Not a mommie blog

In case it feels like EVERYONE is having a baby- you are right. Your sense is correct. They are.

In October of 2006 I had Halloween circled on my calendar. My husband and I were whispering back and forth about our little goblin. My first pre-natal visit scheduled for October 31st. We held hands in the waiting room. My urinalysis showed trace blood. From that moment on my husband and I experienced the visit dramatically differently.

Dr. G is my OB. She and I became friends in 1998 when as she was a year behind me in med school. Dr. D is her partner. D and I met in 1996, our first year of med school. She and I played Volleyball together- we were quite good- winning the intramural league.

For me the blood was foreboding- of course G reassured with her voice but her eyes shared my worry. The ultrasound showed a gestational sac- but measured half the size I expected. Still more reassurance, not received as my concern grew. Outside the room G finished her charting, returned with my US picture. Her hand shook as she gave it to me. June 16 was the calculated due date. Congratulations she said. Everything looks good- but let's have you come back next week to take another look.

B and I spent the week like the one before. Occasionally I would mention my worry- and he would question whether I was being rational. He honestly (bless his heart) had no clue of the trouble. I followed his lead.

One week later we returned and the final diagnosis was made. Missed abortion- miscarriage. This time G had not words, just tears in her eyes. I can remember shaking when getting dressed then stepping out of the door to find both D and G. Across the hall I stood in their office and we made a hug circle. How uncomfortable the med student must have felt that day- a young man wishing he could disappear as three women, two his attendings sharing a very emotional moment.

How alienating (and shocking) this experience must be for most women. For me I had some warning and then was surrounded by two doctors/two dear friends when accepting the news. I was sad, but also felt an agony. Anticipating the time that must pass before returning to this same point, with another chance for life. Little did I know that a broken arm and major hip surgery were in my future, pushing motherhood even farther away.

Life does go on. And as expected for young female physicians in our 30's the baby making goes on too. How many more first birthday cards I will send and baby showers will I plan? No need to seem like it doesn't bother me- no need to hide that I feel left out. Just moving forward.

I am healing

Sitting at the kitchen counter eating my oatmeal with raisins, a searing high pitched tone grabbed my attention. The fire alarm? Cell phone out of batteries? Actually my pager. So funny. I did not recognize the sound. I have been into work twice now. On the second journey I opened up shop so to speak, which included turning my pager back on. There were times on call, especially my first year of cards fellowship when it went off every 20 minutes. Following the beep my laboradoodle Smokey looked at me..... eyes wide open, head tilted slightly, ears raised as if to say what the heck is that.... what have you done!!

I am walking without crutches for short distances. Sitting is more comfortable. The potty chair and shower seat have been sent to the basement. My plastic apparatus for donning socks still is essential. I have PT exercises that I do as frequently as possible, and I can tell my strength is increasing. My hip hurts. Not all of the time, but frequently. It does feel different than before the surgery. Stiffness mostly, but sometimes there will be a pull or cramp when I turn or twist a certain direction.

I also found the courage to get on the scale. My clothes (and bras) don't fit. I have been living in yoga pants for the past month. The damage? Twenty pounds. Ten since November, twenty since I stopped exercising. To my credit when I stare at my naked body in the mirror I do not exactly like what I see, but I seem to have gotten over the loathing. This is kinda huge for me.

Before the infertility, miscarriage, broken wrist, hip problem/surgery there was a sense of control. Focus on success, perfection. Consideration of every move, analysis of each decision as if I held the power, thinking that if I worked hard enough I could make things happen.

This blog is about this experience for me. Now I am healing. I certainly hope the series of terrible events that sent me off track are behind me. But if their purpose was to teach me a lesson, give me a life skill necessary for health and happiness- I get it, finally.

Count down

Five days until my exam. Let me tell you I had a freak out Friday about Posterior Hemiblocks. What a pain in the ass. Determining the frontal axis on a 12-lead EKG, arhghh! Good thing no one ever dies of an isolated left posterior fasicular block.

Speaking of pain in the ass I woke up with one this morning- literally. So my hip is still there, my blissful denial is also coming to an end. My people are waiting in the wings, ready to plan my convalescence. I am fortunate to be surrounded with support.

Also boycotting Halloween this year. Last year October 31st was circled on my calendar. It was my first pre-natal exam. Me and my humongous boobs dressed up as a sultry pirate. The real fright came when the ultrasound was not normal. Later the bloodbath followed by a haunting. But that was a year ago. I'm just really glad that last year we decided against buying that cute 12 month pumpkin costume off the sale rack.

I am aware of the absence. Absence of excitement and optimism. Yet surprised by the steadfast pleasure in my life- despite the pain, disappointment, physical inactivity and (prolonged) delayed gratification. I think I owe that to the wing people.

From the sparkle

I am trained to understand how infertility affects patients. It is a pervasive source of stress leading to personal and marital conflict. Women facing infertility experience loss of well being because their bodies have betrayed them and they feel helpless in the situation.

This knowledge provides no insight or reassurance. Clinical problems and the emotional response is more transparent when occurring in bodies not connected to your own.

Polycystic ovarian syndrome prevents me from ovulating, makes my complexion resemble a 8th grader's and will save me from starving to death in case of famine. As a teenager I thought it was great to only have periods 4 times a year but now I need drugs to ovulate normally. Since food is a relative abundance survival from famine is unlikely to come in handy- and I am left with a commitment to exercise and reality that if left unchecked I will will be obese.

So desire to start a family got me moving to lose weight. Stupidity led to falling and breaking my arm. Insanity pushed me to run early/ hard post fracture convalescence. Hip pain sent me to PT. Impatience landed me in the orthrapod's office. Protocol prescribed hip films. Black sharpie circled bone in neck of femur that should not be there. Nurse penciled me in for January surgery. Whoa. Log way from the sparkle in my husband's eye and dream of little ones.

Crazy Busy Explodes

I am just sick. Nausea and dispair. Pediatric fellow late for work calls basic science research scientist husband. He comes downstairs to meet her, she runs to work. He drives car 4 blocks and parks it in usual location. She didn't mention the baby. He didn't look in the rear facing car seat. He returns to work. Seven month old little Sophia is found dead in car 4 hours later.

Too close to home, in more than one way.

Loss

My baby was due June 16th. Every time a colleague mentions their children reflexivly I think about the baby I lost. Seven month old baby, four months older than my child would have been. A sense of loss multiplied.

Similar Stuggles

In medical training others control your schedule. You are kept on a short leash. Pushing your limits despite mental or physical fatigue. My friends who have children share thier sense of guilt. Needing more time for work or home, always balancing the two. When interviewing I met a cardiovascular research scientist who balanced her medical career, laboratory, and family. When asked her advice she responded, "As a female physian you learn to juggle, trying not to drop a ball but knowing it will bounce. As a physician mother you keep juggling but the differece is now one of the balls (your child) is made of glass."

Harsh Reflection

Others tell me how lucky I am. They remeber their pre children days fondly. They say, "How wonderful it must be to pick up and go at a moments notice. You are so healthy and productive, these kids just take so much time!" Bitter for me. Waiting to start a family was a concious decision. Baby while protected in the lab was my plan. Infertility, left wrist fracture, hip cartlidge tear and congenital hip abnormality were not part of this plan. Few can understand the way married with children looks from my perspective. Disaster and loss haults the crazy busy life for Sophie's parents. Horrible pain and loss was not in thier plan. Where does that leave us?

Beware the testosterone is climbing....

I boycotted fertility meds in April and joined Prozac nation. Metformin for insulin resistance, they told me my anovulation was because of PCOS. Colomid to ovulate- it didn't work the first time (no ovulation but plenty of hormone craziness). Daily temperatures- waiting for the thermometer to beep before climbing out of bed. Not to mention (the unmentionable) pressure for baby making within a 18 hour window. It should be more fun that this!

My lab tests showed triple the amount of testosterone for a woman my age and size. Here I thought all of my interesting qualities (athletic ability, intensity, interest in cardiology- a male dominated field) were uniquely me. So I have been jacked up on male hormone all along. No wonder I couldn't figure out how to play with dolls or make the cheerleading squad in junior high.

As a new member of Prozac nation I wonder if I should have joined years ago. Certainly less crying and moping. Less anxiety for sure. I can feel despair being replaced by anger. It this a modified grieving process- and I am working the stages? Or perhaps it is just the testosterone again..... my old friend.