More tests

Results of today:

My left Fallopian tube unclear. The right is completely functional. 

Doc wants an MRI to determine which of the two causes it is. 

Two possibilities why the left is like it is. One: it's blocked by rupture, mucus plug, or scar tissue resulting from infection. 

I had an infection about 7-8 yrs ago that went untreated because the dr office was restructuring and I fell thru their cracks.  But at the time I asked about future pregnancies and they wouldn't give me anything more than dunno, maybe. 

If it is just blockage then they do a minimally invasive cleaning of the ducts in Dallas. If that doesn't fix it or prove necessary then they go in thru my belly button to fix my tube scopically. 

The other possiblity is I have a unicornuate uterus which means I have a birth defect where my uterus never fully developed when I was in utero cooking. It means I only have one Fallopian tube. And that there is nothing to do other than try to increase ovulation. 

But if the latter is true our odds of a high risk pregnancy increase greatly.  Our miscarriage rate rises, as does the chances of a baby being born breach or early term.  Or having defects of its own. If it's the latter it also means that it's likely I only have one fully functioning kidney and was born with either a deformed one or only one. As well as other defects in my pelvic organs. 

The doc thinks that the latter is more likely because of what the fluoroscopy showed but wants conclusive proof from the MRI. 

I'm hurt, upset, scared, floored. Prior to today, the tests had all showed that everything was fine just inconsistent ovulation. But now to be told this, I just don't understand. How at 29 years old with regular doctor visits and follow up tests that either of these possibilities were not found already?  Hopefully I will have the MRI soon and will have more answers. 

My Prayer

Say something, I'm giving up on you.

I'll be the one, if you want me to.

Anywhere I would've followed you.

Say something, I'm giving up on you.

And I am feeling so small.

It was over my head

I know nothing at all.

And I will stumble and fall.

I'm still learning to love

Just starting to crawl.

Say something, I'm giving up on you.

I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you.

Anywhere I would've followed you.

Say something, I'm giving up on you.

And I will swallow my pride.

You're the one that I love

And I'm saying goodbye.

Say something, I'm giving up on you.

And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you.

And anywhere I would've followed you. Oh-oh-oh-oh

Say something, I'm giving up on you.

Say something, I'm giving up on you.

Say something...

I know it's a break-up song, but this is my prayer right now. The internal struggle, the impatience, the loss. 

Hannah's Lament

There was a certain man of Ramathaim, a Zuphite from the hill country of Ephraim, whose name was Elkanah son of Jeroham son of Elihu son of Tohu son of Zuph, an Ephraimite. He had two wives; the name of the one was Hannah, and the name of the other Peninnah. Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children.

 Now this man used to go up year by year from his town to worship and to sacrifice to the Lord of hosts at Shiloh, where the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were priests of the Lord. On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to his wife Peninnah and to all her sons and daughters; but to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb. Her rival used to provoke her severely, to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it went on year by year; as often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat. Her husband Elkanah said to her, “Hannah, why do you weep? Why do you not eat? Why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?”

After they had eaten and drunk at Shiloh, Hannah rose and presented herself before the Lord. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the Lord. She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord, and wept bitterly. She made this vow:“O Lord of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant, and remember me, and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a male child, then I will set him before you as a nazirite until the day of his death. He shall drink neither wine nor intoxicants, and no razor shall touch his head.”

 As she continued praying before the Lord, Eli observed her mouth. Hannah was praying silently; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard; therefore Eli thought she was drunk. So Eli said to her, “How long will you make a drunken spectacle of yourself? Put away your wine.” But Hannah answered, “No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.” Then Eli answered, “Go in peace; the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.” And she said, “Let your servant find favor in your sight.” Then the woman went to her quarters, ate and drank with her husband, and her countenance was sad no longer.

I miscarried today. I didn't have proof positive that I was pregnant before it happened. I'm sure many would've thought that it was just a tough or weird period. But we've been trying to get pregnant for 18 months now and I know my body really well. I knew a day or two after we conceived that I was pregnant. Call it intuition. I'm not sure how, but I just knew. So I started acting like I was. No caffeine. No alcohol. You know the normal steps. I even upped my folic acid intake to the recommended dose for pregnant women. Whereas I had been taking half of that. I didn't get too much of my hopes up because like I said, we've been trying unsuccessfully for 18 months. So yesterday I peed on a stick and it said negative. I didn't think anything of it because, again, 18 months. But then I started my period today. Or so I thought. 

Without getting too graphic, I started noticing signs that aren't normal for my periods. My temperature dropped by a degree which is a big deal when trying to get pregnant; discharge was significantly different, and cramps were worse than normal. After the event itself, my cramping stopped almost immediately. So I did what any sane person would do and turned to the internet. I needed an idea of what could be happening before I bugged my husband while he was busy catching babies on OB call. When I described everything to him and gave him what I thought was happening(miscarriage), he agreed with me. And then he began to cry. That's when it actually hit me of what was happening, what this meant for us in our journey to start a family. Suddenly, I felt Hannah's despair. 

I always felt for Hannah. I sympathized for her and never thought that I would need comfort from her story. I knew it was a good story for those going thru something similar. Again, I never thought it would be me. But tonight, I find myself rereading the passage above. Hannah's story is something more to me now.  So much so that I almost feel it appropriate to name my first child Samuel. But who knows when that will be. So for now, I'll cry. I'll mourn the loss of the potential and hope for the potential still there. 

But I did everything right!

I am consumed by inadequacy. My husband, Will, and I have been trying to start a family for 18 months now. I realize that's not that long if I look at some other peoples' struggles, but I can't help but see those who got pregnant by accident, those who decided to start a family and then a month later find out they are pregnant. Facebook is a horrible thing when you get to be my age. Half of the people you know are putting pictures of sonograms and newborns on their pages and when you are struggling its tough to scroll past. Of course I feel happy for them. I'm glad they have this joy. Their announcement isn't a slap in my face specifically, but it still has that "keeping up with the Jones'" aspect. But I see kids getting pregnant without meaning to and feel like a complete failure. 

We've had the tests ran. While I show no abnormalities in my blood work or uterus, I still have infrequent or inconsistent ovulations, even though I have regular periods. Will has provided two samples that have shown his swimmers are bountiful and normal, but slow. So my eggs are hiding, and Will's swimmers don't want to go anywhere. Our next step is to see a reproductive specialist, and so far from the research we'll move forward with me on fertility drugs(?) and Intrauterine Insemination, IUI. This is not at all how I pictured it. 

Of course I never really truly pictured how my family would start, but I always assumed it wouldn't be aided by anything else or so clinical. Right now, it seems so impersonal. I know that no matter how we do start a family, it will be in love, even in a clinical setting. But I can't help but grieve for my previous expectations. It seems that's all I can do anymore is grieve. I try and fail everyday with finding something that brings me any joy or distraction. I feel like there is this weight on me that I can't shake. My body is made for giving life, but mine is incapable it seems. I'm angry with the universe. I did envy thing right. I went to school, got 2 degrees, got married, all in the right order. So when my husband and I decided to have a child, it should have happened then. I can do anything I put my mind to. Yeah, right. 

So, I turn to the internet. I need to vent and process and grieve. I can only go over the same emotions so many times with my husband before he gets tired of it. 

It's been a STRESSFUL week.

My family has a curse. While we don't have conclusive scientific proof of it, my family seems to have a "pre-disposition for a mutation of the cells."  Those were the words from my grandmother's doctor 10 years ago. 

My great-grandmother, Gram we call her, died of uterine cancer when I was 3/4 years old. I have maybe 2 vivid memories of her and one is truly vivid because of pictures that support the actual fuzziness. She and her husband bought the farm in the Dirty '30's when land was, heehee, dirt cheap. It was here that our family, this awkward, out-spoken, opinionated, laughter filled family that I was raised in starts. It was this farm where I played and worked as a kid.  Every Saturday in July, we were in the corn fields at the butt crack of dawn. When it got too hot, we'd stop picking and move to the big tree for cleaning, cooking, and storing all the corn we had picked. It was this farm that raised generations of strong women that I strive every day to make proud and become. It was this farm that gave us our roots and our sweat or tear filled bonds of family. (See the picture for the actual connections)

When I was young, 5 or 6 ish, Jeanie began her fight with breast cancer, and eventually lost the battle when I was 15. That year, 2001, I attended 13 funerals. Mostly older family members who had lived a long full life, some friends' family, and a classmate. It was Jeanie's that affected me most lastingly. Because her funeral was the first time I saw the women in my family for what they truly are: strong, self-sufficient angels who embodied the famous British saying "Keep Calm and Carry On."  It was then in the middle of mass that I realized that these women are the legacy I was born into and must become. It was then that I took my first steps into that womanhood. 

When I was in middle school, Nana was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was around that time that genetic testing had become available on a consumer scale though still with a hefty price tag. A few of the women had the test ran specifically for BRCA which came back negative. We were surprised but thankful. She fought for 5(?) years before she joined Jeanie my senior year of high school. I still remember the exact moment she passed. I was in Mrs. Rasp's English class supposed to be taking a test, but I dozed off instead. I felt an overwhelming compulsion to lay my head down, so I did. And I dreamt. In this dream, Nana came to me and said goodbye and told me it was my turn to take care of them. I awoke with tears in my eyes  to Mrs. Rasp patting my back telling me my mom was on her way to get me. I knew. I knew before mom told me. The secretary let her come to the classroom to get me instead of sending the aid, and I hugged my mom, and we cried in the hallway of my high school.  Then I took my new role of support staff. I kept tissues handy, made calls to extended family so immediate could process, grieve and plan the funeral. I rifled through hymns, kept track of people coming and going and who brought what. I learned to anticipate the needs of others around me and tried to be intuitive to them so they didn't have to ask. 

Around the time Jeanie died is when Gramma was diagnosed with a cancer so rare it didn't have a name. To this day, all I know is it was a type of lymphoma. She suffered for only 3 years before she passed away. I was in Lubbock, having the time of my life my freshman year of college, and I wasn't there to see her deteriorate. I wasn't there in my role of support staff prior to her passing. Once I got home for Christmas, I knew how dire the situation was and didn't truly go back to school until 2 weeks into the next semester. I had friends that came to the hospital before she passed and friends that came to her wake and funeral after while I helped my mom plan the funeral, but I was neither the obviously grieving nor the support staff this time. I was in limbo and didn't know my role. I still feel the guilt of not being there before. When and if I pray, I don't pray to God. I pray to her. I ask for her forgiveness, guidance, and watchful eye. I began to question if I had the stuff in me that made her so strong. 

During this time, my mom and Suzi both had scares and benign tumors removed from different areas of their bodies. Jessi and myself have both had lumps found in our breasts that turned out to just be fibrous tissue that needs to be monitored regularly. I learned I have the strains of HPV that cause cervical cancer and thus am being seen regularly for prevention sake. 

Then 2-3 years ago, my uncle was diagnosed with renal lymphoma. Prior to this we had all assumed that it had something to do with chemicals on the farm. Mike being diagnosed surprised us. He got off the farm early, and he was a he. Our previous hypothesis was kinda shot to hell. During this time i got engaged at his house; my husband and I were married by him. But now here we are, Labor Day weekend and the family is descending for what seems to be the last weeks(hopefully) he has. He's had 2-3 emergency surgeries this week that have left him doing better than expected but we are all working around to the conclusion that this is it. It's just time that we are biding. 

This time I'm back in my role of support staff. I'm designated driver, gopher, and all around runner. This time around I know I am becoming the woman I looked up to so many years ago. I just hope one day that I have a daughter that is lucky enough to see and remember her MiMi and the woman she is. I hope one day to pass on this legacy of strong women that carry the world on their shoulders with dignity and grace. I know that at some time in my life this damned disease will claim me, so all I can do until then is aim for that same legacy and hope I make the rest of them proud. 

Slow Going Progress

So I've finally gotten back to working on the house. Not hardcore by any means but actually work on the house not furniture or art to put in the house. The bathroom that became the headache of the summer is starting to look like something to be proud of. There are real walls and paint on those walls now. 

Obviously there are places that still need work. The shower for example still needs to be tiled as well as the floor and the little half wall. I also need to repaint the cabinets but that's just one afternoon of work. 

I was going to paint this bathroom white with white tile, black granite counters and some smoky black glass accent tiles, but Will wanted color. He complained about the gray in the guest bath room even though there is some really pretty purple accents in it. So I mimicked our bedroom colors since this has been made into a true ensuite. I can't wait to see this bathroom done. Slowly, bit by bit, it'll get there. 

While You Were Sleeping...

That has become my new favorite phrase it seems. My husband is on night float at the moment, which means he works 14 hour nights, 5pm to 7am. I don't see him very much right now. It's ok. That's part of why he loves me, because I'm not very high maintenance and can occupy myself while he becomes a zombie for a couple weeks. So yesterday when he woke up I showed him the coffee table/ottoman i had bought at Canton Trade Days. See below. Today when he woke up I showed him the 3 end tables and one coffee table I refinished. I say refinished, more refurbished. See 2 of them below. These two are for nightstands in the guest bedroom. I think I did a pretty dad gum good job.