Getting there

Since it's 2:30 in the morning and I can't sleep anyway, I figured it was time to come out of hibernation. I have finally read through all your comments, and no Emily, I didn't know 30-some people even read my blog, let alone could be so caring.

I guess it's true that in times of crisis or pain, you find out what people are made of. I have learned that as much as I hurt, in ways both obvious and unfathomable, you have all helped me to know I'm not alone. I know I have my friends and my family and most importantly Mr. Blogger to get me through this...that has never been in doubt.

But I never really knew that complete strangers whom I've never met, nor laid eyes on, could be so ready to lend a hug, or an "I'm sorry" or an open heart full of compassion.

In addition to the comments, I've received emails from random readers who happened upon my story. Some could relate. Some wanted to offer a story of hope. And some were just kind enough to write. That is more than I ever thought I deserved.

I noticed that some of you even mentioned me in your own blogs and asked others to come on over and offer support. That is beyond appreciated and I am truly touched.

To all of you, a simple "thank you" could never be enough. I hope you know how much your words of sympathy meant to me. I can't begin to repay you for your thoughtfulness. I can only say that it meant a lot.

A LOT.

Now, the truth is that I'm still somewhat in a self-wallowing phase. I'm pissed off and hurt and angry and disappointed and embarrassed...and a slew of other adjectives that all somehow don't seem strong enough to describe what I feel.

Physically this is different than any of my previous experiences in that it seems to be taking FOREVER to complete and every day I face the crippling pain and blinding headaches and I keep wondering when the hell it will be over.

I feel punished for being hopeful. I feel punished for my pride in being pregnant to begin with. I can't figure out what I've done to have FOUR. MOTHER. FUCKING. MISCARRIAGES. But I must have done something horrific, because it appears someone wants me to pay.

I know I'm being irrational, but none if it IS rational. It doesn't make any sense to me, so I search for reasons. And I apologize for perhaps being melodramatic, but I can't help it. Give me time.

So I cry. Over and over and over until I have nothing left.

I shudder at the remembrance of being in the shower Monday afternoon and screaming because I couldn't stop the flooding that brought upon the hideous resemblance to some kind of crime scene in my bathroom.

But before that I had no warning this time. No spotting. No cramping. Just some very slight dull pain that afternoon that did make me call the doctor who of course, said not to worry.

I had JUST called MB and said if this didn't get better by Tuesday, I was going to go to Urgent Care. Just to make sure everything was ok before he left for London on Wednesday.

Not more than half an hour later I called him in complete terror and said he needed to come home. NOW.

The doctor we saw that evening was really very kind and sweet and understanding. I'm sure I looked like a ghost and she knew not to ruffle me much. She tried to give me hope after the physical exam by saying that the good news was that my cervix was still closed and many women experience some bleeding in their first trimester.

But you can't say that to a woman who knows better. A woman who NEVER seems to be in that group of "...and everything turned out just fine".

So my betas were zero. ZERO. Who knows how long this had been going on. And of course I played my "I told you so" card.

I haven't been super pleasant to be around lately. I didn't want to talk to ANYONE for a few days and my poor husband has run many an errand to ply me with Diet Dr. Pepper and chocolate chip cookies and anything I may need to make me feel better. Of course none of it does.

MB didn't get to go to London, although I did try to convince him he should, because I didn't want him to disappoint his kids. I feel AWFUL about that. But he wouldn't leave me. I should have known he would not be swayed.

I'll be even more brutally honest with you now (if I haven't already lost you with my tales of woe...I'm sorry for being so graphic but I have to get this out).

I don't know if I can keep going through this. It's getting to be too much. I have a feeling that I'll probably be pregnant again at some point if we continue to try (after one particular miscarriage, I was pregnant the very next month), but do I want to be? Well, of course I want to be. But do I want to risk this outcome, is I suppose the better question.

We have a follow-up appointment with my OB in a few weeks, but what else can she do? She already tested me for everything after the last time.

It's just this simple. I'm old. And my eggs are old and apparently chromosomally unsound. I can't do ANYTHING about that.

Maybe it's a crapshoot. ONE OF THEM has to finally be ok. Right? Well, that's what I told myself this time too.

In the meantime, I HATE that every time I get pregnant I have to tell everyone that I'm not anymore. I HATE that I still haven't yet told my step-dad and step-brother and his wife...whom I had JUST told I was pregnant a few days before.

I HATE that I am battling some pretty horrible cramping right now in the battle to stay upright and write this in the need for catharsis.

Most of all, I HATE that I feel broken.

No prescription strength pain reliever is going to fix that.