Even though some of you already know...

I took this test two days after Christmas while we were staying in my sister's basement in Utah. I didn't believe it because we hadn't met with any doctors, or spent thousands of dollars trying to get pregnant. So I didn't tell the husband. But he kept bugging me about how my period should have started. So two days later I took another one, same result, and shared it with him.

Excited! Thrilled! Scared! Still a little unbelieving, so I took five more over the next week. And found an ob-gyn once I got home. We weren't sure when we'd tell everyone but we knew we at least wanted to wait until we were sure that it wasn't just vacation-diet induced nausea.

I met with my doctor on Thursday, she confirmed and sent me for a sonogram. The tech wasn't available that night so I scheduled it for a week out, when they had evening hours since I had just missed a lot of work and wanted to go after work hours. I didn't want anyone at work to suspect yet.

Sunday evening while making my famous chicken parm I felt some cramps, got a little worried but since there was not bleeding I thought I'd just wait it out. I'd never been pregnant before and thought this might be normal. After the pain got worse I realized that this couldn't be normal, had the husband call my dr, get her answering service, and she called me back. She happened to be at the hospital that day, working already, and suggested that we come to the ER to get it checked out.

By the time we got to the ER I was in a lot more pain, which only got worse while we waited for our turn. And I puked. Several times. Finally they take me back, get me all hospital-gowned and start examining me. While all the medical personnel are out of the room, I decide to use the bathroom. Before I make it very far, I pass out, totally, hitting my head on a table on my way down. Husband panics, rightfully, and calls for help. We find that this is the most effective way to get attention in a hospital. Noted.

Sonogram and ultrasounds later, my doctor has joined us and they've alerted the OR to get ready for me. Turns out it's a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, pretty severe. At this point the pain is bad enough that I cannot wait for them to knock me out and cut me open so they can fix me. The iv in my arm missed my vein, my arm swells up and hurts like a son of a gun. A man who was having a routine appendectomy gets bumped because I'm in a worse way. Doctor tells Stewart that she plans on going in with a scope, should be done and in recovery in about an hour.

While scoping out my belly, doctor finds out that I have a lot of blood in my body cavity. A lot. So doctor has to open me up to get all the blood out. And to remove the burst fallopian tube, and it turns out, ovary. This ends up taking much longer than the hour that husband was expecting. Meanwhile he spends what I can only imagine is a horrible amount of time in the ICU waiting room. He calls our parents. And I understand he cried some.

I wake up in the ICU three hours later with a lot of people around. I think I lost about 40% of my blood, hence the passing out. I received three units of donated blood and some plasma to boot. And I have a nice long scar on my belly. And no more fallopian tube or ovary on my left side. And I hurt. A lot. It was a busy night in the ICU, Stewart and I slept when we could but I was hooked up to all sorts of machines and nurses came to take my vitals every few hours. Stewart and a friend of ours gave me a blessing Monday evening, before they moved me from the ICU to the normal ob-gyn floor.

The past few days have been filled with tests of all sorts, hospital food, visits and calls/texts from wonderful people, flowers and tears. And even hugs. Wonderful hugs. I wouldn't have traded spaces with Stewart for anything. I much prefer being the one cut open to the one who was left waiting, possibly being widowed.

I am healing, the physical scars will be healed very soon. The emotional scars will last for the rest of my life. But it will be ok. Really and truly. I am still happy, with moments of sadness. I have been so grateful that the hospital we came to is the Catholic one in town. I highly recommend both my doctor (Doctor Julie Gavin) and Sisters of Charity Hospital if you ever need medical care in Buffalo. I've received cards and flowers from people that I never expected. Stewart and I will be a stronger couple because of this, I will be a stronger, more worthy person because of this. And I've even smiled this week. And laughed.

I've left out a lot. But I'm more than happy to share on a more personal level if it will ever help. I am so happy to be alive and to be able to move forward. I am excited to see my mom who is coming to help for the next few days. I am grateful to feel the love and prayers from so many people. You make this much easier than it otherwise would be.

I've been reading General Conference talks for my scripture study these last few nights in the hospital. Tonight I read Elder Hale's talk. Last night I read Elder Uchtdorf's talk where I found my new favorite quote ever, "We have the incomprehensible promise of exaltation—worlds without end—within our grasp. And it is God’s great desire to help us reach it." It's true. It's all true. And I intend to reach it. With Stewart.

Allow me to Vent

Even apart from the usual not-being-pregnant suckiness, I just really hate my period. I'm uncomfortable and disgusting and I just feel all around gross. And a little bit hurty. Then the hormones and moodiness kick in. I'll break down crying if even the smallest thing goes awry. I'll cry some and maybe throw plates at the wall. Except we recently bought some new plates so I'll have the presence of mind to throw the old, already chipped plates instead of my new shiny plates. Stewart's out for the evening, helping with a move, which is probably good for him. I don't need a target for said plate-throwing. Then I'll cry myself to sleep tonight and I'll be fine tomorrow. Just like every month. Sadly, this is normal.

So I came home from work today and made myself a chocolate silk pie. Because my chocolate silk pie has raw eggs in it. I know you can make it without the salmonella but this way it's comfort food that is bad otherwise. And I buy good eggs so I like to think that my risks of an egg-born illness are lessened. But it has to chill for three hours. (see previous statement about something not going right) So for now it's me and the Lifetime Network, I mean Comedy Central, I mean the news. Whatever.

Some Much Needed Perspective

When I run I don't listen to music. It doesn't do anything to motivate me. But a session of the LDS church's General Conference sure does. So during my run this morning I heard one of the speakers recite a story given by Hugh B. Brown before I was born. I love this story so I'm going to share it now.

You sometimes wonder whether the Lord really knows what he ought to do with you. You sometimes wonder if you know better than he does about what you ought to do and ought to become. I am wondering if I may tell you a story that I have told quite often in the Church. It is a story that is older than you are. It’s a piece out of my own life, and I’ve told it in many stakes and missions. It has to do with an incident in my life when God showed me that he knew best.

I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and went after it, and I cut it down, and pruned it, and clipped it back until there was nothing left but a little clump of stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. I was kind of simpleminded (and I haven’t entirely gotten over it), and I looked at it, and smiled, and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush talk. And I thought I heard it say this: “How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me, because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.” That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down, for caring enough about me to hurt me. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’”

Time passed. Years passed, and I found myself in England. I was in command of a cavalry unit in the Canadian Army. I had made rather rapid progress as far as promotions are concerned, and I held the rank of field officer in the British Canadian Army. And I was proud of my position. And there was an opportunity for me to become a general. I had taken all the examinations. I had the seniority. There was just one man between me and that which for ten years I had hoped to get, the office of general in the British Army. I swelled up with pride. And this one man became a casualty, and I received a telegram from London. It said: “Be in my office tomorrow morning at 10:00,” signed by General Turner in charge of all Canadian forces. I called in my valet, my personal servant. I told him to polish my buttons, to brush my hat and my boots, and to make me look like a general because that is what I was going to be. He did the best he could with what he had to work on, and I went up to London. I walked smartly into the office of the General, and I saluted him smartly, and he gave me the same kind of a salute a senior officer usually gives—a sort of “Get out of the way, worm!” He said, “Sit down, Brown.” Then he said, “I’m sorry I cannot make the appointment. You are entitled to it. You have passed all the examinations. You have the seniority. You’ve been a good officer, but I can’t make the appointment. You are to return to Canada and become a training officer and a transport officer. Someone else will be made a general.” That for which I had been hoping and praying for ten years suddenly slipped out of my fingers.

Then he went into the other room to answer the telephone, and I took a soldier’s privilege of looking on his desk. I saw my personal history sheet. Right across the bottom of it in bold, block-type letters was written, “THIS MAN IS A MORMON.” We were not very well liked in those days. When I saw that, I knew why I had not been appointed. I already held the highest rank of any Mormon in the British Army. He came back and said, “That’s all, Brown.” I saluted him again, but not quite as smartly. I saluted out of duty and went out. I got on the train and started back to my town, 120 miles away, with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. And every click of the wheels on the rails seemed to say, “You are a failure. You will be called a coward when you get home. You raised all those Mormon boys to join the army, then you sneak off home.” I knew what I was going to get, and when I got to my tent, I was so bitter that I threw my cap and my saddle brown belt on the cot. I clinched my fists and I shook them at heaven. I said, “How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?” I was as bitter as gall.

And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.” The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness and my bitterness.

Slowly getting back into blogging

I'm not sure I'm willing to do this to my unborn children.

I'll post more soon, I promise.

The Game of Life

We had some friends over for dinner last night. After we ate, five of us played the Game of Life. One of my favorites from growing up, just behind Trouble and Shutes and Ladders.

Stewart got married and had many children with his little pink, plastic wife. The other three playing did the same with their little plastic spouses.

I, and my little blue man, had no children.

It wouldn't be so bad if this didn't happen

EVERY SINGLE TIME

I've played the Game of Life in the past few years.

Honestly. Anybody want our copy of this horrible terrible game?

And I'M A MAN!

When I post on any of our blogs I tend to imagine myself as a modern Demosthenes or Cicero. Instead of reading my cubic zirconium of sagacity (much more apt than pearls of wisdom), I envision all my readers encircling me with looks of awed reverence in the Agora. I guess I have some demagogic tendencies after all...look out Glenn Beck (that's for you Cindra).

My outstanding oratorical skills have little to do with the capacity of my man-seed to produce an heir to my greatness, but I fear that my last post regarding my reproductive short comings might have left a false impression. Lest you, my disciples, think me deficient in any way, let it be known that the latest test results have vindicated me.

I am not substandard, indeed I'm not even twice the man you think me to be. My manhood cannot be quantified. I am Übermensch. It's good to be the king.

....sorry I may be off caffeine but I'm still hyper.

No Hopes Here

The main reason I have this blog is to document more of my infertility than just the success we'll have when we finally get a kid through some means. I felt like all I the stories I would hear were about couples after they had a child and that doesn' t help with the feelings of isolation, especially when you belong to a church that is so family oriented.

I knew I wasn't pregnant this month. Even though I had taken fertility drugs, I just knew. Even though my period was a week late, I knew it would come, eventually. One of the worst things about fertility drugs, at least for me, is that they mess up an otherwise fairly regular cycle.

So I found myself without a period for one extra day, then another, then another. But I didn't get my hopes up this time. Sure I thought about how our lives would be different if I was pregnant, but I knew full well that I'm not now. When husband asked when he could panic, I told him to wait 9 months.

I didn't take a pregnancy test this time because I knew it would be a waste of money and urine. And I don't like peeing on a stick unless I have to. And I didn't have to this month.

But I still felt sad and disappointed when I found out for sure that I'm not pregnant. And a little relieved, is that wrong? For all our efforts (ok, mostly my efforts, husband only makes occasional efforts:) I still feel totally unprepared in almost every way. And the ways in which I do feel prepared I know deep down that I am the least prepared. I know this is normal.

So I took the day off from work and working out and had ice cream for breakfast/lunch (I slept til noon so I'm not sure what meal it was).

And we will try again.

I promise I am not as depressed as this post makes me sound. I get one day a month to feel sorry for myself and I'm taking it.