My Last menstrual cycle

FRIDAY: Today I awoke in pain.   I'm so swollen I look 3 months pregnant. I have to overlap pain pills with 600 ibuprofen just to take the edge off. I have no choice. I'd go to the hospital for the pain if I didn't know what it was,  but I do know, so the trip would be pointless. I walk hunched over like I'm very very old. A simple tap on my stomach sends shooting pain through my body.

Today is the beginning of my last period.   I thought for a while today about how I'll never have another baby. I considered how Evie is my last. The decision (not that there really was one,  because having babies really is too dangerous for me) is made. I cannot nor will not have any more. My body,  God,  whatever,  has decided that for me. And I'm okay with it. There's been so much pain for me these last few years. So many things have gone wrong, it's time to let things go, starting with my insides I guess. It'll be nice to be healthy again. Derek isn't home tonight,  I'm staying at my in laws with the kids.

SATURDAY: Taking the cycle of percocet and ibuprofen still.  I tried to eat this cereal morning,  I threw it up. Not good.  I still hurt. Yesterday at its worst, I lay in bed crying.  Curled in the fetal position hand over my face,  sobbing. D's parents saw this. I don't think they knew how much this disease hurts.  

Disease. That's the first time I've called it that. That's what it's called in everything I read: a disease. A disease that much is not known about.   I wonder how long I've had it and it was masked by birth control?   I wonder if it may have caused the issues with my water?   I wonder if it's been causing my bowel issues this whole time?   This smart likely.

SUNDAY (or realistically Monday since it's 4 am): I can't sleep.   Not because I'm not tired but because D woke me up checking on me. I'm not sure if he was even awake.  My stomach still hurts some. And my lower abdomin still hurts too.  I wonder if the medicine regime that I never take messed with my stomach. It feels like I got punched in the guts. I can't take ibuprofen anymore--- surgery is a week away. I'm nervous about it. What if it's worse than suspected?  What if they can't get it all?

I say these things knowing that the success rate is good. That's more than other diseases offer. I should be grateful and I am.

One week out, and nearly through one more flare up.   This one was the worst. I'd have been in the hospital again if I didn't know what it was.  They get progressively more painful.  One week out and as scared as I am I hope the surgery comes and is over quickly.   It's a rather large and looming date in my future. Now to get through one more major appointment with my general practitioner for her to give the surgery the go ahead.   I hope it goes smoothly. But that appointment is Tuesday.

Father's Day champion

I don't have much to give.  I don't have money to buy a gift or even an idea of what I could get him if I had money to spend.  What I do have is words. And love. 

When I met him he was a bachelor without children. I had S. She was almost 2; she's 11 now.  When he finally came into S's life it was a transition that he eased into. I will not say it was flawless but he was beyond good with her.  He assumed a role with her that many fail at, and when he became a steady person in our lives we both gained something that cannot be replaced.

Then he and I got married and had G-- daddy's girl.  He never flinched adding one more to our family only 9 months and a day after we got married. She became his cuddle monster, he had a knack at putting her to sleep when I could not. Crawling into bed on his side for a few minutes of sleep in the morning or when she had a nightmare became expected of her and he welcomed it, and welcomes it still. 

He makes sure to make the time to take the two to sporting events, practices and rehearsals. He spends hours at recitals and cheers them on. He is their champion.

And then we had Gabbie.  He became the father of an angel too. And he became our everything when I was nothing but a puddle in bed, he made sure we still rolled on while I was lost.  He is our champion.

Then we found out we were having Evie and he became her champion before he ever knew her. He rallied her when she was quiet inside. He waited to see her rolling inside my belly. And the nearer it got to meeting her he worried silently, staying strong for me. And then she came and again he was my strength taking care of her when I could not, taking care of me when I could not.

And now, that I am so tired, and hurting with this endometriosis which is sometimes more physically painful than anything I know, he does what needs to be done. He does it his way, and it works and I can't and wouldn't complain, because it's more than I can do sometimes. Sure you could say, "it's what he's supposed to do he's a father and a spouse" but not every man can nor would.   Many marriages have ended after a loss like ours. But he holds strong and he does it without complaint--- all of it: the stepfather to a tween, the father to two beautiful girls of his own,  the father of an angel,  the man who takes care of me. I don't know what I'd do without him. Thank you Babe, for being the best father to my children and partner I could ever imagine and hope for.

The verdict--- The large elephant in the middle of my near future.

Perhaps severe endometriosis--  that's the verdict.  The sentence: partial hysterectomy with the possibility of loss of an ovary or two.

So here's the problem, or the perceived problem: the theory is I have retrograde endometriosis.  That's, theoretically, when the menstruation cycle does not empty correctly from your uterus but instead empties in a reverse fashion out through your Fallopian tubes and into your body. The menstrual tissue then implants in the abdomen cavity and grows because of an immune system problem or hormonal problem.  This is just a theory, but the theory, currently, that my doctor is subscribing to.  There really is no absolute proven clinical cause for a woman to have endometriosis.

The other options besides surgery weren't really options at all.  I could go permanently on birth control or hormones to control it's growth, but all birth controls I've been on have made me sick or altered my psyche, so those aren't really an option.  I could treat the pain with doctor prescribed narcotics but that's only masking the problem and would eventually worsen the situation.  So, like I said these are not options.

The procedure will be robotically done.  The idea is to go in and take out  my sick uterus and affected ovaries, then take out all the displaced tissue to keep it from growing and affecting other organs and causing more damage.  Going into the surgery which right now is the only real option, I know for certain I will not have my uterus when I wake up, that is the only certainty.

There are many unknowns.

1. Will I have one or both ovaries or will I be on hormone replacement therapy forever?

2. Will there be complications with other organs?  The doctor mentioned a common complication is damage to my bladder.  It will be fixable but will require a bag until it's healed.

3. If there is too much damage from the displaced tissue it may require invasive surgery and not just laproscopic, so I may wake to another large scar similar to my c-section where they had to go in and fix the damage.  

4. There is about a 40% chance that the surgery may not solve the problem entirely depending on how severe the stage of endometriosis.

Pros:

1. I may have no more pain.  

2. I will no longer have my period.  (Seriously, though every woman should cheer at this because I don't care who you are, your periods are annoying at best and a high maintenance painful bitch at worst.)

3. I should be at least a couple pounds lighter right? I mean come on I'm giving up a body part for this. (I say facetiously.)

4. I may finally feel better.  Maybe even capable or running again.  Perhaps I won't be so tired ALL of the time.  Post surgery me seems pretty wonderful.  I hope.  

5. I will no longer have a uterus that I still believe caused us to lose Gabbie-- a sad and final revenge on it?  Perhaps.  But I'm still angry it failed me.
These are pretty good Pros.

Cons:

1. There are many unknowns.

2. I am slightly (okay perhaps slightly more that "slightly") terrified of surgery.  I mean come on, I needed a transfusion with my last big surgery.  How though, unless your a surgeon and you live for this crap, who really likes surgery?  Crazy people.  

3. I will never again have the option of procreating.  Of being a new mommy again.  Of seeing that little face with squinty eyes blink at me in the bright light of a hospital room.  But realistically I can't anyway.  D can't (so it's a non-issue anyway) and the thought of pregnancy again is silly. It is too stressful, dangerous, (stupidly risky) and endometriosis is damaging and causes infertility.  I am however, attached to my uterus-- pun both intended and not intended.  It gave me four beautiful girls.  It allowed me to grow miracles.  It is a part of me, a useful, blessing-providing organ that gave and without it, I am... well... without it.
4. Scheduled for July sometime around the 20th (I am still waiting for the specific date from my Doctor) my summer will, realistically be over.
5. I feel bad that D's vasectomy was for no reason since I have to get a hysterectomy anyway.  We were trying to prevent me from having another surgery which obviously was not in cards.
6. I will not be able to pick up a very active, very sweet 1 year old who will not understand.  This perhaps makes me the most sad.  I will not be able to carry Evie, pick her up, or hold her while standing for at least 6 weeks.  This one sucks.
Okay, they all suck.

So there it is.  The Elephant in my future.  

Antidepressants

A year ago after Evie I became terribly postpartum. I was so in love with Evie and so sad I'd never have the same opportunities of mothering Gabbie. I became anxious that something would happen to her. Riding in the car as a passenger became terrifying-- who knew if we'd all be okay; I couldnt breathe.
So, I started on Celexa. It took away the anxiety and deep sadness. But now, possibly because of its side effects, and possibly because of hormones I am having terrible abdominal pains. 

These pains are similar to, comparable to those of a c-section as your body comes down off the anesthesia and you feel it for the first real time. It's horrible crippling pain.

Last month I went into the hospital for the pain. They admitted me. I had inflammation around my ovaries, fallopian tubes, intestines, colon and appendix but they could find no cause. My belly was distended with the pain, it is now. They did CAT Scans, and internal and external Sonograms. They gave me pain killers which helped with the pain but doped me up to sleeping most of the time. They gave me an antibiotic which melted some of the inflammation.  They sent me home. I saw a gastro, he found nothing in colonoscopy. 

I uncovered that some of my symptoms may be caused by the side effects of Celexa.  Some of the rarer effects are pelvic inflammatory problems.   Awesome by the way.   As D stated. .. I think I'd rather be sad.   But the problem with this point is the first occurrence of this pain was before Evie after I had been off antidepressants for a while, so maybe they aren't related. I'm at my wits end. I will be seeing my OBGYN Wednesday. I'm definitely weaning of the antidepressants even though I'm scared of the saddness and anxiety returning. I pray that the Celexa is the problem and is an easy fix,  though I'd be annoyed that the doctors didn't see it. However,  if it's not,  the alternatives are pretty sucky options.

As an update,  Gabbie's still sends me signs.   Butterflies,  and whispered "mama"s as I fall of to sleep.   Evie is walking and talking,  she just turned 1.  My older two G and S ate such good big sisters.  G has had a lot of questions lately regarding Gabbie and her ashes.   Time seems to fly so quickly.  

Like a teething baby

It's been nearly 4 months since last I posted. Time has continued on with work and sickness and busy schedules of dance and choral concerts for the girls. In those 4 months the girls have grown, obviously most notably, Evie. As this month begins to proceed it marks the 3rd full year without Gabbie. Sky just tok her babysitting course, Gracie turns 5 and soon after Evie will be a year. How? How has life proceeded on thusly with years passing and grief waning? So how does it feel now in the third year? 

Grief is like a teething baby on a hip: so heavy to hold but impossible to put down.  Sometimes in exhaustion it rests a weary head on your shoulder and gently drifts to sleep quietly but the weight of sleep drapes over her, making her heavier to bear and even more impossible still to put to rest because you'll wake her if you try. Grief is like that heavy, sleep-laden baby: quietly resting but unable to be put down for fear of waking it. Grief is sometimes invisible, unnoticed just like teething. Sometimes through teething, she is pleasant and smiling, playing gently and sweetly the teething is not noticeable, no rose cheeks nor gnawing jaw.  Grief is sometimes just like this, dormant in its pain. But then, then in a midnight waking, it sneaks back in and aches, with frequent reminders of the pain that steal away again after a time. Occasionally, grief, like a teething baby, needs to be cuddled, held close to your heart so you can wrap your arms around it and sooth it. Other times it just wants, needs to be let free, to gnaw, to chew, to grip something and hold it painfully tight because the pressure of it on the inside needs to be set free but yet it cannot be liberated. This is grief. 

In less than 8 days she will be gone for 3 years.  I sometimes wonder if I remember her face for what it was or because of the pictures we have of her. I'm afraid, or saddened maybe, that I might somehow remember falsely her face--- perhaps less or more full than it was, or her chubby hands with their perfect nails that had already began to darken from lack of air, or how her bow lips tilted slightly downward. She was from me. I should remember her face without a picture, but the guilt of not remembering precisely though perhaps a bit unrealistic is a real guilt.  No I don't abuse myself for it, but if I were not to remember then who would? 

I didn't bring the girls with me on my commute to work these last two mornings because of illness at the babysitter's house.   The absences of the two was deafening. I thought of how I used to cry in the car on my way to work those first few weeks I returned to work after losing her, noting how different it would have been and so much more difficult with an infant to prep everyone for the day. It disturbed me to think how easily routines change when missing a vital component of one. Routines seem to be the glue that keeps me together much of the time. When I'm thrown off by hurrying, or chaos it stresses me out.  I can't wait to pick up my teething baby (and her crazy sweet sister) and return to routines, teething and cuddles and crying and all.

Ninja be damned

Yesterday was Evie's 7 month birthday.   People say that time flies; I don't think that's an accurate analogy.   It doesn't fly it sneaks by unbidden like a ninja, stealing away valuable moments in the darkness of shadows. Yesterday we enjoyed Christmas with my in-laws and in those precious moments of family Evie turned 7 months old and I never realized 7 months were already stolen away. And now in just 3 days the new year will begin, I have been putting some thought into what I want this year to bring and I realized I don't know when I last made plans for a year, but that's a lie; I do know.   

3 years ago when I was pregnant with Gabbie we made plans.   We made plans to have a baby girl.   We made plans to sell our house to buy a 4 bedroom house in the suburbs.   We made plans for the year.  But time,  like a ninja,  stole those plans in the shadows of a night in April,  and I awoke and all those plans no longer mattered.   That 4 bedroom house became a series of apartments, a place to suit the need of a place to stay. Sure we made them home,  but it's always been a borrowed home.

But now,  I've been thinking again about the future and that ninja. I want the girls to grow and know a place to call home.  I want them to think about the events that time steals away with fondness and have a home as the backdrop for those moments.   I want them to grow up in a house that is ours.   I want to steal back those moments.   I want to give to Evie the moments that Gabbie will never have, and resume with the plan that has been on hold for the girls for the last 2 years 8 months and 3 days.  I want to make plans to buy a house like we had planned to do when we had Gabbie. The thought brings tears to my eyes that roll gently down my cheek.

As I say that though, as I think about making a true plan to buy a house, I have terrible anxiety. Time is a ninja: a dangerous threatening shadow that steals away dreams and moments and life. My inner defenses say that if I make plans I'm setting myself up for heartache, disappointment, pain. But life cannot stop for fear of something that is always there. Time may be a ninja but often it just stands silently in the recesses of the moment and observes. I cannot always fear it.

My heart is in my throat.  Let's proceed with the plan, ninja be damned.

Marching on.

I have things to do and instead I'm blogging. Christmas is just around the corner. I didn't cry this year setting up the tree, or shopping for gifts. It makes me melancholy to think that I'm handling the grief better.