Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Inside the 2WW

I try to write. I think of things to write, while I am lying in bed. I create witty and engaging phrasing in my head as I wait to pick my daughter up from school. And then, when faced with some time alone, I do not write.

It was easier, or maybe more interesting to me, or both, to write when I was consumed by grief and impatience, lo those short months ago. The drama was boiling at the surface of my being. Every thing I saw and heard hinted of my losses, from cleaning my closets and finding a maternity shirt given by a friend just before the last loss, to the premier epidose of Gilmore Girls, where Lane, newly married and returned from a Montezuma's Revenge all-inclusive honeymoon discovers it's not a Mexican parasite making her gag after all. It's an unplanned pregnancy! Diagnosed a week after she had sex! for the first and only time in her life! Et tu, Roray?

So, no surprise that I find lots of ironies in my waiting. This is the same time of year (perhaps, even, the same week) that I became pregnant with my first loss, last year. The three of us flew to my parents' for Thanksgiving and I let my then two-year-old try her hand at spilling the beans, but when no one could understand her, I blabbed the news. My brother got weepy. I got weepy.

This year, while making our reservations for the same trip, the airline offered flight insurance for $24 a ticket. I thought back ruefully to the trip I'd had to reschedule this past summer due to impending loss number three. I thought, wouldn't that have been nice, rather than spending $100 per ticket to re-book. In my haste, it never occured to me to buy the insurance for this trip. So, I've decided that come hell or high blood pressure, I'm getting on that goddamn plane and I'll miscarry all the way to Michigan if I have to. That'll show them!

Maturity. It's really overrated.

So, I'm taking my progesterone, when I remember. It's a bit tougher than I imagined when I demanded to have it prescribed. And I cannot get over how expensive prenatals are (chewable, anyway, because yes, Dr. Pepper, I am some kind of wuss) and that my insurance will not cover them. Give me a flaccid penis, though, and I could probably write a scrip myself on a swatch of orange construction paper that didn't require even a co-pay. Of course, if I had a flaccid penis, my RE would have a much trickier patient on his hands.

Lots of twinges in places that cause suspicion. Still working out, though I've relegated myself to the recumbent bike for the remainder of the week, so as not to jar an embryo, zygote or whatever from its delicate implantation maneuvres. Because, you know, my preferred form of exercise is nothing short of bare-handed street fighting. But that just wouldn't do during the two week wait.

Trying not to jinx myself, but bought the HPT nonetheless. Hey, I was in CVS, on a rare solo trip and figured it was better to get it all done in one fell swoop. Even if it does mean that I will not be getting pregnant this cycle. Making the most of my limited solo time is so much more important than provoking silly superstitions.

Last weekend at a bonzai (read: kick-ass, over the top) wedding reception , I was seated at a table with not one, but two extremely pregnant women. These kinds of things don't actually bother me, even less so for the following reasons:

1) The preggo seated immediately to my left (my husband's boss, so to speak) went to my RE to get pregnant. She ended up giving me some interesting dirt on him as well as insight on my upcoming (now passed) post-coital test, much to her husband's discomfort. Obviously the husband didn't read the RE/patient relationship disclosure which necessitates that all women who go through any form of IF fess up to one another in minute detail after sharing the proverbial handshake.

2) The preggo on the opposite side of the table (who revealed that she had recently accepted a somewhat innapropriate hug from Gene Simmons of KISS; she's somewhat crazy that way) is pregnant for the second time after losing a baby last year around this time. A four-week-old baby, to a rare lung disorder that had gone undiagnosed. I had wept for her as though I knew her when I heard that she lost her daughter, so to see her pregnant again, and hopefully healing, was nothing short of miraculous.

And that's the news from the Internet Mom front. I'll keep you posted on my 2ww, probably Friday when I pee on a stick, if I can deny myself that particular pleasure for that long.

5 Comments:

At 6:27 PM, Blogger Kath said...

Dear Casey, I had to smile so much at your "maturity is overrated" line. But your story about the pregnant women and your response to them made me want to meet you in person.

I'm just sayin'.

 
At 8:32 PM, Blogger Kathy McC said...

Maturity sucks. Thinking of you during this "second world war".

 
At 3:27 PM, Blogger DD said...

Oh, yes, my dear. Your RE would certainly have to do more than prescribe prenatal vitamins if you were to show up with a penis. And for both your sakes, I would hope it would remain flaccid.

I DARE you to wait until Friday. Yes, I know how hard it will be and I really have no room to talk since I was doing that crazy dance at 10dpo. But you're a better person than I.

 
At 3:15 AM, Blogger Hetty Fauxvert said...

The "IF handshake" CRACKED me up! Yup, we all can't wait to compare notes, can we? My SIL is also pg right now through IVF, and we have more to say to each other than in the 17 years I've known her!

I POAS with our first IVF and got nuthin' (or virtually nothing -- got a little line that did nothing but give me hope and then disappear the next day -- a chemical pg), then defied Fate and POAS with the second one, too -- and got lines. Real, unmistakable lines. And it was an amazing thing to be able to bounce back into bed with my DH and announce, "We did it! We did it!"

I do recommend the cheap brand, though. Since when you get the lines you won't believe it at first, and will have to test repeatedly. (Well, okay, I did, anyway!)

 
At 12:33 PM, Blogger Kath said...

*Clears throat*

 

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