Well, I don't have fibroids, at least. I hadn't been sure how to feel at first, because at least it would have been an answer, but Papa Bear had pointed out the possible complications from fibroids and I felt better about not having them. That still leaves no real answers about the extent of my current...experience, though, because it's symptoms beyond what is expected with endo. Best guess is hormone changes, but apparently there's not really much of any research on hormones in people who lose an ovary.
The answer about the fibroids was mostly washed away by the whole nightmare experience of the ultrasound, though. The last time I was lying on that table, I was being told that my baby no longer had a heartbeat. To make it worse, it was the same tech, and she didn't remember that fact until Papa Bear reminded her. She didn't even see in my chart about what happened last year, so she was asking me about why I didn't have a right ovary. At least the doctor said they have 2 ultrasound techs at this point, so if I get that far, I can ask for the other one.
Since I don't have fibroids, getting that far now looks to rest on Clomid. The doctor still wants me to get an HSG to make sure my remaining tube is clear, and it looks like we'll be doing that in September. Provided it's clear (or gets clear from the dye going through), we'll start Clomid after that. One thing we're not sure of is how much of a real LH surge I'm having to even trigger ovulation, since last month I had the line on the OPK get darker than it had been but not darker than the control line. But the doctor said if that's what's wrong, Clomid will help.
He did also say that Clomid tends to make people feel cranky and have less energy. For those who have tried it, what has your experience been?
Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts
Thursday, July 07, 2016
Friday, June 17, 2016
Triggered
This post basically is one big trigger warning, so do with that as you will.
Wednesday was a weird day because it was the anniversary of the surgery and it was the last day of me seeing clients at one agency, so I was saying goodbye to them. I mostly spent the day running around like a headless chicken trying to get everything done. On the way home after my last client, though, I started falling apart in the car.
I texted one of my cousins who has also experienced loss, and that helped. I was physically feeling like crap, but I also had a meeting that evening that I needed to drag myself to, and that was another distraction. When I got home from the meeting, though, I was still feeling awful and I lay down with a book. I love fantasy, and I love being able to escape into another world. My husband suggested going to bed after all the kids did, but I wanted to read for a few more minutes.
Then I picked up my phone and flipped through Facebook. Big mistake. Wednesday was the day that alligator took that little boy in Orlando. That little boy that's the same age as my son. There's a post going around by Melissa Fenton or something like that that one of my friends had posted. DON'T READ IT!!! Not unless you can handle your heart breaking into a million pieces.
When it was talking about cases from the past, it was okay. When it started talking about the boy in Orlando, in graphic detail of that family's experience of the loss, that's when it got to be too much to take. I started shaking and crying. I wanted to blog about it, but I couldn't. I was up for another hour because I couldn't face the thought of going to bed and I needed to escape into another world again. I'm tearing up again now just writing this.
I'm sure part of it was the timing and the day I read it, but it would have still ripped me apart at any time because the baby was the age my son is and that'll be the case any day of the year. Any time I look at Facebook on my phone or the computer, I'm actually scared and tentative now, looking to make sure that I'm not seeing the beginning of that article again, clicking away fast if I do.
I don't feel like everyone needs to be protected from everything that could possibly be thought provoking or challenge their beliefs or anything like that. And I'm not saying that it was the author's responsibility or the reposters' responsibility to put a trigger warning in place. But for me, I needed one, so this is that warning for others.
Wednesday was a weird day because it was the anniversary of the surgery and it was the last day of me seeing clients at one agency, so I was saying goodbye to them. I mostly spent the day running around like a headless chicken trying to get everything done. On the way home after my last client, though, I started falling apart in the car.
I texted one of my cousins who has also experienced loss, and that helped. I was physically feeling like crap, but I also had a meeting that evening that I needed to drag myself to, and that was another distraction. When I got home from the meeting, though, I was still feeling awful and I lay down with a book. I love fantasy, and I love being able to escape into another world. My husband suggested going to bed after all the kids did, but I wanted to read for a few more minutes.
Then I picked up my phone and flipped through Facebook. Big mistake. Wednesday was the day that alligator took that little boy in Orlando. That little boy that's the same age as my son. There's a post going around by Melissa Fenton or something like that that one of my friends had posted. DON'T READ IT!!! Not unless you can handle your heart breaking into a million pieces.
When it was talking about cases from the past, it was okay. When it started talking about the boy in Orlando, in graphic detail of that family's experience of the loss, that's when it got to be too much to take. I started shaking and crying. I wanted to blog about it, but I couldn't. I was up for another hour because I couldn't face the thought of going to bed and I needed to escape into another world again. I'm tearing up again now just writing this.
I'm sure part of it was the timing and the day I read it, but it would have still ripped me apart at any time because the baby was the age my son is and that'll be the case any day of the year. Any time I look at Facebook on my phone or the computer, I'm actually scared and tentative now, looking to make sure that I'm not seeing the beginning of that article again, clicking away fast if I do.
I don't feel like everyone needs to be protected from everything that could possibly be thought provoking or challenge their beliefs or anything like that. And I'm not saying that it was the author's responsibility or the reposters' responsibility to put a trigger warning in place. But for me, I needed one, so this is that warning for others.
Monday, June 13, 2016
#MicroblogMondays: Surviving
Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is?Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too
I don't really know what to say. This is a bad week. I hadn't been blogging for a while both because of being crazy busy and because I didn't really know what to say because of how much I was dreading this week. This past Friday was the anniversary of when I found out that Otter was gone. This Wednesday is the anniversary of the surgery when so much changed. Friday sucked hard. I was really glad to have an excuse not to be seeing clients that day, and during the day was okay, but the evening brought up all my feelings of hopelessness and rejection.
Talking about it later with a friend of mine helped, as she pointed out that with having my son's birthday party on Friday, it became a dual celebration between celebrating his life and the fact that I lived through the surgery.
I'm still scared about Wednesday. It's a major transition point for me career-wise as well, as I stop seeing one set of clients and say goodbye to the last of them. Then I have a meeting along with the older kids that night and we go shopping for Father's Day presents. I hope that will be enough to shut my heart down until after the kids are in bed that night, but I'm so scared that it won't be.
I don't really know what to say. This is a bad week. I hadn't been blogging for a while both because of being crazy busy and because I didn't really know what to say because of how much I was dreading this week. This past Friday was the anniversary of when I found out that Otter was gone. This Wednesday is the anniversary of the surgery when so much changed. Friday sucked hard. I was really glad to have an excuse not to be seeing clients that day, and during the day was okay, but the evening brought up all my feelings of hopelessness and rejection.
Talking about it later with a friend of mine helped, as she pointed out that with having my son's birthday party on Friday, it became a dual celebration between celebrating his life and the fact that I lived through the surgery.
I'm still scared about Wednesday. It's a major transition point for me career-wise as well, as I stop seeing one set of clients and say goodbye to the last of them. Then I have a meeting along with the older kids that night and we go shopping for Father's Day presents. I hope that will be enough to shut my heart down until after the kids are in bed that night, but I'm so scared that it won't be.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
#MicroblogMondays: April Fools
Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is?Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.
Ah, April Fools Day. the day when I feel like the biggest killjoy in the world. And yet, I refuse to stop. Every year, I will post something highlighting that the "I'm pregnant" prank is NOT FUNNY. Even when I was pregnant, it wasn't funny. Even when I had a baby and had not yet had my miscarriage, it wasn't funny. Now that I've lost a baby and a tube and an ovary and haven't been able to conceive again, it sure as hell isn't funny. Now that two of my closest friends lost their daughter at a day old and haven't conceived again, it sure as hell isn't funny. I'm not saying people can't have fun on April Fools Day, but show some damned creativity!!! And anyone who says I'm too sensitive is hereby invited to walk in my shoes or my husband's shoes or those of my friends T and D and then see how they feel.
Ah, April Fools Day. the day when I feel like the biggest killjoy in the world. And yet, I refuse to stop. Every year, I will post something highlighting that the "I'm pregnant" prank is NOT FUNNY. Even when I was pregnant, it wasn't funny. Even when I had a baby and had not yet had my miscarriage, it wasn't funny. Now that I've lost a baby and a tube and an ovary and haven't been able to conceive again, it sure as hell isn't funny. Now that two of my closest friends lost their daughter at a day old and haven't conceived again, it sure as hell isn't funny. I'm not saying people can't have fun on April Fools Day, but show some damned creativity!!! And anyone who says I'm too sensitive is hereby invited to walk in my shoes or my husband's shoes or those of my friends T and D and then see how they feel.
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
#MicroblogMondays: The Finances of Miscarriage
Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is?Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.
I'm on several Facebook groups related to miscarriage, and this article just showed up in my feed from one of them. I hadn't thought about how much miscarriage would cost for other people. When I thought mine was a "normal" miscarriage, I was thinking about how this baby that we had wanted was gone, dead inside me. I wasn't thinking about the cost to us for appointments or the surgery. I get reminders of the economic impact of my surgery frequently, as we are still working on paying the bills ($4000 or so?), but blood transfusions and an ICU stay will do that. I didn't think about what other people would pay or what I would have been paying if mine had been a "normal" D&C.
Food for thought, especially in this age where "everyone has insurance" means "we act like we'll take away your tax money, but we know you don't pay taxes because you have no income and we won't actually give you Medicaid until you're already dying of cancer and unable to be saved instead of 2 years earlier when it could have helped." No, I'm not bitter.
I'm on several Facebook groups related to miscarriage, and this article just showed up in my feed from one of them. I hadn't thought about how much miscarriage would cost for other people. When I thought mine was a "normal" miscarriage, I was thinking about how this baby that we had wanted was gone, dead inside me. I wasn't thinking about the cost to us for appointments or the surgery. I get reminders of the economic impact of my surgery frequently, as we are still working on paying the bills ($4000 or so?), but blood transfusions and an ICU stay will do that. I didn't think about what other people would pay or what I would have been paying if mine had been a "normal" D&C.
Food for thought, especially in this age where "everyone has insurance" means "we act like we'll take away your tax money, but we know you don't pay taxes because you have no income and we won't actually give you Medicaid until you're already dying of cancer and unable to be saved instead of 2 years earlier when it could have helped." No, I'm not bitter.
Monday, February 22, 2016
#MicroblogMondays: Tear Soup
Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is?Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.
One of my clients handed this book to me to borrow a couple of weeks ago. A family friend had suggested it to her after she recently lost her husband. She said I would cry when reading it, and she was right, but it was the good kind of cry, the "yes, that's what it's like" kind of cry. It's written to fit for children and adults both, and it does a really good job of breaking down how grief changes and how it gets shared with others.
The main author has written several other short books and pamphlets, mainly about losing a child. She has a book for the older sibling of a lost baby and one for the rainbow baby. She has a pamphlet for parents after a miscarriage. I don't know if that would help or not at the stage that I'm at right now, but I've been thinking about getting it.
Right now, I feel so alone, like we're the only ones who can't have a rainbow baby. I know that's not true, I know there are so many people out there who haven't been able to have theirs. But it feels like it's just us. I still get a lot of comfort from having my son, and I know that's comfort and joy that I wouldn't have if Otter had come before him. But it's still lonely, and I'm still making my tear soup.
One of my clients handed this book to me to borrow a couple of weeks ago. A family friend had suggested it to her after she recently lost her husband. She said I would cry when reading it, and she was right, but it was the good kind of cry, the "yes, that's what it's like" kind of cry. It's written to fit for children and adults both, and it does a really good job of breaking down how grief changes and how it gets shared with others.
The main author has written several other short books and pamphlets, mainly about losing a child. She has a book for the older sibling of a lost baby and one for the rainbow baby. She has a pamphlet for parents after a miscarriage. I don't know if that would help or not at the stage that I'm at right now, but I've been thinking about getting it.
Right now, I feel so alone, like we're the only ones who can't have a rainbow baby. I know that's not true, I know there are so many people out there who haven't been able to have theirs. But it feels like it's just us. I still get a lot of comfort from having my son, and I know that's comfort and joy that I wouldn't have if Otter had come before him. But it's still lonely, and I'm still making my tear soup.
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Grief is Why We Tell the Story
I've been listening to the soundtrack for Once on this Island over and over as I introduce the older kids to it (and then keep playing it when they're not in the car, which is most of my driving time). If you go by the measurement of how long it takes me to wear out the CD, Wicked is definitely my favorite musical, with Once on this Island and Ragtime close behind. This song made me tear up as I was driving to work this morning.
For those who aren't familiar with it, the end of the show is very bittersweet, as the main character dies for her love. This song celebrates the sharing of stories within societies and families and across generations.
"Life is why we tell the story
Pain is why we tell the story
Love is why we tell the story
Grief is why we tell the story
Hope is why we tell the story
Faith is why we tell the story
You are why we tell the story."
This fits with why I talk about my loss of Otter. The whole story of Once on this Island is being passed down from older generation to younger in a peasant village, and it made me think of telling my son some day about his sibling, or of telling any other children we may be able to have about their other sibling that they never knew.
All of these are why we tell the story. Otter had life, even if it was not life outside of my body. We loved Otter, and losing her (see past post for why Otter has a gender in my writing) led to pain and grief. The circumstances surrounding the loss ruined the hope that we had, but they also led to the possibility of new hope (if I could only feel it myself) of conception not being affected by endometriosis. I try to have faith that we will be able to have another child.
And my son (as well as any others we may have) is why we tell the story. At some point in the future, he will know what a miracle it was that I was able to conceive and carry him. Because even though Otter came and went after him, it is somewhat his story as well.
For those who aren't familiar with it, the end of the show is very bittersweet, as the main character dies for her love. This song celebrates the sharing of stories within societies and families and across generations.
"Life is why we tell the story
Pain is why we tell the story
Love is why we tell the story
Grief is why we tell the story
Hope is why we tell the story
Faith is why we tell the story
You are why we tell the story."
This fits with why I talk about my loss of Otter. The whole story of Once on this Island is being passed down from older generation to younger in a peasant village, and it made me think of telling my son some day about his sibling, or of telling any other children we may be able to have about their other sibling that they never knew.
All of these are why we tell the story. Otter had life, even if it was not life outside of my body. We loved Otter, and losing her (see past post for why Otter has a gender in my writing) led to pain and grief. The circumstances surrounding the loss ruined the hope that we had, but they also led to the possibility of new hope (if I could only feel it myself) of conception not being affected by endometriosis. I try to have faith that we will be able to have another child.
And my son (as well as any others we may have) is why we tell the story. At some point in the future, he will know what a miracle it was that I was able to conceive and carry him. Because even though Otter came and went after him, it is somewhat his story as well.
Friday, January 15, 2016
Proud of Myself
The closer I got to my due date, the harder it has been to be around tiny babies or people who were pregnant, especially people who were as pregnant as I would have been. But I had an intake today with someone who was visibly pregnant, and I braced myself when I noticed, but it didn't hurt. I didn't have to hold back the feelings until after the session because I wasn't actually having the feelings. This feels like a big breakthrough, and I'm proud of myself.
Saturday, January 09, 2016
Finishing Out The Week
Today was more of the same pull between holding it together and...not holding it together. I still managed to keep the not holding it together contained, letting the ugly crying happen while I was driving.
There was something that my work BFF said that made me feel a little better, though, even while it made me tear up. She said that she believes our babies are together in heaven and that Got has told them plenty of time that their mommies are friends and love them beyond words. I like that idea. One of the things that helped me a little when we first lost Otter (what we called the baby, like my son was Penguin in utero) was the thought that my mom was holding her. (We didn't get any testing done, so we don't know the gender, but we thought of Otter as a girl all along, and I'd rather use a more specific pronoun than "it" because "it" doesn't sound like a baby, a person to me, "it" sounds like a thing.) So now I have the mental image of my mom playing with both of our babies, spoiling them like she always wanted to do with her grandchildren and like she didn't get the chance to do with my son.
There was something that my work BFF said that made me feel a little better, though, even while it made me tear up. She said that she believes our babies are together in heaven and that Got has told them plenty of time that their mommies are friends and love them beyond words. I like that idea. One of the things that helped me a little when we first lost Otter (what we called the baby, like my son was Penguin in utero) was the thought that my mom was holding her. (We didn't get any testing done, so we don't know the gender, but we thought of Otter as a girl all along, and I'd rather use a more specific pronoun than "it" because "it" doesn't sound like a baby, a person to me, "it" sounds like a thing.) So now I have the mental image of my mom playing with both of our babies, spoiling them like she always wanted to do with her grandchildren and like she didn't get the chance to do with my son.
Friday, January 08, 2016
It's Over, I Guess?
I was numb until about lunch today (which, based on my client schedule, came at 2). I don't know whether it was wine from last night or fatigue or being emotionally drained, but I felt like I was moving through a numb haze as I took the baby to daycare, walked the dog, snuggled with the dog for a nap before my first session, went through my first 4 sessions.
The numbness wore off as I was heading to lunch. Interestingly, it was triggered as much by my mom as by the due date. (For those that I don't know IRL, I lost my mom to cancer in September 2014.) Because of the due date, it really hurt that I couldn't call her and talk to her. From that point on, the day was back and forth between struggling to hold back tears and failing to hold them back. I'm just glad I managed to be distracted enough from my feelings to keep control during sessions.
It was nice being off work early enough to pick the baby up from daycare before it closed, especially since he was in a good mood. As I was getting home, though, I found out that my husband needed to run out for spaghetti sauce. I was already feeling like I wanted to stay at work until the kids were all in bed because I was afraid of breaking down in front of them and scaring them, and then I had to manage 2 of them alone (my husband took my car, with the baby in it). I had to wipe away tears before I walked in, both from all the emotion and from fear of not holding it together well enough. The fact that one was doing homework and the other had other things she could focus on gave me the ability to just cook and load the dishwasher. My husband got home quickly, at least, which took focus off of me. I was able to do a decent amount of isolating without it affecting the kids by being the one to put the baby to bed, and I got the side benefit of baby snuggles.
After we got the older kids to bed, I semi-unintentionally made a cushion fort in the corner of the sectional while my husband brought me mint moose tracks ice cream with whipped cream and crumbled Thin Mints on top. That got me able to do the notes I had to do tonight for work. OK, that and more wine. What the hell. I'm not pregnant, and for all I know I never will be again. And that hurts.
But I do have a toddler that I love very much and who is finally getting better with sleep. This would hurt a lot more if I also had added to the pain the question of whether I would ever become a real parent. And I have a husband who loves me dearly and brings me ice cream. And I have a dog that loves to snuggle. And I know that on other nights, I will not feel this bad. But right now, I do. And I know that's ok now that the kids are in bed. I didn't want to burden the kids with seeing how awful I felt. But now I can show it and be honest about who I am and how I feel because anyone who would be bothered by it can choose not to read.
The numbness wore off as I was heading to lunch. Interestingly, it was triggered as much by my mom as by the due date. (For those that I don't know IRL, I lost my mom to cancer in September 2014.) Because of the due date, it really hurt that I couldn't call her and talk to her. From that point on, the day was back and forth between struggling to hold back tears and failing to hold them back. I'm just glad I managed to be distracted enough from my feelings to keep control during sessions.
It was nice being off work early enough to pick the baby up from daycare before it closed, especially since he was in a good mood. As I was getting home, though, I found out that my husband needed to run out for spaghetti sauce. I was already feeling like I wanted to stay at work until the kids were all in bed because I was afraid of breaking down in front of them and scaring them, and then I had to manage 2 of them alone (my husband took my car, with the baby in it). I had to wipe away tears before I walked in, both from all the emotion and from fear of not holding it together well enough. The fact that one was doing homework and the other had other things she could focus on gave me the ability to just cook and load the dishwasher. My husband got home quickly, at least, which took focus off of me. I was able to do a decent amount of isolating without it affecting the kids by being the one to put the baby to bed, and I got the side benefit of baby snuggles.
After we got the older kids to bed, I semi-unintentionally made a cushion fort in the corner of the sectional while my husband brought me mint moose tracks ice cream with whipped cream and crumbled Thin Mints on top. That got me able to do the notes I had to do tonight for work. OK, that and more wine. What the hell. I'm not pregnant, and for all I know I never will be again. And that hurts.
But I do have a toddler that I love very much and who is finally getting better with sleep. This would hurt a lot more if I also had added to the pain the question of whether I would ever become a real parent. And I have a husband who loves me dearly and brings me ice cream. And I have a dog that loves to snuggle. And I know that on other nights, I will not feel this bad. But right now, I do. And I know that's ok now that the kids are in bed. I didn't want to burden the kids with seeing how awful I felt. But now I can show it and be honest about who I am and how I feel because anyone who would be bothered by it can choose not to read.
Thursday, January 07, 2016
I Didn't Want to Need This
I hadn't done anything to deactivate this blog or anything, but I thought I had outgrown it in my process. I had been able to conceive quickly in my second marriage, and I have a healthy now-toddler.
But then after getting pregnant unexpectedly in May, we lost the baby at 10 1/2 weeks. And I almost died. (Literally, not hyperbole here.) Apparently, I was a once-in-a-career case. I could have lived better without that recognition. Long story (which will probably come out in another post) short, the type of miscarriage was misdiagnosed, and the true cause wasn't figured out until I was bleeding out on the table during my D&C. In the end, I lost my right tube and ovary and went to ICU overnight, and we learned that I had endometriosis. Which, for the record, spellcheck doesn't even recognize as a work. That says something to my cynical little heart.
Today would have been my due date. January 6 or 7, depending on whether you focus on counting weeks since LMP, like my husband was, or the date guess from the first sonogram, like I was. That's why I'm posting at night like this, to be right on the border between the two.
I've got so many feelings that I can't even identify all of them. And I'm a therapist, so that takes a lot! I had been managing ok (as compared to what I expect from tomorrow, at least, since I was focused more on tomorrow as the due date) and bracing myself for tomorrow. And then I ran into my best friend from work, who had a miscarriage at the same time I did. And I lost it. Sobbing into her shoulder. Which makes sense, I know. But it broke the seal on all the feels. The rest of the day, I've been pinging back and forth between falling apart and holding myself back from falling apart.
One of the main feelings that is predominating (aside from pain so deep that I can't really describe it from there right now) is a deep and burning anger at the medical professionals that I've dealt with over the years. I've been a patient for excessive PMS pain since my freshman year of college. I spent all of my time from when lesser meds didn't work (spectacularly) until I was ready to start TTC with my ex on the strongest Pill that is even still made. I loved the doctor that prescribed a strong NSAID so that I had something to take when I wasn't taking the Pill anymore. But why just give me more and stronger meds without ever bringing up the possibility of endo? I had about a year, all told, of various infertility testing and monitoring. But why didn't anyone bring up the possibility of endo? When doctors didn't bring it up, or dismissed it if I did, that sent the message that I should just suck it up and manage with the meds because periods hurt and that's just what happens. And that almost killed me later.
I don't know how often I will be posting. I tried to do another blog before and when I was pregnant with my son, and one of the main things I learned was that I had neither the time nor the energy for blogging. But I think I need this. I need to reconnect with the ALI community. I need to find other people like me. I was scanning FB tonight looking for people on chat to be able to talk to and relate to, and most of the people who were on at the time didn't have the experience to relate. And I'm glad they don't. I hate that my work best friend can relate. I hate it for other people who have told me they can. I don't want anyone else to be able to relate. But since there are people who have already had their losses and are still in their struggles, I need to find them and connect with them again.
But then after getting pregnant unexpectedly in May, we lost the baby at 10 1/2 weeks. And I almost died. (Literally, not hyperbole here.) Apparently, I was a once-in-a-career case. I could have lived better without that recognition. Long story (which will probably come out in another post) short, the type of miscarriage was misdiagnosed, and the true cause wasn't figured out until I was bleeding out on the table during my D&C. In the end, I lost my right tube and ovary and went to ICU overnight, and we learned that I had endometriosis. Which, for the record, spellcheck doesn't even recognize as a work. That says something to my cynical little heart.
Today would have been my due date. January 6 or 7, depending on whether you focus on counting weeks since LMP, like my husband was, or the date guess from the first sonogram, like I was. That's why I'm posting at night like this, to be right on the border between the two.
I've got so many feelings that I can't even identify all of them. And I'm a therapist, so that takes a lot! I had been managing ok (as compared to what I expect from tomorrow, at least, since I was focused more on tomorrow as the due date) and bracing myself for tomorrow. And then I ran into my best friend from work, who had a miscarriage at the same time I did. And I lost it. Sobbing into her shoulder. Which makes sense, I know. But it broke the seal on all the feels. The rest of the day, I've been pinging back and forth between falling apart and holding myself back from falling apart.
One of the main feelings that is predominating (aside from pain so deep that I can't really describe it from there right now) is a deep and burning anger at the medical professionals that I've dealt with over the years. I've been a patient for excessive PMS pain since my freshman year of college. I spent all of my time from when lesser meds didn't work (spectacularly) until I was ready to start TTC with my ex on the strongest Pill that is even still made. I loved the doctor that prescribed a strong NSAID so that I had something to take when I wasn't taking the Pill anymore. But why just give me more and stronger meds without ever bringing up the possibility of endo? I had about a year, all told, of various infertility testing and monitoring. But why didn't anyone bring up the possibility of endo? When doctors didn't bring it up, or dismissed it if I did, that sent the message that I should just suck it up and manage with the meds because periods hurt and that's just what happens. And that almost killed me later.
I don't know how often I will be posting. I tried to do another blog before and when I was pregnant with my son, and one of the main things I learned was that I had neither the time nor the energy for blogging. But I think I need this. I need to reconnect with the ALI community. I need to find other people like me. I was scanning FB tonight looking for people on chat to be able to talk to and relate to, and most of the people who were on at the time didn't have the experience to relate. And I'm glad they don't. I hate that my work best friend can relate. I hate it for other people who have told me they can. I don't want anyone else to be able to relate. But since there are people who have already had their losses and are still in their struggles, I need to find them and connect with them again.
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