One Day At A Time

Thank you for all the kindness and well-wishes – very, very much appreciated.

~*~

My ultrasound last week had been scheduled with the high-risk OB’s nurse midwife.  In a very large practice of 10+ physicians and lots of NPs, it just happened that she was the one with an open appointment that day.  I am so, so incredibly glad that it worked out that way.  When the ultrasound tech didn’t see an embryo/fetus anywhere, the high-risk OB himself – the man that got us through the absolute sh*t show of my pregnancy with and delivered E, who I trust totally – came in to give me the final word (and performed my D&C the next day).  I appreciated that immensely.  Not getting bad news from a stranger or someone who didn’t know my history made such a difference, especially since, thanks to Covid-19, I was by myself at the ultrasound.

The D&C was definitely the right option for me in this particular circumstance.  The pregnancy symptoms are, thankfully, abating.  It’s a particular bit of insult to injury to have breast pain so bad that it was waking me up at night – including the night before surgery – when there’s no actual baby to justify the discomfort.  That was one of the more frustrating parts of the whole situation: my symptoms were really major this time, more so than with any of the previous four pregnancies.  I sort of assumed that symptoms were an encouraging sign, but apparently not in this case.

A friend brought us a meal afterwards.  I actually cried because I was grateful – it was SO nice and so incredibly welcome since we got home from the hospital around 5:30 and none of the adults were up to making anything.

~*~

I’m struggling a bit to hold the dual realities that I don’t want another pregnancy and also I want to be pregnant right now.  The idea of going through the two week wait(s), seeing the two lines, beta HCG draws, the first ultrasound, the waiting through anatomy scans, viability, praying to get to term – provided I got to any of those points at all – makes me feel vaguely nauseated.  I just don’t have anything left of whatever propelled me through all the other fertility misadventures.  At the same time, I want desperately to be holding an ultrasound picture of an 8-week baby and awaiting the next ultrasound with nervous anticipation.  I want to be looking forward to my due date in March, sourcing a low-cost maternity wardrobe and waiting for those kicks.

Basically, I don’t want a replacement.  I want this specific pregnancy except that I want it to work out with a healthy baby at the end.

That’s an impossibility and it aches.

~*~

Moving on is the one thing I actually have some mild optimism about in the better moments – it will take time (probably a lot more than I’d like it to) and some days will feel impossible but that it will happen.  We’ll work on getting rid of the baby stuff still in the basement, finishing up a few projects to really make our spare room the craft/study/music area for the girls, and…birth control.

We know we’re going the permanent route at some future point, but with Covid-19, some insurance realities, and still reeling emotionally from this experience, it’s just not good timing to go through that process immediately.  I set up my follow-up visit slightly further out than usual to allow my uterus to heal so we can look at the full range of effective non-permanent options out there to hold in the meantime.  The last thing we need right now is “surprise!”  Which feels incredibly weird after nearly a decade of trying to get pregnant, wanting to be pregnant, and desperately hoping for (or at least being open to) a pregnancy.

It’s time, though.

Step, Step

We take everything one day at a time these days.  I’ve heard that as advice a lot over the years (and mostly ignored it), but now it’s all but impossible to do anything else.  It’s strange to see our normally bustling calendar stripped bare of notations, just the date in each square. We’ve been listening to the Frozen 2 soundtrack in our house and one of the songs, titled “The Next Right Thing” has a resonance it’s impossible to miss right now:

Take a step, step again

It is all that I can do

The next right thing.

In a moment I’ve been dreading since the news broke about the Life Care home in Seattle back in February and I more fully began to understand what we were dealing with, my grandfather passed away last week, Covid-19 the most likely cause of death.  The staff at his nursing home took great care of him and for him and I am grateful for them and their good work.  We grieve our private loss, but I know we are also grieving in a community that extends from Italy to Spain to China, across the United States, around the entire world as the virus grimly marches forward.  Friends have lost family members or had relatives seriously ill.  Others are laid off or furloughed and worried.  Still others are parted from living loved ones that they desperately miss.  So many unique losses for so many people, so much collective sadness.  I haven’t decorated the plain wreath I hung on our door at the start of Lent or put up flowers to replace the bare branches in my vases.  No matter what the church calendar may say, the light has not burst forth yet in this season.

And with the dawn, what comes then?

When it’s clear that everything will never be the same again…

Yesterday morning, when Arthur got ready to leave for work, the car refused to start.  This was not a total surprise as we knew the battery’s getting old and we’re trying not to do too much with it since we know we’re going to most likely be buying a new vehicle in the fall.  With no time to try to jump it right then, we hustled everyone into the other car and I drove Arthur to work.

It was the most novel, lovely thing, just going out and driving an essential 30-minute round-trip.

The route to Arthur’s work is fairly scenic, which helps.  There was a heron wading in the marsh and the sun shining across the waters.  After weeks of not leaving the house for days at a time other than work and picking up groceries every once in a while, though, it was such a strange, pleasant feeling to drive further than my extremely short commute.

It’s funny how these little events that I barely would have noticed in The Time Before are taking on such significance now.  Sitting on the porch swing as the weather gets nicer has become a welcome break from indoors.  Having a conversation with a neighbor across the yard and safely socially-distant is wonderful.  We watch the birds at our feeders, mostly goldfinches now.  There are also some events that never would have happened in The Time Before: we got to watch our local Air Force wing take the fighter planes for a flyover to salute the hospitals and all the healthcare workers.

We are – like so many others – okay and also not okay.

We stay home.  Go to essential jobs.  So far, all healthy.  Wait.

But break it down to this next breath

This next step

This next choice is one that I can make…

The next right thing.

 

Truly Amazing

I keep seeing a lot of graphics and such popping up about doctors’ and nurses’ service right now, which is lovely.  I’m happy to see more and more acknowledgement of hospital/nursing home housekeepers and laundry as well as cafeteria/food service, incredibly important and often very unseen groups of workers.  They work beyond hard and a huge amount of infection control in facilities comes down to what they do on a daily basis.

One group of workers I’ve seen overlooked at times recently is the respiratory therapists (RTs).

I’ve been incredibly privileged to work with the most amazing RTs over the years, both from a professional standpoint and from a personal one.  They’re the ones adjusting ventilator settings, checking endotracheal tubes, monitoring oxygen settings, checking tracheostomies, setting up hi-flow systems, and doing breathing treatments – plus about a million other things.  They were the ones in NICU who were adjusting c-pap, checking and adjusting E’s hi-flow settings, finding flow meters that could give the tiniest liter flows as we weaned her off, and generally checking her ability to oxygenate properly.

In short, they are awesome.  Absolutely necessary and totally key in the fight against a virus that is hugely a respiratory issue.  Really, there are not enough thanks for everything they do.

This post is a part of Microblog Mondays.  If you want to read more or participate yourself, head over to Stirrup Queens!  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting.