Were you trying for a baby?

It's one of the many questions I'm asked about this pregnancy:

“Were you trying to get pregnant?”

The fact is – this pregnancy is a total surprise. My husband and I, in our fantasy family talks, always wanted three children. We battled infertility for more than a year before having our first. I've had multiple miscarriages. I've had to fight tooth and nail for both of the kids we already have.

When you're a child-bearing-age woman you hear that women's bodies are evolved/made to have babies. So what do you do when your body is broken and can't release eggs or implant the fertilized egg or make hormones to sustain the pregnancy or keep the cervix closed until the baby is full term? What do you do? You feel broken. And you cry. And you watch enviously as women around you pop babies out and then say how much it didn't hurt. And you see teenagers casually having babies like it's no big deal sitting next to you in the OB office where you've just found out that despite the fact that you're married, financially stable and have a four-bedroom house on two acres of land, you've just miscarried again. And you cry. And you secretly hate women with babies. And you judge them because if you had a baby you wouldn't ignore it while tapping away on your smart phone.

Long story short, infertility and pregnancy loss is a hard, cruel hand to be dealt in life when all you want is a baby.

So you might understand why, after our second child presented us such a challenge the first two years of his life by basically refusing to sleep, I wasn't anxious to jump into the “game' of getting pregnant again. My husband would have twenty-five kids if he could. The losses don't affect him and he's not the fertility “problem”. He's not the broken one. I am. Once we have “adult time” his worries are over until he's cut off for a few days a month.

We decided I would not go on birth control after the Bear's birth. We wanted a third child and it takes a long time for me to get pregnant so we figured that we should just let nature take control and see what happens. What happened was a whole lot of nothing beyond a PCOS diagnosis... which is often the fertility kiss of death. I just didn't sweat it. I decided my body had been through enough with the four pregnancies I'd already had. I put my foot down – I would not do clomid. I would not consider IUI or IVF. And anyway, there aren't a lot of hearts bleeding out there for tertiary infertility. Our two lovely boys are family enough. I monitored my fertility. I knew when I was ovulating. We timed things accordingly. And every month: disappointment.

All I could do was let it go. It wasn't meant to be. I moved on. I started my own business. I consigned or gave away our baby clothes and supplies. The Bear potty trained when he was two – so we were out of diapers and once you're done with those nasty things it's a tough sell to jump back in. While my husband continued to hope and even push for another I just accepted that the universe knew I had my hands full and settled into life as a mom of two wonderful, amazing, active, hilarious, kind-hearted, smart little boys. I was blessed beyond what I'd ever hoped for when starting a family and that was enough.

So no, we weren't "trying" for a third.

But I am apparently that mythical “friend” that everyone has.  The one who dealt with infertility and then, after giving up hope, magically shows up pregnant. I am that cruel spoiler whose story is told to women suffering through infertility everywhere. “Oh, I know a girl who tried for years to have a baby and just as soon as she quit trying she got pregnant.” I'm the sickening tease that leaves people with lingering hope when they thought they had none.  I am the story of consolation that well-meaning friends tell their 'infertile' friends with hopes of cheering them up - never knowing how close they come to being hit in the face with a purse by a heartbroken woman who just started her period.... again.

Only I never -  ever -  set out to be that mythical creature... the unicorn of aching, fertile hearts everywhere.   I didn't feel "infertile" anymore though my GYN chart lists it as a diagnosis.  I didn't long for that missing piece.  I considered myself "graduated" from my baby-having years and now I was just a busy mom with a busy business and busy kiddos.  I was happy.  And don't get me wrong, I am very happy to be pregnant.  I just wasn't "working" for it... and having worked for all of the other pregnancies, this is unfamiliar territory.

The truth is, in my “giving up” on getting pregnant, I did lots of things that would theoretically increase fertility, though I did not do those things with that purpose. I started spinning as exercise and now spin several hours a week. I discovered that eating a “paleo” diet made my body function better, helped me lose weight and decreased my insulin resistance. I started taking a natural supplement to decrease my anxiety and stress hormones. It is entirely possible that this helped my body do what it's “supposed to.” Honestly, we'll never know.

So it's a complicated question: “Were you trying to have another baby?”

Yes, desperately and for a long time.

But no, not really. I'd quit hoping and moved on with my life.

I'm 15+ weeks pregnant today and every time I think about it I'm still so stunned that it happened and that it's real. The baby that we'd always dreamed of but who I'd given up hope of ever holding is growing at a normal pace, with normal development and a totally normal pregnancy. I pray every day that the normal will continue and that in about 25 weeks my little surprise miracle baby will make our family complete.

Crinone Gel. Read at your own risk

I will warn you upfront: This blog contains personal and disgusting information. I'm only blogging about this because when I was frantically googling things I only found one other blogger brave enough to talk about some of the nasty things that happen with this gel. If you're not comfortable with the words vaginal discharge or explicit descriptions of said vaginal discharge– no judgment – but move on now.  Also, Dad, I know you're reading my blog.  This blog is not for you.  Please just close your browser now.

Crinone Gel. A seemingly necessary evil. It's a progesterone gel that is administered vaginally. Which means I insert an applicator directly into the hoo-haa, squeeze out the gel and hope for the best every day  - from the day I find out I'm pregnant until I reach 12 weeks gestation – or 14 weeks of pregnancy. It's used widely in the infertility world and it's also used widely on women who tend to miscarry.  There is conflicting research as to whether this actually does anything.  I can tell you I've been pregnant five times.  My two live births both involved using the gel, my two miscarriages didn't and I wasn't going to take any chances this time around.   Gel it is.  Please note: I do not show any signs of low progesterone. My blood work shows my progesterone levels in the normal range.  I just have a history of multiple miscarriage. Maybe the gel is a placebo. I hope not. It's too nasty to use just to trick your brain into supporting a pregnancy.  Or maybe it's just nasty enough to make my brain support the pregnancy and that's the evil genius. 

So here it is, Crinone gel.

I keep meaning to write the company and suggest a new plunger-style applicator – similar to the applicators used in yeast infection treatments. The current design involves squeezing and hoping that it all goes in. There is almost always a little left the applicator, which the info sheet in the box says is normal. I don't like it. I want it all in there.

I grabbed this image from another blog.  This is the applicator.  You twist off the circle part, insert and squeeze the rectangle part at the other end.

Now, the medicine in the gel is supposedly absorbed in a couple of hours. What's left is the – byproducts? It's the stuff that makes the gel stick to your insides. And, of course, what goes up must come down, right? Your magical vagina is designed to flush out stuff that doesn't belong. And the remnants of the progesterone gel do not belong. So, lucky you, every time you go to the bathroom you'll see little bits of tissue-like balls. And, to make it more fun for those of us using this gel due to multiple miscarriages, the gel will often come out in all sorts of fun colors. Sometimes it's black. Sometimes it's gray. Sometimes it's white as the driven snow. Sometimes it's an alarmingly peachy-nearly pink color. All of this is normal. Disgusting. Concerning. Normal. Now, I will say that I have never ever seen blood red or actual blood pink. If you see gel coming out with red or mixed with spotting please call your OB. Red is not a desired discharge color during pregnancy. Ever.  Don't assume the worst but if you see blood call your OB ASAP.

As if multi-colored discharge isn't gross enough, let's talk about clumps. Yea, that's right, the tissue-like substance builds up in there and sometimes it comes out in giant clumps. I mean like half-a-golf-ball-sized clumps.  That often happens when you poop - I assume it has to do with the pushing motion.  (Note: if you're on Zoforan for your morning sickness the pooping thing may be a distant memory thanks to the lovely constipation side effect).  You can usually feel the clump and take care of it on your own with a quick wipe or two - but it is not going to be the best part of your day.

Honestly, the clumps are not your worst-case scenario. I've read online about girls who went to the ER to have a doctor clean all of that impacted gel out. To prevent that and for general comfort and hygiene, your best bet is to clean yourself out in the shower. Use a finger, dig the bits out to avoid clumps building up. Remember when you thought pregnancy was pretty and dainty? Yea, those days are gone my friend. Clean the clumps out.

Side effects: I really don't have a lot that I know are from the gel (I have plenty of pregnancy side-effects but I have no way of knowing if they are made worse by the gel) beyond insane vaginal dryness. If you're going to have alone time with your sweetie do not expect your lady parts to play along willingly. Apart from the desert-like dryness down south, despite mentally being ready to go there is almost no amount of coaxing that would make me physically ready. Lube is your friend. 

After 12 weeks of the evil but seemingly necessary gel, I'm done. Thank you crinone for supporting me through these three pregnancies. But I won't miss you. Not even for a second.

Limbo

I am now nearly 13 weeks pregnant. I can see the second trimester just over the horizon and I'd sprint there if I could. I keep hearing about the second-trimester burst of energy and not only could I use that, my family would be really appreciative of having mom back instead of this lump of boring who is able to do just enough to keep things going but isn't able to really get into anything.

But a couple of weeks go, it was a different story.

At 10.5 weeks pregnant you're in limbo.

If you're me, you start to look dumpy in your regular clothes but refuse to move on to maternity clothes because it may jinx the pregnancy.

Most of our family and close friends know I'm expecting but it's not out there on Facebook for all of the masses on the interwebs to comment on.

In full limbo mode, I went to the OB's office for the big 10-week work up. This is the long Q&A with a nurse detailing both my husband's and my health histories. This is the third time we've done the work-up. I'm not at all sure why the nurse needs to know about my husband's grandfather's health history or how it pertains to the baby, but here we are.

She drops husband in the room and takes me to the scale. Down 4 lbs, BP was 114/62. Yippee! She then asks in a whisper: “I'm going to ask you some very personal questions. Is there anything you don't want me talking about in front of your husband? We can talk about it now. History of STDs? Abortions? “ I assured her that I had no secrets and we went to the room to get started.

15 – 20 minutes of boring questions asked by a disinterested nurse. When we got to my pregnancy history she went from disinterested to insulting. She couldn't fathom why I differentiated between my miscarriages and a woman having an abortion. The conversation went something like this:

Nurse: How many pregnancies have you had?

Me: 5

Nurse: How many living children do you have?

Me: 2

Nurse: How many abortions have you had?

Me: Zero.

Nurse: Okay, then, um, how many kids do you have?

Me: I have two sons.

Nurse: And you've had 5 pregnancies?

Me: Yes.

Nurse: And no abortions?

Me: No, I've had two miscarriages. One at six weeks. One at 9.5 weeks. I have never intentionally ended a pregnancy.

Nurse: Oh, okay, two abortions.

Me: (sitting on my hands to not throat punch her)

Now, I understand that in medical coding a miscarriage is an abortion. I know that they code my ultrasounds in the 1st trimester as “threatened abortion” because I have a long history of miscarriage. But, word to the wise, abortion in the general world means something else.

That cleared up, the nurse continued her dry, droll questioning. Husband & I are honestly just happy to make it to this point in pregnancy and we're trying to be cheerful and engage her in conversation.

Then she says:

Okay, I'm going to go get the doppler and we'll listen for a heartbeat then you'll see the doctor.

Right. Now, I know that at 10.5 weeks it's unlikely we'll hear one. I have a big tummy and scar tissue from two c-sections. I also know that not hearing one will send me into an anxiety place that I'm not interested in being in. Remember, I'm in limbo and I'm the mom who has been on the wrong side of statistics several times in my pregnancy life. After forever, the nurse comes back in with the doppler and for 15 agonizing minutes tries to find the heartbeat. Nothing. I knew this. I expected this. I hate this nurse. She says:

Oh, there's nothing to worry about. Everything is just fine.

Husband responds:

“How can you say that? You have no idea if everything is okay.”

“Well sir, she is really early to hear anything on doppler”

'Yes, but she has a long history of miscarriage. We just talked about it. Don't say everything is fine. We have been on the other side of fine before.”

I fall in love with my husband again for confronting the nurse and acknowledging our miscarriages.

The grumpy nurse takes us to yet another room and says the doctor will try but again, everything is fine.

I sit in silence for 10 minutes. Fuming. Angry. Hating my scar tissue for blocking the doppler. Hating my fat tummy for blocking it. Hating my husband for calmly playing on his tablet like nothing was wrong. Hating limbo.

The doctor comes in. She'd helped deliver G and was happy to see us again. She says she's gonna give it a shot on the doppler. She means business. She presses gently at the top of my growing tummy and squishes everything up a bit. She searched for less than 3 minutes.

There it was.

The reassuring whir of a baby's heartbeat on doppler We were able to get it for about 10 seconds...  baby's heart  was beating at 151 beats per minute.

I wanted to kiss the doctor.

I feel out of limbo, but I'm still not ready to switch to maternity clothes just yet.