won't bleed them out. My levels will stay too high. So every minute of every day, shwoop, they could be gone but how will I know?
I have tried talking to friends. One said "But EVERYONE feels that way. No pregnancy is a guarantee. Everyone worries the whole time"
Oh.
Ok then.
So I'm a narcissist and an asshole.
So I hide it.
I am up, at the gym, at playdates, on the phone. Answering only lightly as to how I feel. Touching on it briefly to gauge the response.
"I'm a little worried " I'll venture.
To be dismissed. Or to have a platitudes. The other person relieved to have asked.
"Oh you'll be fine"
"This time it will be different"
Just say it, I want to say to people.
Really, you honestly haven't ONCE looked at your husband and said "It's her second twin pregnancy in a year and I really don't think it's going to work out"?
By all means DON'T tell me what you think.
Say to me it's all going to work out.
So I can feel even more alone.
Because there's nothing like being worried all alone. There's nothing like having friends but not having a single one that will tell you the truth, or allow you to speak your own. Because god forbid we talk about it because otherwise, what, I wasn't thinking about it? You might REMIND me of it?
"Oh yeh, I AM scared. I totally forgot."
And if I sound angry, I am not. I'm alone. So it makes me prickly.
This is isolating, and terrible, and depressing. And no matter how logical and strong I am, I can't help but wish for someone else to say what I need to hear.
So I'll write the script.
And I'll pretend it's someone who understands.
"The Situation" as it were.
Because it makes for terrible reading.
And it's self serving.
I reread through these notes, and I think, the world could have burned to the ground, my daughter sprouted wings, and yet, here, nothing but me.
All nude, all the time.
Live. Live. Live.
Nothing to make you think, to make you laugh.
Nothing to make you sigh, or reminisce.
Just words, on paper, on screen, about me.
So I guess for the time being I'll be dull.
I'll plod - on paper, on screen, and in person.
Because my offerings are scant.
Because my mind is numb.
I'm not consumed with depression, or death, or fear.
I'm consumed with being ill
and the passage of time.
Because each day I wake up and I wonder
"Are we are day closer to growth, or did these hearts stop yesterday?" "Am I sick with morning sickness or sick with what is decaying."
I told a friend on the phone that the reason we are telling people, you, the universe, everyone really, is that should this end, for a moment, I wanted to feel...pregnant. Like real people. I wanted to tell someone, and talk about it.
Because if I hide it until I'm 13 weeks, well, likely I'll just be telling people what happened over the two months were we thought we were busy after the holidays but in fact my life changed. Again.
I have a friend who could give a fuck.
I've known her for years, we talk almost daily. I didn't bother telling her I was pregnant again because it's not on her radar. It never has been. My miscarriages, my one birth, my life is not something she comprehends. Her with her three now, and her own illnesses. So our friendship is based on love, and a shared history. And caring. But she isn't who I'm talking to about this now. Because she really, and I mean really, doesn't get it. So it's weird to be so isolated. I can tell a million people, I can start the conversation with anyone...but there isn't anyone to finish it with. Even an old friend.
Because empathy for this is a funny funny thing.
Here's the thing. There are bigger fish to fry in this world.
Logically I know I have a house, a husband, bills that are paid. A healthy daughter, the love of friends. Externally I can be charming, internally I try to do the real work of being a better person. I know that compared to other countries, other issues, compared to almost every single real issue in this world, being pregnant, having a child is...NOT a big issue. Because life moves on. It's not breast cancer, it's not a house fire, it's not death. There's no rape, no murder, no child crossing the street at Sunday 6am on his way to work and being mowed down by a Saturday night drunk driver. This is - LOGICALLY - so small.
I am either pregnant, or I am not.
But again, I find myself wishing for, longing for, an understanding arm. Someone that I could say daily to "I got up today, my back hurts, I took a hot shower and managed breakfast. The fact that I didn't throw it up likely means they stopped growing."
No matter what I do, where I place my mind, what other distraction involves me, somewhere daily lingers the thought "Did they die yet? Are they dead yet?" Because given the amount of hormones twins produce, even when they die, I won't bleed them out. My levels will stay too high. So every minute of every day, shwoop, they could be gone but how will I know?
I have tried talking to friends. One said "But EVERYONE feels that way. No pregnancy is a guarantee. Everyone worries the whole time"
Oh.
Ok then.
So I'm a narcissist and an asshole.
So I hide it.
I am up, at the gym, at playdates, on the phone. Answering only lightly as to how I feel. Touching on it briefly to gauge the response.
"I'm a little worried " I'll venture.
To be dismissed. Or to have a platitudes. The other person relieved to have asked.
"Oh you'll be fine"
"This time it will be different"
Just say it, I want to say to people.
Really, you honestly haven't ONCE looked at your husband and said "It's her second twin pregnancy in a year and I really don't think it's going to work out"?
By all means DON'T tell me what you think.
Say to me it's all going to work out.
So I can feel even more alone.
Because there's nothing like being worried all alone. There's nothing like having friends but not having a single one that will tell you the truth, or allow you to speak your own. Because god forbid we talk about it because otherwise, what, I wasn't thinking about it? You might REMIND me of it?
"Oh yeh, I AM scared. I totally forgot."
And if I sound angry, I am not. I'm alone. So it makes me prickly.
This is isolating, and terrible, and depressing. And no matter how logical and strong I am, I can't help but wish for someone else to say what I need to hear.
So I'll write the script.
And I'll pretend it's someone who understands.
"Yes, omg, this IS terrible. You must be terrified. Devastated. Shocked. Yes, twins are dangerous. Both with your history and your incompetent cervix. One, one child was going to be difficult, but to have two, it's likely you'll be on bedrest. It's actually guaranteed. And your cervix? Well, the cerclage can sometimes trigger spontaneous labor. Especially since all the bleeding with Ellie happened after cervical trauma. So let's go through this again. You have twins, the hardly ever separate and survive the first trimester, that you are hoping to bring to 14 weeks, where you will have your cervix sewn shut, automatically go on bedrest for two weeks, you'll be up by 16 weeks and by 22 likely will be down again. Your twins WILL be premature, because all twins are, but by how much remains to be seen given you'll be getting the progesterone shots weekly. Perhaps this time it won't shorten as much. Add to all that, you are over 40 so you'll need the genetic screening and the amnio. It looks like you have a fuckload of heartbreak and danger in front of you. I don't see a single window where you'll be able to rest easy or a single appointment that will give you comfort. I'm sure you are terrified, and saddened. Add to all this, you and your husband are pretty much done right? This was the last year didn't you say? So it's not just this pregnancy but it's the direction of the remainder of your life that's being decided. Where you'll live, if you'll return to work, how large your family will be. Then after, oh, all those questions for years...You'll have to find a way to comfortably discuss infertility, losses, that the choice wasn't yours, without crying of course. Or making someone else uncomfortable. I know - and if you DO lose this one, and it is your last, you are going to be pretty mad at yourself for not pursuing the progesterone thing. Your levels ARE pretty low. All and all, I think you're fucked my friend."
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