This afternoon, James and I went to Souper! Salad! because I was craving a giant plate full of greens with all kinds of things that I didn't want to go to the store and buy (oh, and some other stuff and then a bowl full of strawberry shortcake topped with ice cream, chocolate syrup, and crushed Oreos. Of course.). While we were sitting there, I remarked that as of this time next week, we'll have been married ten months.
Then I realized this: If we had had the baby with which I became pregnant in April, we'd have a newborn right now. I can't imagine. As disappointed I was in the moment not to have a viable pregnancy, I have so enjoyed this first year of getting to know my husband. Being married to James has been such a blessing, even more than I could have imagined when I said "Yes." (Sort of. He didn't really "ask," per se.) I love him, and I love our little family. <3
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Monday, January 13, 2014
It's Complicated
I think that BPI stands for "Brain Power Index" or something like that. It's my Lumosity history over the past four weeks. This is your brain on pregnancy hormones.
"Oh my gosh! You're pregnant?! Congratulations."
Well, thanks. But...
Last April, almost immediately after we got married, I became pregnant. I was aware of this for approximately three weeks before I stopped having any symptoms of pregnancy, then had a week or so of "Is it over?" before I was given a resounding "yes" and six more weeks of dealing with that process. Falling into that timeline was our trip to Haiti, the first two days of which I was an emotional basket case... and no one knew why except for James.
I didn't tell anyone that I was pregnant, because I knew at my age that it was likely, if not probable, that I'd not carry the baby to term. That's something interesting about the 25% statistic. Although it is not the majority, it feels inevitable.
So here we are again, about six and a half weeks in, and I'm unsure as how to proceed. A few people, James and my employers and my sister, among them, know that I'm pregnant. But I'm unsure as to who else to tell. The only reason for telling anyone else would be to ask for prayer. While I covet prayers for the health of this pregnancy, I also need covering for my heart.
A Facebook friend posted last week a picture of her two-year-old daughter holding an ultrasound photo and a "What to Expect When You're Expecting" book. She is 5.5 weeks pregnant. I thought, "Wow, it's all well and good for you to be celebrating. You're in your 20s." I can't celebrate. I can't be too excited. And that's exhausting to me.
So far, I've visited the midwife twice. The first time, January 7, my hgc level was 5891. Two and a half days later, January 10, they were 14229, and the progesterone was 19.2. So the hormone level is increasing as expected in a pregnancy. And now, we just wait until an ultrasound will show us more, I suppose...
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
2013 Year in Review
You can ask anyone who's known me for a while: I don't make a big to-do about New Year's Eve. I don't "do" resolutions. I'm typically at home by 7:00 PM on NYE because drunk drivers aren't my favorite. During the decade I spent in Las Vegas, I whiled away precisely one New Year's Eve on the Strip, and that thing is rife with stories, only because they were so awful and exhausting and weird.
Typically, if I make plans to attend a New Year's Eve function, unless it starts by 8:00, I'm probably going to decide at around 8:15 that I'm nice and warm and getting a little sleepy, anyway, and skip it. I had friends of friends invite my family to a really cool ranch party in Las Vegas three or four years in a row, but the party didn't start until 10:00 PM, and by then, if I haven't already started amping up, I'm winding down in a big way.
As far as resolutions, I subscribe to the philosophy that any day is a great day to start a good new habit or to ditch a bad old one. I never want to be among the full parking lot at the gym on January 2. If I ever resolve to do something, I don't want to take it so lightly. And I don't want to wait for a magic date.
For me, January 1 is the next day on the continuum after December 31. You wake up, and nothing is substantially different. So, while I like any excuse to celebrate, this isn't one of "my" holidays.
That said, this year, I am looking back over the past twelve months and am more than a little awed about everything that has happened. This time last year, I was in a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend of six months; I was one month into what would be a full-on half-year battle with chronic pain; I was living in an RV, my home for nearly two years, on the east side of Austin... And there's so much more.
So, in no particular order, here's my 2013:
1. I got married! James moved to Austin in early February. He said that he wanted to be in town for at least a month to see if we could live in the same place without driving each other crazy. I might have been driven a little crazy. I was concerned that he might fall in love with downtown Austin and the lifestyle and not be in any hurry to "make it official." But at the end of February, when he'd come over for dinner, he mentioned off-handedly, "I was thinking about when we should get married, and April 1st seems like a good date." If you haven't seen our wedding video, here:
While I think this is the most raw and sincere expression of a love that leaves my man absolutely speechless, our officiant told James that he might want to write "actual" vows. He said that, no matter how "cool" I was, women want something different (maybe "normal"?) for their wedding. I'm so glad James didn't listen to him! James knows me. I knew exactly what he meant. He told me later that he knew I'd write something poignant (and, likely, verbose) and that he wasn't about to try to "compete" with that, so he went his own direction. I love his direction.
As to people who think this is just another weird Austin thing or that we're mocking marriage... Lots of people have fun at their weddings. This wedding was "us." My husband has never been married before because he never met anyone else he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He was very serious. I was very serious. But we can be serious in our intent and still have a good time carrying it out. In fact, this is how we live our lives.
The past nine months of marriage have been like nothing I could ever have imagined. James and I love and appreciate each other. He makes my life so much brighter, and I try to employ Dr. Laura's advice constantly: "When you wake up in the morning, ask yourself, 'What can I do to make him happy that he's alive? And what can I do to make him happy that he married me?'"
My best friend lives in the same house with me. His company is a pleasure, and loving him is easy. I am blessed, and sometimes challenged, and head-over-heels in love.
2. Chronic pain defined the first half of 2013. The process of trying to treat my back pain (chiropractic, my first involvement with acupuncture, lots and lots of NSAIDS), then getting a diagnosis (thanks to the Volunteer Health Clinic) including my first (and scary!) MRI, to the hopelessness of months of only two hours of sleep at a time, to feeling very much like I was going crazy even to the point of giving my then-fiance an out... I have a much more compassionate view of people who deal with their bodies' unrelenting attack on themselves. It is honestly the worst thing that I have ever experienced, and I'm very sad that it colored so much of both of James' family's visits (for his birthday in December 2012, when it was first starting, and then our wedding weekend). I hate that my daughter woke up so many nights to my crying and felt like she needed to check on me, even though there was nothing to be done for it. But I absolutely adore my family's patience and long-suffering with me. I hope I didn't make it too awful for them; I tried not to. I felt so respected and "heard" by the entirely volunteer staff at the health clinic that it was a blessing to interact with them.
Starting in mid-June and proceeding on to the end of summer, the pain started abating. There are still ways my body tells me not to sit for a long time, but it tells me in soreness and stiffness, not shooting, searing pain. The last time I hurt myself was playing laser tag a couple of months ago, when I accidentally bent over with my left leg hyper-extended. However, a few weeks ago, when I flipped my head over to dry my hair, I noticed that my left leg didn't automatically kick out behind me or fold into my right leg. Testing, I was able to touch my toes keeping my leg mostly straight (it's a little rickety from non-use). Although my disc will always be ruptured, I consider myself "healed" from this episode right now. I am at about 90% of where I used to be, and could probably be closer to 98% if I pushed myself... but having pushed myself on the front end, trying to do push-ups and sit-ups and "bicycles" while I bawled in the floor, and probably making the problem worse... I'm not pushing myself. I'm being grateful for the slow advances in recovery. Unspeakably grateful.
3. The Nuthaus. Living this close to downtown has opened up so many opportunities. First of all, I can either walk or bike almost everywhere. If I run out of eggs or butter or just need an emergency cheap soda, they're all right up the road. If I want nice flip-flops, or fro-yo, or bubble tea, or kitschy Austin weird-wear: can walk. If I want to see what's going on at the Capitol, or enjoy one of the best Indian restaurants in Las Vegas, or have sushi or an incredible pear cider on tap: boom. Done. I can ride my bike to the library, to get the fancy cat food that we have to feed all of the cats because Aish only gets the best but she will eat garbage if that's what the other cats are eating. I rode my bike to the courthouse to file my name change request. I've ridden to book group, to church, mystery shops. We walk to meals, to sight-see, and to run errands.
But there's something else: If you've been paying attention, you know that we see a lot of super eccentric stuff around here. Beyond that, though, living this close to an urban center has given me the opportunity to get to know some of "those people" you might pass in a car and feel sorry for, but not be able to connect with. (Yes, I just ended a sentence in a preposition. To do otherwise sounded awkward.)
Yes, there are the people who have touched us and passed by, like Vanessa and Kenneth, the expecting couple James met when he first moved in. There is the guy playing guitar to whom James stopped to listen, and genuinely chat up, before offering him and his friends dinner. I have to say that in this regard, James is such an example and so convicting to me. He does not see the street people as a group of down-on-their-luck people. He sees them as individuals. People he'd probably like if he got to know them. And he's interested in them and their stories. He's concerned.
We have spent great chunks of time talking to the vendors on 23rd Street. There have been people who want to tell us their stories, even if they aren't asking for help. Our porch is a comfortable invitation, a place to rest. But there are people resting on the steps of the churches on Guadalupe, too, and they want to be heard. Just last night, Daphne and I talked to a couple who said they were in danger of homelessness. The wife had all of the work receipts that her husband had from working for a day labor service. There was one man who told me that the meal from Potbelly and the chat was worth so much more than when people just give him money.
People like that come and go, and it's incredible to get to interact with them on a minuscule level. But there are others we see more frequently.
There's "Grandpa," the man who looks barely older than my own dad, and sometimes not much rougher (though yesterday when I saw him, he had a great bruise over his left eye, as though someone had kicked him when he was sleeping). I know where he usually sleeps, and in the morning, he walks past the Nuthaus to Taco Cabana. He sits in the dining room and drinks a water, then he makes himself a lemonade. I have chatted with him once, and he is mostly "there." He just has that lost look of someone who doesn't have an anchor.
There's another man we call alternately "our neighbor" and "crazy guy," because he has two different personalities. When he's lucid, he's friendly and wishes us well. He will say, "Jesus loves you," and if you say, "Thanks," he'll usually stop and say, "Seriously. I mean it. He really does." He doesn't think we're taking it seriously enough. Other times, he's back in the alley, swearing at someone we can't see. Or at life. Who knows? Recently, he seems to have acquired a wheel-chair bound friend. Now, sometimes he'll be hollering and cursing, but still carefully pushing his friend.
And there's also a very sweet old lady who isn't homeless. She lives somewhere down the street from us, though I don't know exactly where. But she walks all the time. She has a walker, and her hair is always in a perfect bun. It might be 49 degrees outside, windy, and sprinkling, and she'll have on her shawl and plastic rain hat, walking with her walker. I officially met her about a week after James moved in, when I was working at the Nuthaus and saw her standing on the sidewalk, looking at the house. She said that she was so glad to see people living in these long-vacant properties. We haven't had a chance to chat again, but every time I see her, I feel like we're... well, neighbors.
Sometimes it's heart-breaking to see life as up-close as we get to see it living here. But I love it. I don't want to be blind. I want to know. And, if I can, I want to help. Even if that just means sitting on the curb with my arm around a girl I don't know, while she works through a panic attack. I love the Nuthaus.
4. The Pregnancy. Almost immediately after James and I got married, I got pregnant. Obviously, it didn't result in our having a baby, but I credit the pregnancy hormones with pushing forward my pain diminishing. When I found out that I was pregnant, I weaned off of the Gabapentin and Naprosyn as quickly as I felt was safe. And even though I'd found both to be a miracle for which I'd been desperate a mere two or three weeks earlier, I didn't need them anymore. When I was pregnant with Daphne, and again this time, my asthma abated. My mom has a friend whose intense rheumatoid arthritis goes away when she's carrying a baby. I am certain that I was pushed forward months of recovery time due to the brief influx of hormones.
5. Four Awesome Organizations. This year, I had the privilege of bumping up against four organizations whose work I so earnestly believe in that I'm trying to help in the small ways I have available to me. I want to share what they do with others, too, in case anyone else is moved to pitch in. These are also in no particular order:
Help One Now
James and I traveled to Haiti with Help One Now, and I can't even begin to describe what an eye- and heart-opening trip that was for us. Help One Now has been working in Uganda, Haiti, and Zimbabwe for some time, and they're just kicking off work in Ethiopia. The cool thing about Help One Now is that they don't go in and try to assert their presence or their way of "fixing" local issues. They work with established leadership, people who live in the countries, and who are already doing their part to tackle a problem that they see.
In Haiti specifically, we got to meet three such leaders. The first was Jean Alix Paul, a pastor/businessman at whose home we stayed. An orphanage, a school, a children's home, and a business incubation program are all under his supervision... and I think he probably does a lot of other stuff about which I have no idea. Also, he and his family and household graciously host visitors to Haiti. In 2014, the visiting teams will stay in a guest house closer to work sites, a project Jean Alix has also overseen.
The second was Pastor St. Cyr, who had a church and school in the urban city of Port au Prince before the 2010 earthquake. After that disaster struck, he planted a church in the biggest tent city, a place of otherwise darkness, where children were at risk for trafficking, where the was violence and desperation. He made it his goal to hold worship services every single day, to have some hope and singing and light in the makeshift neighborhood. Since then, he has build a much safer church building than the one damaged in the earthquake, and has been able to move the school there. They are very close to opening a medical clinic in the same building.
The third pastor we met was Gaetan Alcegaire. He moved back to Haiti (having come to the US with very many opportunities to work) specifically to start an orphanage on some family land. Immediately, the children came. For a long time, every day, all day, his goal was to find enough food to feed his kids. After the earthquake, things became even more desperate, and American groups would come, promise help, and disappear. Through a partnership with Help One Now, Pastor Gaetan has built dorms for his children, with whom he was sleeping outside under tarps because he explained that a shepherd doesn't leave his sheep. He has built a two-story school building that now houses 400 children, including all of the kids in his home as well as children from the surrounding area, many of whom cannot pay the $25 a year fee to attend. They are not turned away.
These three men all work in and around Port au Prince, Petionville, Guibert, and Kenscoff. There is a newer initiative in Ferrier, an anti-trafficking house where children who are basically caught at the border, as they're being attempted-smuggled out of the country. We sponsor a beautiful 8-year-old girl who was a house slave, and has probably lived a harder life in her 8 years than I have in my 40. It is my hope that they can find her family, and that she is able to get an education and grow up knowing the love and security that kids deserve. If you're interested in helping sponsor an orphan or at-risk child, or a teacher (remember those kids who don't have the ability to pay the fee for their schooling?) you can find out how here.
Homes 4 Vets
We first encountered Homes 4 Vets at a re-enactment event at Camp Mabry. This group seeks to provide housing and job/life training for homeless veterans. The details of the program are on their website. They have just submitted the paperwork to become a 501(c)3 charitable organization, and need $6 million to start on the rec center and infrastructure. They need $23 million to build out the whole community and to put all of the program into place.
They chose the dome shape for the single-family properties because of the durability of such structures. After the rec center and single-family domes go up, they have plans for family housing, four sets of townhouses each with a common courtyard and playground accessible only to the residents from those houses.
The residents will have two years to complete job training and life skills training, and the board plans to use their contacts to help them find employment.
It's an ambitious plan, and it's been started and is spearheaded by a retired dual-service Veteran, a young architect who caught the Veteran's dream, and the owner of a construction company. Since that time, a CPA has joined the board, and these four men are pushing forward this ambitious program. I'm excited to see what happens! If you know anyone in central Texas who has land they'd like to donate, or if you'd like to donate funds or time, let me know and I can pass your information along to them.
Rework Project
The Rework Project is also a local service to the homeless and those transitioning out of homelessness. The "Reworkers" learn wood-working skills by building and selling five awesome products: bird-houses, tree swings, huge tabletop Jenga-style games, bean-bag toss/cornhole games, and my favorite, picnic tables. They will personalize these to your specifications, and even with customization, they are incredibly affordable. Especially the picnic table!
The Reworkers learn how to and then build these products, then they are able to keep the majority of the profits for themselves. If you'd like to read one of their success stories that it near and dear to my heart, go here, and scroll down (better yet, just read it all) to the part about Anthony. Anthony isn't just the guy who lives in the same RV spot where I used to live. He's in our small group, and I consider him to be my friend. I'm so proud of Allison and of him and of this entire program.
Having lost 100% of their funding for 2014, Allison had to decide whether to pack it up or try to raise the $40k that Rework needs herself. In under a month, they've already gotten $36,000. If you can help, either in a one-time gift or a monthly contribution, go to here.
Mobile Loaves and Fishes
When I lived in the RV park, I saw Mobile Loaves and Fishes trailers. They also sponsored one community barbecue. Other than that, I didn't really know much about them until this year. They serve the street community extensively, with food, clothes, and shelter. Their most recent project here in Austin is best explained in this video.
Included in that video is a gentleman named Glenn who is familiar to me from church and Rework, too. Also, Anthony (mentioned above) has been doing a lot of work at the garden (included being stung right in the face by a bee; I guess that's part of it: beekeeping) and learning to can to use any bounty from the garden.
When James and I got married, we donated the RV to Mobile Loaves and Fishes. I hope it's going to be used in this community! Also, I did a dunder-headed thing and never got the trailer re-titled in my name, so they're having to do all of that, and they're so gracious about the whole thing.
So, basically, my life has been enriched a great deal by knowing that these four organizations exist. I mentioned Volunteer Health Clinic above, and that's one that actually benefited ME. I couldn't have afforded the MRI I got on my own. It's awesome to me to know that there are people who care, and who are out there doing the stuff, and who love and want to bring the marginalized into the circle of light most of us occupy.
I will say that being Facebook friends with some of our new Haitian friends is a little surreal. The other day when one of the pastors "liked" my post about the entire Firefly collection being on sale for $5 on Amazon.com, I felt like I needed to explain that I hadn't bought it myself... But then maybe he's a Firefly fan. I have no idea. But sometimes, it throws into stark relief the contrast between what occupies our day-to-day lives. And yet, because of Help One Now, we are friends. He can message me when he needs prayer for something. I am honored to be on the fringes of his life and the lives of others I admire. It is an inspiration to be in the orbit of these people who are serving orphans, and the homeless, and Veterans. It is an honor.
6. Life as Usual. Then there's the every day stuff, and that's just about as incredible as the extra-ordinary stuff, too.
First there's my job. Yes, I'm an insurance agent (with Hejny Insurance Agency). Yes, I find that every bit as funny as when I was a property manager. No, I don't think I'm awesome at it, but I can administrate stuff, and people seem to like to talk to me on the phone. Moses and Lisa offered me a job, and a spare office for my daughter to do school, at a time when I desperately needed an income, and was trying to figure out how to keep from sending Daphne to school (I don't think that there's anything wrong with school, and it might be an option in the future; but I didn't want my divorce and financial issues to force my hand). THEN when I wanted to move to Austin, they let me stay with them, working remotely... even though, technically, my job was, um, reception. So. I'm continually grateful for how they've accommodated my "special needs" time and again.
Then there's my daughter. As she matures, I see her becoming this young woman who both amazes and terrifies me. I think that it's probably normal to feel like you're "losing" your kid sometimes. And I am. She doesn't think what I think just because I think it and wish she did. She's becoming this person who is totally separate from me, and I am excited to see what she does with her life. She is clever and talented. She is a born leader. She is so much more secure than I was at her age. I love her with everything that I am. (And, yes, there's also an "everything" for my husband. Love is pretty awesome like that.)
And also, there is a group of friends from church who have really lived out what it means to be community to me this year. We've had game nights, and shared meals, and evenings out, and birthday parties. We've laughed and cried together. We've shared concerns and hopes and ideas and pop culture. I've been confronted and counseled and supported and encouraged... and it's been fun and hard and purposeful. It's what this is supposed to be like.
D and I re-started BSF this year, and she's already made a new friend we're supposed to get together with this week. I'm still doing mystery shopping, and we've gotten to putt at a sports club, play laser tag, go bowling, see movies, eat at an awesome local sports bar a whole lot, and have all sorts of fun in exchange for paperwork. I'm comfortably settling back into Astro-owning. And all of the "normalcy" is pretty great.
Suffice it to say, 2013 has easily been the best year of my life. I'm eagerly looking forward to 2014. Hope you are, too.
Typically, if I make plans to attend a New Year's Eve function, unless it starts by 8:00, I'm probably going to decide at around 8:15 that I'm nice and warm and getting a little sleepy, anyway, and skip it. I had friends of friends invite my family to a really cool ranch party in Las Vegas three or four years in a row, but the party didn't start until 10:00 PM, and by then, if I haven't already started amping up, I'm winding down in a big way.
As far as resolutions, I subscribe to the philosophy that any day is a great day to start a good new habit or to ditch a bad old one. I never want to be among the full parking lot at the gym on January 2. If I ever resolve to do something, I don't want to take it so lightly. And I don't want to wait for a magic date.
For me, January 1 is the next day on the continuum after December 31. You wake up, and nothing is substantially different. So, while I like any excuse to celebrate, this isn't one of "my" holidays.
That said, this year, I am looking back over the past twelve months and am more than a little awed about everything that has happened. This time last year, I was in a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend of six months; I was one month into what would be a full-on half-year battle with chronic pain; I was living in an RV, my home for nearly two years, on the east side of Austin... And there's so much more.
So, in no particular order, here's my 2013:
1. I got married! James moved to Austin in early February. He said that he wanted to be in town for at least a month to see if we could live in the same place without driving each other crazy. I might have been driven a little crazy. I was concerned that he might fall in love with downtown Austin and the lifestyle and not be in any hurry to "make it official." But at the end of February, when he'd come over for dinner, he mentioned off-handedly, "I was thinking about when we should get married, and April 1st seems like a good date." If you haven't seen our wedding video, here:
While I think this is the most raw and sincere expression of a love that leaves my man absolutely speechless, our officiant told James that he might want to write "actual" vows. He said that, no matter how "cool" I was, women want something different (maybe "normal"?) for their wedding. I'm so glad James didn't listen to him! James knows me. I knew exactly what he meant. He told me later that he knew I'd write something poignant (and, likely, verbose) and that he wasn't about to try to "compete" with that, so he went his own direction. I love his direction.
As to people who think this is just another weird Austin thing or that we're mocking marriage... Lots of people have fun at their weddings. This wedding was "us." My husband has never been married before because he never met anyone else he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He was very serious. I was very serious. But we can be serious in our intent and still have a good time carrying it out. In fact, this is how we live our lives.
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| Photo credit Alec Hilliard |
The past nine months of marriage have been like nothing I could ever have imagined. James and I love and appreciate each other. He makes my life so much brighter, and I try to employ Dr. Laura's advice constantly: "When you wake up in the morning, ask yourself, 'What can I do to make him happy that he's alive? And what can I do to make him happy that he married me?'"
My best friend lives in the same house with me. His company is a pleasure, and loving him is easy. I am blessed, and sometimes challenged, and head-over-heels in love.
2. Chronic pain defined the first half of 2013. The process of trying to treat my back pain (chiropractic, my first involvement with acupuncture, lots and lots of NSAIDS), then getting a diagnosis (thanks to the Volunteer Health Clinic) including my first (and scary!) MRI, to the hopelessness of months of only two hours of sleep at a time, to feeling very much like I was going crazy even to the point of giving my then-fiance an out... I have a much more compassionate view of people who deal with their bodies' unrelenting attack on themselves. It is honestly the worst thing that I have ever experienced, and I'm very sad that it colored so much of both of James' family's visits (for his birthday in December 2012, when it was first starting, and then our wedding weekend). I hate that my daughter woke up so many nights to my crying and felt like she needed to check on me, even though there was nothing to be done for it. But I absolutely adore my family's patience and long-suffering with me. I hope I didn't make it too awful for them; I tried not to. I felt so respected and "heard" by the entirely volunteer staff at the health clinic that it was a blessing to interact with them.
3. The Nuthaus. Living this close to downtown has opened up so many opportunities. First of all, I can either walk or bike almost everywhere. If I run out of eggs or butter or just need an emergency cheap soda, they're all right up the road. If I want nice flip-flops, or fro-yo, or bubble tea, or kitschy Austin weird-wear: can walk. If I want to see what's going on at the Capitol, or enjoy one of the best Indian restaurants in Las Vegas, or have sushi or an incredible pear cider on tap: boom. Done. I can ride my bike to the library, to get the fancy cat food that we have to feed all of the cats because Aish only gets the best but she will eat garbage if that's what the other cats are eating. I rode my bike to the courthouse to file my name change request. I've ridden to book group, to church, mystery shops. We walk to meals, to sight-see, and to run errands.
But there's something else: If you've been paying attention, you know that we see a lot of super eccentric stuff around here. Beyond that, though, living this close to an urban center has given me the opportunity to get to know some of "those people" you might pass in a car and feel sorry for, but not be able to connect with. (Yes, I just ended a sentence in a preposition. To do otherwise sounded awkward.)
Yes, there are the people who have touched us and passed by, like Vanessa and Kenneth, the expecting couple James met when he first moved in. There is the guy playing guitar to whom James stopped to listen, and genuinely chat up, before offering him and his friends dinner. I have to say that in this regard, James is such an example and so convicting to me. He does not see the street people as a group of down-on-their-luck people. He sees them as individuals. People he'd probably like if he got to know them. And he's interested in them and their stories. He's concerned.
We have spent great chunks of time talking to the vendors on 23rd Street. There have been people who want to tell us their stories, even if they aren't asking for help. Our porch is a comfortable invitation, a place to rest. But there are people resting on the steps of the churches on Guadalupe, too, and they want to be heard. Just last night, Daphne and I talked to a couple who said they were in danger of homelessness. The wife had all of the work receipts that her husband had from working for a day labor service. There was one man who told me that the meal from Potbelly and the chat was worth so much more than when people just give him money.
People like that come and go, and it's incredible to get to interact with them on a minuscule level. But there are others we see more frequently.
There's "Grandpa," the man who looks barely older than my own dad, and sometimes not much rougher (though yesterday when I saw him, he had a great bruise over his left eye, as though someone had kicked him when he was sleeping). I know where he usually sleeps, and in the morning, he walks past the Nuthaus to Taco Cabana. He sits in the dining room and drinks a water, then he makes himself a lemonade. I have chatted with him once, and he is mostly "there." He just has that lost look of someone who doesn't have an anchor.
There's another man we call alternately "our neighbor" and "crazy guy," because he has two different personalities. When he's lucid, he's friendly and wishes us well. He will say, "Jesus loves you," and if you say, "Thanks," he'll usually stop and say, "Seriously. I mean it. He really does." He doesn't think we're taking it seriously enough. Other times, he's back in the alley, swearing at someone we can't see. Or at life. Who knows? Recently, he seems to have acquired a wheel-chair bound friend. Now, sometimes he'll be hollering and cursing, but still carefully pushing his friend.
And there's also a very sweet old lady who isn't homeless. She lives somewhere down the street from us, though I don't know exactly where. But she walks all the time. She has a walker, and her hair is always in a perfect bun. It might be 49 degrees outside, windy, and sprinkling, and she'll have on her shawl and plastic rain hat, walking with her walker. I officially met her about a week after James moved in, when I was working at the Nuthaus and saw her standing on the sidewalk, looking at the house. She said that she was so glad to see people living in these long-vacant properties. We haven't had a chance to chat again, but every time I see her, I feel like we're... well, neighbors.
Sometimes it's heart-breaking to see life as up-close as we get to see it living here. But I love it. I don't want to be blind. I want to know. And, if I can, I want to help. Even if that just means sitting on the curb with my arm around a girl I don't know, while she works through a panic attack. I love the Nuthaus.
4. The Pregnancy. Almost immediately after James and I got married, I got pregnant. Obviously, it didn't result in our having a baby, but I credit the pregnancy hormones with pushing forward my pain diminishing. When I found out that I was pregnant, I weaned off of the Gabapentin and Naprosyn as quickly as I felt was safe. And even though I'd found both to be a miracle for which I'd been desperate a mere two or three weeks earlier, I didn't need them anymore. When I was pregnant with Daphne, and again this time, my asthma abated. My mom has a friend whose intense rheumatoid arthritis goes away when she's carrying a baby. I am certain that I was pushed forward months of recovery time due to the brief influx of hormones.
5. Four Awesome Organizations. This year, I had the privilege of bumping up against four organizations whose work I so earnestly believe in that I'm trying to help in the small ways I have available to me. I want to share what they do with others, too, in case anyone else is moved to pitch in. These are also in no particular order:
Help One Now
James and I traveled to Haiti with Help One Now, and I can't even begin to describe what an eye- and heart-opening trip that was for us. Help One Now has been working in Uganda, Haiti, and Zimbabwe for some time, and they're just kicking off work in Ethiopia. The cool thing about Help One Now is that they don't go in and try to assert their presence or their way of "fixing" local issues. They work with established leadership, people who live in the countries, and who are already doing their part to tackle a problem that they see.
In Haiti specifically, we got to meet three such leaders. The first was Jean Alix Paul, a pastor/businessman at whose home we stayed. An orphanage, a school, a children's home, and a business incubation program are all under his supervision... and I think he probably does a lot of other stuff about which I have no idea. Also, he and his family and household graciously host visitors to Haiti. In 2014, the visiting teams will stay in a guest house closer to work sites, a project Jean Alix has also overseen.
The second was Pastor St. Cyr, who had a church and school in the urban city of Port au Prince before the 2010 earthquake. After that disaster struck, he planted a church in the biggest tent city, a place of otherwise darkness, where children were at risk for trafficking, where the was violence and desperation. He made it his goal to hold worship services every single day, to have some hope and singing and light in the makeshift neighborhood. Since then, he has build a much safer church building than the one damaged in the earthquake, and has been able to move the school there. They are very close to opening a medical clinic in the same building.
The third pastor we met was Gaetan Alcegaire. He moved back to Haiti (having come to the US with very many opportunities to work) specifically to start an orphanage on some family land. Immediately, the children came. For a long time, every day, all day, his goal was to find enough food to feed his kids. After the earthquake, things became even more desperate, and American groups would come, promise help, and disappear. Through a partnership with Help One Now, Pastor Gaetan has built dorms for his children, with whom he was sleeping outside under tarps because he explained that a shepherd doesn't leave his sheep. He has built a two-story school building that now houses 400 children, including all of the kids in his home as well as children from the surrounding area, many of whom cannot pay the $25 a year fee to attend. They are not turned away.
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| The children at Yahve Shemma, Pastor Gaetan's home. They had never had pizza before and weren't sure what to do with it. Also, they are taught not to eat with their hands, but to use utensils. Whoops! We meant well. :) |
These three men all work in and around Port au Prince, Petionville, Guibert, and Kenscoff. There is a newer initiative in Ferrier, an anti-trafficking house where children who are basically caught at the border, as they're being attempted-smuggled out of the country. We sponsor a beautiful 8-year-old girl who was a house slave, and has probably lived a harder life in her 8 years than I have in my 40. It is my hope that they can find her family, and that she is able to get an education and grow up knowing the love and security that kids deserve. If you're interested in helping sponsor an orphan or at-risk child, or a teacher (remember those kids who don't have the ability to pay the fee for their schooling?) you can find out how here.
Homes 4 Vets
We first encountered Homes 4 Vets at a re-enactment event at Camp Mabry. This group seeks to provide housing and job/life training for homeless veterans. The details of the program are on their website. They have just submitted the paperwork to become a 501(c)3 charitable organization, and need $6 million to start on the rec center and infrastructure. They need $23 million to build out the whole community and to put all of the program into place.
They chose the dome shape for the single-family properties because of the durability of such structures. After the rec center and single-family domes go up, they have plans for family housing, four sets of townhouses each with a common courtyard and playground accessible only to the residents from those houses.
The residents will have two years to complete job training and life skills training, and the board plans to use their contacts to help them find employment.
It's an ambitious plan, and it's been started and is spearheaded by a retired dual-service Veteran, a young architect who caught the Veteran's dream, and the owner of a construction company. Since that time, a CPA has joined the board, and these four men are pushing forward this ambitious program. I'm excited to see what happens! If you know anyone in central Texas who has land they'd like to donate, or if you'd like to donate funds or time, let me know and I can pass your information along to them.
Rework Project
The Reworkers learn how to and then build these products, then they are able to keep the majority of the profits for themselves. If you'd like to read one of their success stories that it near and dear to my heart, go here, and scroll down (better yet, just read it all) to the part about Anthony. Anthony isn't just the guy who lives in the same RV spot where I used to live. He's in our small group, and I consider him to be my friend. I'm so proud of Allison and of him and of this entire program.
Having lost 100% of their funding for 2014, Allison had to decide whether to pack it up or try to raise the $40k that Rework needs herself. In under a month, they've already gotten $36,000. If you can help, either in a one-time gift or a monthly contribution, go to here.
Mobile Loaves and Fishes
When I lived in the RV park, I saw Mobile Loaves and Fishes trailers. They also sponsored one community barbecue. Other than that, I didn't really know much about them until this year. They serve the street community extensively, with food, clothes, and shelter. Their most recent project here in Austin is best explained in this video.
Included in that video is a gentleman named Glenn who is familiar to me from church and Rework, too. Also, Anthony (mentioned above) has been doing a lot of work at the garden (included being stung right in the face by a bee; I guess that's part of it: beekeeping) and learning to can to use any bounty from the garden.
When James and I got married, we donated the RV to Mobile Loaves and Fishes. I hope it's going to be used in this community! Also, I did a dunder-headed thing and never got the trailer re-titled in my name, so they're having to do all of that, and they're so gracious about the whole thing.
So, basically, my life has been enriched a great deal by knowing that these four organizations exist. I mentioned Volunteer Health Clinic above, and that's one that actually benefited ME. I couldn't have afforded the MRI I got on my own. It's awesome to me to know that there are people who care, and who are out there doing the stuff, and who love and want to bring the marginalized into the circle of light most of us occupy.
I will say that being Facebook friends with some of our new Haitian friends is a little surreal. The other day when one of the pastors "liked" my post about the entire Firefly collection being on sale for $5 on Amazon.com, I felt like I needed to explain that I hadn't bought it myself... But then maybe he's a Firefly fan. I have no idea. But sometimes, it throws into stark relief the contrast between what occupies our day-to-day lives. And yet, because of Help One Now, we are friends. He can message me when he needs prayer for something. I am honored to be on the fringes of his life and the lives of others I admire. It is an inspiration to be in the orbit of these people who are serving orphans, and the homeless, and Veterans. It is an honor.
6. Life as Usual. Then there's the every day stuff, and that's just about as incredible as the extra-ordinary stuff, too.
First there's my job. Yes, I'm an insurance agent (with Hejny Insurance Agency). Yes, I find that every bit as funny as when I was a property manager. No, I don't think I'm awesome at it, but I can administrate stuff, and people seem to like to talk to me on the phone. Moses and Lisa offered me a job, and a spare office for my daughter to do school, at a time when I desperately needed an income, and was trying to figure out how to keep from sending Daphne to school (I don't think that there's anything wrong with school, and it might be an option in the future; but I didn't want my divorce and financial issues to force my hand). THEN when I wanted to move to Austin, they let me stay with them, working remotely... even though, technically, my job was, um, reception. So. I'm continually grateful for how they've accommodated my "special needs" time and again.
Then there's my daughter. As she matures, I see her becoming this young woman who both amazes and terrifies me. I think that it's probably normal to feel like you're "losing" your kid sometimes. And I am. She doesn't think what I think just because I think it and wish she did. She's becoming this person who is totally separate from me, and I am excited to see what she does with her life. She is clever and talented. She is a born leader. She is so much more secure than I was at her age. I love her with everything that I am. (And, yes, there's also an "everything" for my husband. Love is pretty awesome like that.)
And also, there is a group of friends from church who have really lived out what it means to be community to me this year. We've had game nights, and shared meals, and evenings out, and birthday parties. We've laughed and cried together. We've shared concerns and hopes and ideas and pop culture. I've been confronted and counseled and supported and encouraged... and it's been fun and hard and purposeful. It's what this is supposed to be like.
D and I re-started BSF this year, and she's already made a new friend we're supposed to get together with this week. I'm still doing mystery shopping, and we've gotten to putt at a sports club, play laser tag, go bowling, see movies, eat at an awesome local sports bar a whole lot, and have all sorts of fun in exchange for paperwork. I'm comfortably settling back into Astro-owning. And all of the "normalcy" is pretty great.
Suffice it to say, 2013 has easily been the best year of my life. I'm eagerly looking forward to 2014. Hope you are, too.
Monday, July 1, 2013
The Unsexy Truth About My Miscarriage
"And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years, and though she had spent all her living on physicians; she could not be healed by anyone." Luke 8:43
I feel like such a drag when James reaches out toward me and I say, "Hold on; I have to go take care of a few things." It feels like I'm killing the mood, and I feel responsible for it, even though James doesn't make me feel this way at all.
And I can't imagine going through this for twelve years. I can't imagine being considered "unclean" and never being able to go to church. And for the Jews, work-arounds were not okay. If the woman in the story were married, she'd just have had to abstain. She spent twelve of her child-bearing years barren. She did not have the Diva Cup.
So I suppose that I should be counting my blessings. Instead, I'm just counting the days...
Four weeks. That's all it's been: four weeks. It's normal, and other women have done it, and I probably still have a good couple of weeks left.
The week we were in Haiti, I used my Diva Cup. I then went to pads for as long as I could handle (about two weeks) and got a new Diva Cup to start using this weekend... which was good because I am losing A LOT of blood.
We're still newlyweds, of course, and this makes it impossible to engage in spontaneous intimacy. Even if we were to carefully construct all circumstances, facilitating copulation in the situation we're in is just not attractive. It involves things like puppy training pads and full-out showers.
I might be exaggerating a little, but not much.
I feel like such a drag when James reaches out toward me and I say, "Hold on; I have to go take care of a few things." It feels like I'm killing the mood, and I feel responsible for it, even though James doesn't make me feel this way at all.
And I can't imagine going through this for twelve years. I can't imagine being considered "unclean" and never being able to go to church. And for the Jews, work-arounds were not okay. If the woman in the story were married, she'd just have had to abstain. She spent twelve of her child-bearing years barren. She did not have the Diva Cup.
So I suppose that I should be counting my blessings. Instead, I'm just counting the days...
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
The beginning of the real end...
This post is not for everyone. I'm not publicizing it on Facebook or G+, and I'm just telling you now that if you are at all squeamish or you just don't care to hear about the end of my failed pregnancy and all of the physical stuff that goes with it, now is the time to bail. Might I suggest The Doghouse Diaries?
Okay, for those of you who are still with us...
As you know, on Sunday, June 2, I started spotting. I vacillated with being scared and hopeful and even went to see a midwife, but cancelled my Thursday ultrasound when I woke up bleeding a lot and passing tissue on Thursday morning. For the next two weeks, it was just like having a period. And, actually, because my periods are so long, it was really only a couple of days longer than a marathon episode, lucky me.
Then, finally. last Wednesday, it seemed to let up.
Until Thursday night, when I woke up and we had a major clean-up in the bedding department. *sigh*
Yesterday, I felt crampy, but not menstrual. It was almost like gas in my side, but I was tempted to think it was almost like mild contractions. One or two stopped me in my tracks. I walked a couple of miles with Daphne and felt better.
This morning, I got out and rode a couple of miles on my bike to run errands. Except for the chain coming off of the gears when I was crossing 24th, the ride was pleasant and uneventful.
After I got home, I went to the restroom and, here's where it gets potentially gross and a little weird, I heard a sound you'd expect to hear if you were dropping a deuce, so to speak. Except that I wasn't.
Those obnoxious "fetal development" charts tell you that, at 9 weeks your baby is the size of a green olive and that Doppler might pick up a heart beat (ours didn't, but we know why). I don't know when the baby stopped developing, but I have to tell you: What I found deposited in the water resembles one of the things you pull out of the bag of gizzards they stuff back into the chicken after butchering. It is approximately 1.5-2 inches long, and I'm guessing is the whole thing: embryonic sac, fetus, etc.
This is both fascinating and disturbing and reassuring, and I'll tell you why.
The disturbing part is that, well, it's physically icky. And might have been more emotionally icky if several weeks hadn't already passed, and I hadn't gone to Haiti, and life hadn't gone on in its marvelous way.
The fascinating part is that, somehow, something that tiny, can conceivably grow into a whole person. Daphne was encased in that two-inch chicken-organ-looking thing. It's crazy. I've read that people say they can make out features of their miscarried babies at this age. I'm not squeamish, but I don't think I'm up to trying to remove it from the sac for closer investigation, either.
The reassuring part is this: When the pregnancy test was positive, I was so shocked, I just looked at it and threw it away. James never saw it. He took my word, of course. But still. Then I had so few symptoms, except for being sleepy.
A few times, it's crossed my mind that maybe I wasn't actually pregnant. Maybe I am just peri-menopausal, my crazy hormones delivered a false positive on a pregnancy test (I don't even know whether that's possible), I missed a period, and then had a REALLY heavy one the next time.
So this, at least, confirms that. To me and, should he wish to investigate, to James.
Now, the question is: What do I do with this? Do I put it in a box and bury it in our yard? What is the protocol? James is on his way home from work. What a sweet man. I love him so much.
Okay, for those of you who are still with us...
As you know, on Sunday, June 2, I started spotting. I vacillated with being scared and hopeful and even went to see a midwife, but cancelled my Thursday ultrasound when I woke up bleeding a lot and passing tissue on Thursday morning. For the next two weeks, it was just like having a period. And, actually, because my periods are so long, it was really only a couple of days longer than a marathon episode, lucky me.
Then, finally. last Wednesday, it seemed to let up.
Until Thursday night, when I woke up and we had a major clean-up in the bedding department. *sigh*
Yesterday, I felt crampy, but not menstrual. It was almost like gas in my side, but I was tempted to think it was almost like mild contractions. One or two stopped me in my tracks. I walked a couple of miles with Daphne and felt better.
This morning, I got out and rode a couple of miles on my bike to run errands. Except for the chain coming off of the gears when I was crossing 24th, the ride was pleasant and uneventful.
After I got home, I went to the restroom and, here's where it gets potentially gross and a little weird, I heard a sound you'd expect to hear if you were dropping a deuce, so to speak. Except that I wasn't.
Those obnoxious "fetal development" charts tell you that, at 9 weeks your baby is the size of a green olive and that Doppler might pick up a heart beat (ours didn't, but we know why). I don't know when the baby stopped developing, but I have to tell you: What I found deposited in the water resembles one of the things you pull out of the bag of gizzards they stuff back into the chicken after butchering. It is approximately 1.5-2 inches long, and I'm guessing is the whole thing: embryonic sac, fetus, etc.
This is both fascinating and disturbing and reassuring, and I'll tell you why.
The disturbing part is that, well, it's physically icky. And might have been more emotionally icky if several weeks hadn't already passed, and I hadn't gone to Haiti, and life hadn't gone on in its marvelous way.
The fascinating part is that, somehow, something that tiny, can conceivably grow into a whole person. Daphne was encased in that two-inch chicken-organ-looking thing. It's crazy. I've read that people say they can make out features of their miscarried babies at this age. I'm not squeamish, but I don't think I'm up to trying to remove it from the sac for closer investigation, either.
The reassuring part is this: When the pregnancy test was positive, I was so shocked, I just looked at it and threw it away. James never saw it. He took my word, of course. But still. Then I had so few symptoms, except for being sleepy.
A few times, it's crossed my mind that maybe I wasn't actually pregnant. Maybe I am just peri-menopausal, my crazy hormones delivered a false positive on a pregnancy test (I don't even know whether that's possible), I missed a period, and then had a REALLY heavy one the next time.
So this, at least, confirms that. To me and, should he wish to investigate, to James.
Now, the question is: What do I do with this? Do I put it in a box and bury it in our yard? What is the protocol? James is on his way home from work. What a sweet man. I love him so much.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Rebel Without... Well, Tact, I Suppose
Read at your own risk. This is more of the TMI stuff, but, again, I like to chronicle everything.
By Wednesday evening, my "spotting" was getting heavy enough to qualify as a "light period," so I picked up, for the first time in well over a dozen years, a box of pantyliners. Yuck. Yuck yuck yuck.
In high school, I had "issues" with my monthlies. I actually had black-out, sensory aggravated, body-wrecking episodes that would leave me curled in a fetal position, eyes closed, blocking my ears, and cold-sweating until they passed. This was in addition to cramps and very long, very heavy, very irregular periods.
For whatever reason, I guess because my mom didn't use them so it never came up, tampons were not introduced as an option. I used pads. The heaviest pads you could get. And very often, despite my feeling like I was walking around with a pillow crammed into the crotch of my pants, they would leak, and I'd end up with blood on my pants, enough to show through.
At least one week (and sometimes as many as ten days) of every month (or six) of my late teens and early twenties was spent walking around constantly glancing into reflective surfaces to check for tell-tale shocks of red. I stopped at every bathroom possible to make sure it was still business as usual. I had to wash my sheets a lot. I had to change clothes a lot. It was awful.
This changed quite a bit when I discovered tampons, so that was good. But it wasn't ideal. I mean, a period isn't ideal. Period.
But then, three years ago, I discovered an absolute miracle: The Diva Cup! (Cue angelic heralding.) No waste, no leaks, no running to the store at the last minute because I forgot to stock up. Brilliant!
So, now... yesterday and last night were both very much how I remembered high school. Squishy. Potentially embarrassing. But you know what I forgot? The smell. I won't try to explain it. If you're a girl with this same experience, you get it. Ugh. Oh, and getting up in the middle of the night, even though I didn't *have* to, just to make sure I wasn't going to mess up the bed.
Everything I have read says that you're not supposed to use a tampon (or any insert), nor are you supposed to have sex for two weeks after a miscarriage. What I've read says that you're open to infection because the cervix is dilated and all of these blood vessels are open, and everything needs to come out or you can get infected. This morning, though, I found something on an Australian website that said: "Many authorities advise avoiding tampon use during or after a miscarriage. This is because of a possible risk of infection although tampons have not been proven to cause infection in this situation."
Well.
If you know me, you know that was practically a green light for recalling the Diva Cup.
The more I read, the more I see that the risk of infection is if all of the tissue doesn't pass. But they usually clock that at two weeks, and it will be exactly two weeks from the time this started when we get back.
I cannot spend our travel day tomorrow going to the bathroom every fifteen minutes. I can't pack enough liners or pads to change every single hour, or even every four hours or so, for the next week. The house where we're staying? We can't even flush the toilet paper, so I really do not want to create a mountain of tissue of which the hosts will have to dispose.
The Diva Cup is the most convenient answer.
I am now treating this like a "normal" period unless something else happens. I think we're going to be just fine.
By Wednesday evening, my "spotting" was getting heavy enough to qualify as a "light period," so I picked up, for the first time in well over a dozen years, a box of pantyliners. Yuck. Yuck yuck yuck.
In high school, I had "issues" with my monthlies. I actually had black-out, sensory aggravated, body-wrecking episodes that would leave me curled in a fetal position, eyes closed, blocking my ears, and cold-sweating until they passed. This was in addition to cramps and very long, very heavy, very irregular periods.
For whatever reason, I guess because my mom didn't use them so it never came up, tampons were not introduced as an option. I used pads. The heaviest pads you could get. And very often, despite my feeling like I was walking around with a pillow crammed into the crotch of my pants, they would leak, and I'd end up with blood on my pants, enough to show through.
At least one week (and sometimes as many as ten days) of every month (or six) of my late teens and early twenties was spent walking around constantly glancing into reflective surfaces to check for tell-tale shocks of red. I stopped at every bathroom possible to make sure it was still business as usual. I had to wash my sheets a lot. I had to change clothes a lot. It was awful.
This changed quite a bit when I discovered tampons, so that was good. But it wasn't ideal. I mean, a period isn't ideal. Period.
But then, three years ago, I discovered an absolute miracle: The Diva Cup! (Cue angelic heralding.) No waste, no leaks, no running to the store at the last minute because I forgot to stock up. Brilliant!
So, now... yesterday and last night were both very much how I remembered high school. Squishy. Potentially embarrassing. But you know what I forgot? The smell. I won't try to explain it. If you're a girl with this same experience, you get it. Ugh. Oh, and getting up in the middle of the night, even though I didn't *have* to, just to make sure I wasn't going to mess up the bed.
Everything I have read says that you're not supposed to use a tampon (or any insert), nor are you supposed to have sex for two weeks after a miscarriage. What I've read says that you're open to infection because the cervix is dilated and all of these blood vessels are open, and everything needs to come out or you can get infected. This morning, though, I found something on an Australian website that said: "Many authorities advise avoiding tampon use during or after a miscarriage. This is because of a possible risk of infection although tampons have not been proven to cause infection in this situation."
Well.
If you know me, you know that was practically a green light for recalling the Diva Cup.
The more I read, the more I see that the risk of infection is if all of the tissue doesn't pass. But they usually clock that at two weeks, and it will be exactly two weeks from the time this started when we get back.
I cannot spend our travel day tomorrow going to the bathroom every fifteen minutes. I can't pack enough liners or pads to change every single hour, or even every four hours or so, for the next week. The house where we're staying? We can't even flush the toilet paper, so I really do not want to create a mountain of tissue of which the hosts will have to dispose.
The Diva Cup is the most convenient answer.
I am now treating this like a "normal" period unless something else happens. I think we're going to be just fine.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Certainty
I'm supposed to go in for an ultrasound today, but I don't want to. I know that I'm losing this baby. The blood is coming more regularly now, like a light period. I am waiting for a dramatic "There's so much blood!" moment where I know it's "over," but that might not be for a couple of weeks. I'm not going to worry about how that pans out with Haiti. This is reality, and I'm not going to change a bunch of plans to wait for something. I feel fine now, and life is going to go on.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Meeting the Midwife
Today, the three of us walked the block and a half to the birthing center around the corner. We met a very nice midwife who I will definitely use if I ever need someone for prenatal care and delivery. The birthing center is beautiful, very homey. I got a referral for an ultrasound tomorrow afternoon, but I really don't expect that it will show a viable pregnancy. I continue to bleed consistently, and it's red.
I'm glad to know we are both still fertile, and I hope that this will work out eventually, and soon. I'm glad we have the Haiti trip to distract us. I ache for my husband. I love him more than anything and want to please him so much. That is the excruciating part.
I'm glad to know we are both still fertile, and I hope that this will work out eventually, and soon. I'm glad we have the Haiti trip to distract us. I ache for my husband. I love him more than anything and want to please him so much. That is the excruciating part.
TMI
This is going to be too much information for most, so feel free to skip it. I'm documenting it for my midwife and myself.
Sunday, June 2 - Spotting in the morning, stopped at noon. Very light brown.
Monday, June 3 - Clear, odorless discharge and then light red spotting, mostly in the morning.
Tuesday, June 4 - Light brown spotting.
Wednesday, June 5 - Heavier red spotting. Small clot.
Sunday, June 2 - Spotting in the morning, stopped at noon. Very light brown.
Monday, June 3 - Clear, odorless discharge and then light red spotting, mostly in the morning.
Tuesday, June 4 - Light brown spotting.
Wednesday, June 5 - Heavier red spotting. Small clot.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
The Good...
It's interesting how freaked out/almost negative my first reaction to the positive pregnancy test was. But then James was so happy, and it was contagious. Of course, over the past month, we'd developed some ideas and hopes and plans. And to see those die on the vine, so to speak, is really sad. Or it will be sad. I think I'm actually in denial or shock right now, so I'm not feeling much.
However, there are a couple of really good things that have come out of this experience. The first is that I've lost some weight. The second is that I'm not on any medication. For both of those, I'm grateful.
Monday, June 3, 2013
In-Between Time
This is an odd place to be. I am almost certain, due to the continual (though minimal) amount of spotting and fluid that this it not a viable pregnancy. But I haven't yet gotten rid of the majority of what has been growing for the past month and a half. So I wait... And I pray that it's over before we leave for Haiti. And that I'm home at the time. And I'm grateful that so few people know about it.
All the same, James has been extremely giddy, and today he's not. I know it's not my fault. I know women in their 40s have a 40% chance of miscarriage. I know that this would not have been preventable. But I wanted to give this to him so badly. I pray that we'll get another chance. If not, I pray that I am enough for him.
All the same, James has been extremely giddy, and today he's not. I know it's not my fault. I know women in their 40s have a 40% chance of miscarriage. I know that this would not have been preventable. But I wanted to give this to him so badly. I pray that we'll get another chance. If not, I pray that I am enough for him.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Hmm...
Today would be the day I would start my period if I were to do that, and I think I'm spotting a little bit. I did not last month. But I'm not panicking. Yet.
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