Uppercase Woman

Jumping Betas! Supreme Court Nominees! Signs! And More!

So, the last beta was over 2000. A perfect doubling, and NOT a tripling like I had with the boys. So I do believe that we are looking at a single, something that will be confirmed tomorrow at my first fetal ultrasound.

I haven't told you all this before, but on the way home from our embryo transfer we got stuck behind a truck that had "Tori Ann" plastered on the sides. We took it as a sign. You see, we've always planned to name a girl Victoria after Charlie's sister (who died when she was a few days old due to exposure to Thalidomide), with the middle name Anne after his grandmother and my mother. And we plan to call her Tori.

So, I've become convinced that it's a single, and a girl. NOT THAT I CARE. As I said before, the only qualification is that the baby not be dead. But it will be interesting to see what happens, no?

I will post after the ultrasound tomorrow, plus I have something else I need to speak with you all about. So stay tuned.

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I've only heard and read a little about Bush's newest nominee for the Supreme Court. From what I heard this morning on NPR and the BBC, he appears to be a Scalia clone (in fact, his nickname is "Scalito"): a strict constitutionalist. Apparently, he thinks the Constitution is a perfect document, and should be strictly interpreted. He also believes that there should be no amendments to the constitution (like Scalia and Thomas), so he must be a fan of slavery (deeply ironic on the part of Thomas, dontcha think?) and women not being allowed to vote.

He does not believe that a right to privacy that protects a woman's right to choose exists in the Constitution.

According to what I've heard and read, he WOULD vote to overturn Roe vs. Wade, making the procedure that saved my life last October illegal. Not to mention what he would do to environmental law, civil rights, and many other things if he's given the chance.

What pisses me off the most is this: Aren't we supposed to be living in motherfucking democracy? So why, then, is this ONE FUCKING MAN going to be able to make decisions about my life? Not me, not my husband, not my doctor, but some asshole in Washington who knows nothing about having a motherfucking uterus.

It is WAY TOO MUCH POWER for one man to have.  No matter what side of the choice issue you fall on, you have to agree to that. See past the issues and think about that, would you? A moderate voice, like Sandra Day O'Connor was, would be a better choice, and keep the balance of power reasonable.

Please feel free to post any links you have about ways to fight this nomination. We'll need all the help we can get.

These are dark times, my friends, dark dark times. I feel like I'm living in the twilight zone, not the United States. I'm so scared.

Loss

Yesterday morning I awoke to an NPR story about two mothers whose sons were killed in Iraq. One of them said, “I saw a photo of an Iraqi woman, dressed in a long black robe, holding on to a coffin. I knew the look on her face, because it was my face. I just wanted to fly over there and give her a hug.”

I remember when I was pregnant realizing that if I had sons someone could send them to war. The thought paralyzed me with fear. The idea of my child, across the world fighting, killing, and dying was too awful to consider.

When I think about Nicholas and Zachary,  I mourn the loss of potential. They’ll never pee on me as I change a diaper. I won’t see their first steps, or send them off on their first day of school. Sometimes I can imagine what they would have looked like, especially when I look at photos of Charlie as a boy.

But the women on NPR are mourning true memories. While my sadness is like getting a tooth drilled, their sadness must be more like teeth being extracted without anesthesia. I cannot comprehend the grief and agony they are in.

As the count of American soldiers killed in Iraq continues to arise, I have to admit: it could have been worse. There are 2,004 mothers across the nation weeping over their children. Crying over photos of first steps and first days in school.

Although my heart is broken, it breaks a little more thinking of them. Tonight I will say a prayer for all of us—all mothers and want-to-be-mothers, each of grieving in our different ways.

Thinking about it now, I wonder what insanity possessed me to proceed with an embryo transfer this month. If it had not been successful, I can’t imagine how I would have felt yesterday and today, the anniversary of our loss.

But it did work, and my beta doubled perfectly to 743. Next beta will be on Saturday, and our first ultrasound will probably be Monday or Tuesday. Personally, I think we’re looking at a single (with the twins, my beta tripled—not that betas are the best way to predict, but still). Charlie and Sarah both are convinced it’s a girl. I’ve always wanted a girl, but at this point I’m not too fussy. I just want a baby that isn’t dead.

I will keep you all posted as things develop. Thanks for all your kind words of yesterday.

Up The Duff

Georgia from Australia told me I was "up the duff" which, according to this, means "pregnant." It's my favorite euphemism for pregnancy EVER. I don't know what a duff is, but DAMN if I ain't up it.

Several of you asked about betas. A beta test is a blood test that checks the amount of hCG that is in your bloodstream; hCG is the hormone released when you are up the duff. Here is a great explanation:

"The hormone, human chorionic gonadotropin (better known as hCG), is produced during pregnancy. It is made by cells that form the placenta, which nourishes the egg after it has been fertilized and becomes attached to the uterine wall. hCG can first be detected by a normal blood test about 11 days after conception and about 12-14 days by a urine test. In general the hCG level will double every 72 hours. The levels will reach their peak in the 8-11 weeks of pregnancy (the third month) and then will decline and level off for the remainder of the pregnancy."

Now, normal levels vary wildly. A positive beta at 17dpo (which is about what I am) can be anywhere from 17-429 according to this.

Several people told me that girl release more hCG than boys, which is comforting, since we are very worried about having twins again. Also, since my embryos were at the morula stage--therefore further developed--so that could also explain the nice high number.

Oh, and you want to hear something funny? Technically, we could end up with triplets, even though we only transferred two embryos.  According to my RE, semen has some compounds in it that can help the transfer, so we had "relations" (that's what the IVF nurse called it) the night before the transfer. But since we did a natural cycle, I actually released an egg, so we could have also conceived naturally.

HA HA HA HA HA HA ug.

Anyhoo.

Tomorrow is my second beta. I feel pretty sure that it will have doubled, since I have already had an attack of MORNING FUCKING SICKNESS. I really thought I'd get out of that this time since it was so horrid last time. Fucker.

As for how I'm feeling, well. Weirdly, I feel much more pregnant than I did last time. Maybe I'm just more aware, or maybe I know what to look for. I feel constant twinges in my uterus, and my boobs are big and sore. I also just feel pregnant.

I also feel much, much better than I did last time physically. Most likely this is due to the huge difference in medication: last time I was taking three 2mg tabs of Estrace twice a day (now only one twice a day) and 2.5cc of progesterone in oil AND 200mg of progesterone suppositories twice a day (now just three suppositories a day). This morning I actually shot out of bed at 7am (I don't have to work until 11), fed the cats, cleaned the litterpans*, and finished up some freelance work I've been doing. My energy level is COMPLETELY different.

As for how I'm feeling emotionally, well. Tomorrow, of course, is the anniversary of my going in to the hospital with my surviving son. I'm working hard at just letting the feelings come and taking them as the come. It does, of course, give me great, great comfort to be up the duff again. I think it will help with the sadness. But this baby will not be Nicholas or Zachary, no matter how wonderful it is.

I may or may not post tomorrow. I'll try to at least post the beta, but I might need a day to be quiet with myself.

Oh, and I will not allow the "c" word (congratulations) until the kid is home. M'kay?

*Before you all start yelling at me for cleaning the pans while pregnant know that a) I wore a mask and b) after 20 years of multiple cat owning and eight years of being a vet tech, I am considered by all to be "immune" to toxoplasmosis, the thing you can get from cat litter. And you are more likely to get it from gardening, so there.

334

Holy shit.

Last time with the twins it was 272.

Eek.

How I Spent My Weekend

Should have Beta results by late afternoon/early evening Monday. Eek!

So...

I totally forgot to mention yesterday that it was my wedding anniversary. Happy Anniversary, baby! Nine whole years of marriage. Wow.

I also forgot to mention that I'm hosting a little poetry reading/open mic thing tonight, where I'll be reading a couple of my poems. If you live in the area and are interested in seeing my fat ass in person, email me and I'll give you the details.

Oh! And the pregnancy tests, of course. Hee hee.

Last night I picked up a box of tests (third one free!), First Response of course, and planned to wait until I got home to test, but couldn't make it. I peed on a stick at the train station.

It was faintly positive.

This morning I woke up while it was still dark and forgot, totally, to test again. Then I realized it was nearly 7 am, not the middle of the night, so I lay there obsessing until I got up and FORCED enough pee into a cup that I could test again (yeah plastic cups in the bathroom).

It was also faintly positive. Ok, a little more than faint--there is no doubt as to the second line. I peed on another OPK too (a couple hours later), and that was really, really positive.

Considering that I'm still FOUR days away from my beta, that's pretty good. I can only imagine the reason I'm getting the positives this early (last time it wasn't until two days before the beta) is because the embryos were at the morula stage, and therefore a little more developed when they were transfered.

So. It looks like it worked, again (I can't believe it). Before we get all carried away, let's be SURE to avoid ANY use of the C-word*. Let's take a page from GRRL and say... NBHHY**.

Thank you all for your encouragment. I can't BELIEVE the increase in hits I got yesterday as you all refreshed like mad. Dudes, I was at work. I couldn't do anything!

* Not that C-word, silly. You know I love the word cunt. Let's avoid the word "congratulations."

** Nothing Bad Has Happened Yet.

Um....

So, how reliable are OPK's as pregnancy tests?

Not like I'm asking because I remembered that I had one in my work bag because the RE told me I needed to begin checking for my ovulation before the transfer, only to have blood work confirm my ovulation so I never used it, and I couldn't stop myself, and it was totally positive or anything.

According to this site, it's moderately reliable. And can you believe there is a peeonastick.com? Who am I kidding. Of course there is.

But I like being a big fat whore

Well, a girl can't wallow in self-pity with you folks around, can she?

Thanks for all the encouraging words. I'm sorry so many of us are in this boat. But as Menita said: "But I just don't get,  I really don't,  what more or less flesh has to do with beauty,  just as more or less color has nothing to do with it either." We are all beautiful, every rotten lovely  pound of us.

And just for the record, when I called myself a big fat whore, I meant it in the most loving way possible. I am damn proud of my whore past. I used to just say I was a slut, but whore is the hip word to slander oneself with these days, and we all know I am the height of hip. Or hip height, whichever.

As you can tell, I do feel better today. Besides all of you so effusively saying nice things, I was able to get a little perspective by going to my friend Hillary's funeral today. No matter how fat I am, I ain't dead, and I don't have a (rather huge) churchful of people mourning my loss.

Interestingly enough, one of the women who spoke at the funeral was someone who'd received gastric bypass surgery a couple years back. I hadn't seen her since. When she went up to the podium, I leaned over to Sarah and said, "I am so getting that surgery." She looked amazing. But when I spoke with her afterward, she told me about her unbelievable complications. She's had multiple surgeries, was in a coma for two months, and has another seven or eight surgeries to go. Eek. I'm still considering it, but sheesh.

Another thing I realized from reading all of your comments is that I don't have low self-esteem. I know it may sound like it--and I sure do hate my body sometimes--but the truth is, I actually think I'm pretty cool. I know I'm funny, smart, and yes, I even know I'm pretty. So I'm not sure what I have, exactly, but low self-esteem isn't it. I hold myself in rather high regard, to tell you the truth. So don't worry too much about me.

As far as my diagnosis goes, I have what is loosely called "pre-diabetes." It's not a real disease--it's more like a "yield" sign. In fact, I'll bet some doctors came up with it to scare fat people into losing weight.  It's also easily cured by losing just a little weight and exercising more.

So, I'm moving on with my plan to phase out sugar, eat more whole grains, and overall watch my portions and spread my carbs smarter over the day. I'm also planning on joining my local YMCA so that I can begin swimming and "water walking" (something this Y offers; doesn't it sound like the perfect exercise?) which will be great fun, I think.

I'm going to be OK.

And now for the really important stuff: when do you think I should start peeing on a stick?

How To Have A Shitty-Ass Monday

1. Have your husband wake you up fifteen minutes before your alarm goes off. When you protest, have him remind you that you actually should have set it for an hour earlier and you are due at a doctor’s appointment in thirty minutes.

2. Fly out of bed and into the shower. Forgo contacts to speed the process, but knock your glasses into the toilet as you get out of the shower.

3. Get ready in record time, but when you go to get dressed, realize that the tights you just bought at Target are too fucking small. And they are the biggest size Target offers.

4. Wear them anyway, after spraying them with Wrinkle Releaser in a desperate attempt to make them stretch to cover your fat ass. Get in the car and have them immediately roll down your hips.

5. Arrive at the doctor’s office ten minutes late, and remember only when they ask for the co-pay that they don’t accept credit cards. Go back down to the lobby cash machine via the stairs, since the hospital elevator is broken.

6. Get weighed by the doctor and have the scale read TWENTY POUNDS higher than the last time you were weighed (two weeks earlier). Have the doctor ask you what happened. Glare at the doctor.

7. Sit down to hear the results of your glucose tolerance test. Find out you do NOT have insulin resistance.

8. Find out you ARE pre-diabetic.

9. Have the doctor recommend you receive nutritional counseling.

10. Yell at the doctor for suggesting that fat people don’t know what to eat. Tell her the reason you are currently so fat has to do with three+ years of infertility and the fact that chocolate kept you from killing yourself after losing your sons.

11. Sit when she immediately leaves the room.

12. Realize you are an ass, and when she comes back, allow her to give you the number of the people she wants you to see.

13. Get in the car and start crying. Become convinced that you are so upset because you have PMS symptoms, meaning that the embryo transfer didn’t work.

I was crying, and I was angry, because I am ashamed. Deeply, horribly, awfully ashamed of being a big fat whore.

For months now, I’ve tried very very hard to pretend that I am ok at this weight. That not fitting in the booths at my favorite diner, or the fact that the steering wheel rubs my belly a little bit while I drive (the curse of being short and fat), or the fact that I look awful in almost all clothing, doesn’t really bother me. It’s ok. But it’s not. I feel like shit. Looking at the pictures from Sarah’s wedding really brought it home. I am FAT. Obese. Disgusting.

As my depression over losing the boys began to lift, my self-hatred about my weight has grown. But I felt trapped—the minute I was ready to begin tackling my weight, I was also ready to tackle pregnancy again, and pregnancy takes priority.

I have taken some basic steps to change my eating, but not because of my weight—because I want a healthy pregnancy and baby. Now I will have to further modify my diet; I will begin following a gestational diabetes diet in an attempt to stave off actual diabetes.

But I can’t actually diet while pregnant (although if this cycle doesn’t work, I may have to reconsider what our next steps are). So all I can do is try to be healthy, and wait, again.

I had the sense this morning in the car to pick up the phone and call my friend Debbie for help. Debbie is someone who lost over 200lbs at one point in her life by following a rigid diet of no sugar and no flour (and moderate portions of everything else). For a while (about eight years ago) she gave me a great deal of guidance about changing my eating, and sent me to her nutritionist. I followed the same diet and lost 70lbs before I began rebelling and eating what I wanted when I wanted it. Debbie had a similar experience, and ended up regaining all of her weight.

She got a gastric bypass in January, and is doing really well. She was exactly the right person to call. She understands the shame, the self-hatred, the deep self-loathing that comes from being fat, and being a yo-yo dieter. She really helped.

My shame makes me angry. I’m angry that I am a person that finds food as effective in treating my emotional ups and downs as heroin. I’m angry that I have been down this road so many fucking times and still end up fat. I’m angry I blew that time I was down to a size 16 and could cross my legs comfortably.

I’m just so motherfucking angry.

For years I excused myself, thinking that I was fat but fit and had no lasting health problems as a result of my fatness. That is no longer the case. No more excuses.

The good news is if I lose weight—even just 10% of my overall body weight—the condition of being “pre-diabetic” will likely go away with the pounds. But for right now, I just have to do the next right thing—see the nutritional counselor, monitor my glucose, and wait and see if I’m pregnant.

But damn, hitting bottom (again) hurts.

What a way to fill the two-week wait, huh?

***Just so you know, there are just as many unintentionally hurtful things to say to a fat person as there are an infertile person. So, please, think before you post a comment suggesting that I avoid sugar (duh), or exercise more (double duh), or stop drinking soda (puh-lease) or anything like that. Trust me—I have been dieting for TWENTY FIVE FUCKING YEARS. There is little I don’t know about food and dieting and exercising. The only place I want to receive that kind of guidance from is going to be a professional. M’kay?

Questions, Questions

Y'all gave me too many links to look at, and I've been too busy lookin' at 'em to answer your questions. Heh. But here we go!

For everyone that asked about how Charlie and I got together: go here.

For everyone that asked how Sarah and I met:  The first time I saw Sarah she was reading her poetry on stage at a club. She was tough and dramatic, and I liked her right away. A week or so later, I saw her again--this time working the door for another poetry reading. Our little poetry circles co-mingled at various times, although we weren't super close, but once we started partying together, we saw each other more often. Eventually Charlie and I asked her and E, her boyfriend (and her daughter's father) at the time, to share a house. We lived together for three years, but we were NOT friends, particularly. Sarah and E hated us, me in particular, for a variety of reasons I can't remember (probably related to my having too many pets and being a slob, or something like that). E finally moved out, and Sarah and I bonded over General Hospital and drugs.  She moved out to go into Rehab, had her daughter, and Charlie and I got sober a while later. The first year that we were all sober, we stayed friendly but distant. I'd asked Sarah to be in my wedding and she said no.  But as the wedding got closer, Sarah and her daughter agreed to be an unusual flowergirl/ring bearer combo. Over the next several years, with lots of hard work, our relationship has grown and deepened. We've known each other now for thirteen years.

For those that asked about MY wedding: Charlie and I decided to get married before we were sober. We tried, sort of, to make some wedding plans while still drunk and high, without much success. We carried it off at ten months sober. I wore a great big dress, and the bridesmaids were incredibly elegant in silver dresses. The guys wore tuxes. But the reception was potluck, with my friends DJing and providing the music (one of those friends was Nancy Falkow--she's so gifted. Buy her CD's, you won't be disappointed). It was great. I also got a parking ticket that day, which was hilarious.

For those that asked about tarot cards/etc readings: Yes, I have had them done. I got a "street level" psychic to read my cards once but she was just bilking me for money. I did have an acquaintance do it several times, and I thought she was crazy. She kept telling me over and over again that someone in my house was going to have a baby, and it wasn't until a couple of years later I realized she was talking about Sarah. And I'd thought she was just a flake.

Jen asked: Where would you go if you could travel anywhere (money no object)? When would you go if you could travel anyplace in time? And, who is your favorite Muppet?

New Zealand. America, pre-Columbus (I want to see the forests). Kermit, obviously. The Animal is a close second. Miss Piggy a distant third.

For those that asked what I will tell my kids about drugs/alcohol/addiction: Well, the truth. They are going to see us going to meetings, so they will grow up knowing that we need special help to not drink and use drugs. We'll also let them know about the fact that they will be genetically predisposed (assuming genetic offspring, of course), but we will also have to stand back and let them make their own choices. Will I freak out the first time they come home drunk? Maybe. But I won't send them to rehab the first time either.

Catherine asked: Favorite band/musician? Favorite album to listen to all the way through? Favorite song? Favorite song to sing/dance to? (Completely different question, of course.) Favorite writer? Favorite poet? Favorite trashy writer? (Again, completely different question.) Favorite movie? Favorite actor and actress? Favorite scene in a movie? 

Beatles. "Little Sparrow" Dolly Parton. "Precious Things" by Tori Amos.  "Get Your Freak On" Missy Elliot. Flannery O'Connor. Joy Harjo. Laurell K. Hamilton. "Love Actually". Clive Owen and Toni Collette. The scene where John Cusack holds the boom box in "Say Anything."

Sue asked: This time last year you were (poetry?) editor of a local literary magazine, how'd that turn out? White, milk or dark chocolate? Have you had any animals other than cats and dogs? What are you doing for Halloween? Will you dress up for work? Scare the neighbor kiddies?

I'm currently the editor of a local literary journal, and it's actually the only time I've been an editor, and I like it very much. Milk chocolate. Dogs and cats are about it.  I have no idea what I'll do for Halloween, but I'm looking forward to handing out candy to the kids.

TC asked what have I been reading lately: Well, I've been reading tons, but I just finished the "Protector of the Small" series by Tamora Pierce. I love young adult fiction, and these four books were really quite fun and cool. All about a young girl who becomes a knight. She kicks ass, and we know I love a girl who kicks ass.

Amy asked: What's the hardest part of being sober? The best? If you had it to do over again, would you change the drinking/drug years of your life, or do you consider those experiences to be part of what makes you who/what you are?

The best part of being sober is the fact that I wake up feeling good every day, and I don't have to immediately begin figuring out what I have to do to get me some. The hardest? Watching people die that don't get it. Honestly, it's not that hard to stay sober anymore. I don't know if I would change those years--a lot of great things happened during them, and yeah, they made me who I am--but a part of me wishes I'd gotten sober in high school and gotten my shit together sooner.

Sheri asked about my tattoos. I will have to post a whole entry just about them (I know, I know, I've been promising this for a while. I need to take photos, though, and I keep forgetting to do that, plus I don't have a digital camera!).