September 20, 2007
And So It Goes…
I was going to write this clever, witty post about how I might be pregnant. I wrote all my thoughts and hit ‘publish’ only to delete the post seconds later. I just didn’t feel like being funny. I felt like spitting out all the jumbled words in my head.
So, here goes:
When I was pregnant with Dawson, I knew before I took the test. It was instinct. I was still surprised when the little pink line appeared, but I think my shock was the result of all the years I tried to conceive but couldn’t. This time, it was true. I was going to have a baby.
As of today, I don’t feel pregnant. My breasts do not hurt. I’m not experiencing morning sickness (I know, it’s still early), I don’t have any other signs of pregnancy like I did with Dawson. The logical part of my brain tells me I’m not, and this makes me sad because I do want another baby. For the last year, I’ve been strategically planning the conception of Baby Number Two.
The Hubs and I do not use contraception and we’ve stop the rhythm method months ago. We had the plan of “whatever happens, happens…” but it’s not happening.
Technically, my period is not late. It’s not due for 4 or 5 more days. But even that guess could be wrong because my cycles are anywhere from 30-42 days long. It varies so much that I have no idea when I’m ovulating. I can guess based on cervical mucus and other gross crap like that.
So, we’ve been having sex on the days I think are the “right days” and based on those cervical signs, I think we might have hit the right day. But yet, I know we didn’t. I just know it. But like a masochist, I keep beating myself up about it. I still hang on to that tiny sliver of hope that it might be true. Even though this feels like a repeat of the three years of disappointment before finally conceiving Dawson.
Then, last Thursday, I had my annual pap/pelvic/breast exam. I arrived at my appointment and filled out the required paperwork:
Do you have any health concerns? If yes, what? I’d like to know how to eat like a horse and still lose weight.
Do you feel safe in your current relationship? I think you should be asking my husband if he feels safe.
Is domestic violence a concern for you? You mean other than when I call my husband an asshat-mother-fucker, during my period?
Are you practicing any methods of birth control? No. We’re trying to have another little alien someday.
The nurse called me back and weighed me. 980 pounds today. Down 5 from last month. Yay me! She measured my height. Five feet, five-and-a-half inches. I grew half and inch somehow. Then she took my blood pressure. 168/100. Not good. Bad actually.
Dr. A came in and gave me an ultimatum. Lose 25 pounds by January 1st, or suffer the consequences. His exact words? “Your blood pressure is too high. It’s been high for the last three years, since your son was born. It may not kill you today, or tomorrow, or even next week — but in 15 years you’ll be dead.”
Thanks for scaring me, Dr. A. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
So, once it is confirmed that I am not pregnant, I will need to take a medication for my blood pressure. And it is advised that I do not conceive until the BP is under control. My mother has HBP, so did my grandmother. They both took several medications for it. I understand it’s hereditary. But I’m too young. I’m only twenty-eight!
The next test was a skin punch biopsy. WhyMommy has Inflammatory Breast Cancer and some of the symptoms were so familiar to me, such as the itching of one breast and nipple. I decided to have a test done. Like a complete fool, I didn’t research this procedure. Instead I had visions of a big paper punch taking a chunk of my breast. When the technician came in with a needle and syringe I got a little nervous.
I received the results of the test on Monday afternoon. Negative. I cannot tell you how thrilled I was. But also sad. I began to cry. I cried harder than I ever imagined I could. I cried for WhyMommy. I cursed the fact that she has to fight this terrible disease. I worried about her, her family, her babies.
I cannot fathom having cancer. A disease that kills. So many women die from this. I hate writing those words because I pray to God that WhyMommy beats this. But I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t say it. IBC kills. Women die from this disease and many of them leave this world. And their children are innocent victims, just like them.
Dear God, please give us a miracle. Please rid her body of this vicious cancer. Please, please, please.
While I’m sitting here, writing about babies and pregnancy, like a blubbering idiot, another woman is going through chemotherapy and struggling to fight an illness. Struggling to cherish every single day with her children. This isn’t right.
I can’t even write anything else. The tears are falling into the keyboard.
I promise that when I find out what’s going on (if anything) inside my uterus, I’ll let you all know.
Until then, please visit WhyMommy. Put up a button, showing your support. Send her your prayers and good wishes. She needs them more than I do.
