Friday, March 31, 2006

Huh! (in a tone of surprise)

I have a doctor who cares. Not only does she care, she is willing to put her neck out for me. Why the tone of surprise? In the Canadian publicly-funded healthcare system (which I love, despite its many faults), doctors are usually too overworked and underpaid to spend the time with patients that they deserve. And today, I got the time and attention that I deserve.

My Dr. is referring me to a reproductive endocrinologist for a consultation. Which means that I will be put on the waiting list. Best case scenario, I get pregnant before I get to the top of the list. Worst case scenario, I get there and the RE says "go home and keep trying, there is nothing wrong with you." Regardless, by sending the letter now, while we are in cycle 11, it means that if we pass the magic 1-year-trying mark, the RE will have to listen to us. We would then meet the clinical definition for secondary infertility and can get some intervention.

Which is what I want, but WOW! that was a scary conversation to have with my MD today. When she asked if I wanted the referral, I really wasn't sure what to say. I made my uncertainty known, so we talked it out. She said that basically all she could do was put me on Clomid, which would be a silly thing for her to do for two reasons: 1) according to my charting, I am ovulating in a regular pattern, and 2) she admits to not knowing what would happen if she put me on Clomid when I am already ovulating. MD feels that the right person to make these decisions/recommendations is the RE.

I have worried about secondary infertility since my son died. I think that, for those of us who experience the death of our first baby, we all think what if he was my only chance? But to be coming on a year of charting and timing and worrying, it is just surreal. Yes, I want to see the RE. But when the question was asked, I felt a little like I was admitting defeat. Which is so silly and exaggerated. And that huge fear crept in again - what if he was our only chance?

Last night I spent some time on me: I did yoga and did some reading. I felt a little less down and funky. But, spending that time on yourself, you do not get your overtime-work done or your house cleaned. Which causes more stress. Sigh.

I actually bought more pants this week because I never manage to keep clean dress pants in the house. And, even though there is no dress code at work, I feel like a slob wearing jeans and a t-shirt to work every day. Many, MANY people wear that to work every day here. I just don't like doing it. But what my appearance basically comes down to is this: how lazy am I feeling today? And most times, that means that I don't bother with pressing a shirt or doing my hair (Ponytail Addict). However, this week, I have managed to do hair, makeup, and work attire 4 out of 5 days. A new record. All thanks to the new pants.

The other, most symbolic and important, thing about these pants is that they are a size 12. Not a size 14 or 16. No room for 3 months of pregnancy hiding in these pants (though they are a little loose - should I have gotten the 10s or will these shrink when I don't hang them to dry??). I refuse to contemplate anything more than the fact that I am too lazy to do laundry on a regular basis and I am tired of looking like a complete slob, so I bought new pants. I bought them at a big-box multipurpose store, anyways, so they were less than $20 a pair. At that price, I can afford to grow out of them soon.

I have gotten some important reading done on my reading list. I would recommend A Broken Heart Still Beats to those who have experienced the loss of a child. It is a compendium of writings relating to childloss, or written by authors who have experienced childloss. The following poem was written by William Wordsworth after the death of his beloved daughter as a toddler.

SURPRISED by joy—impatient as the wind—
I turn'd to share the transport—oh! with whom
But thee—deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love recall'd thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee? Through what power
Even for the least division of an hour
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?—That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

- taken from


Sue Flaska said...

As one woman to another who has lost a baby (I was only 7 weeks along though. I can't imagine what your delivery was like) here's what gets me by, not only with that loss, but woth other crap that tends to sneak into our lives...

This too shall pass

Not that you will not think about your son every day, but the bitterness will lessen. You are in my thoughts.


Laura said...

I just discovered your blog today, and you write beautifully. I'm a new blogger,too--I lost my baby son eight weeks ago, and blogging has helped so much already. I'm so, so sorry that you lost your son, too. I know how your heart is hurting.