Sunday, December 27, 2015

Merry Christmas

Could have been worse, I guess.

My family barely talked to each other, like usual.  We talked about the weather and work, like usual.

His family was so far away.  His cousins all know but don't give a shit.  I used the trowel in the tamale assembly line.  Using a trowel is controversial, so they gave it to me because I have no strong opinions about tamale construction.  That was kind of fun, and I thought the trowel worked better.  Bisabuela wasn't there.  There was hot chocolate, yay, instead of being stuck with that gross guava drink.

A cousin announced a pregnancy with her 50 year old boyfriend.  This year, he had custody of the 15 year old, who was about to blow a vein with this joyous news.  There was Hermione's baby and Fancypants's baby.  There also seemed to be a lot more toddlers, just a ton of people.  So many people, and no one said shit.  We talked about the weather and work.  And it was fine.  I mean, I'm not sure why I spend time with these people.  There are so many of them and I don't even know their names, but whatever, it's a few hours at Christmas, and Sperm Donor has always been the golden child and they like it when he comes back once a year, and maybe an Easter here or there.

Christmas dinner with just Sperm Donor, his parents, and his siblings was going well.  Of course, all we talked about was the baby, is there anything else people talk about?  But then the drinks started flowing...  Hermione's husband, I'll call him Harry, is not very likable, and he's the guy who will sit in the corner with the phone.  I guess someone at the big gathering had asked him how long they were trying (WTF?) and here we go with the bragging.  Sitting right next to his sister in law, and he knew about at least two losses.

Hermione's baby was an accident, and they didn't even want kids.  And HAR HAR he shouldn't have been surprised because Harry's other two kids (with two different women) were surprises.  Harry was a surprise, hell, I even heard Sperm Donor was a surprise, and then I just cut him off.  I didn't want the rest of the story, I didn't need his punchline.  Mid-sentence, I screamed over him WHAT A FUNNY STORY in the most obvious sarcastic tone that even he would understand.  And I pulled a straight diva move and went into the same back room to cry again.  Sperm Donor was pissed and told everyone we were leaving.  He took my side this time, I was pleased with that.

In the back room, I cried.  I cried for Christmas AGAIN.  I cried for everyone pregnant, I cried for everyone having what I can't have.  I cried for all the dead babies.  I cried for the frozen babies that we can't decide to even unfreeze.  Then I made a big mistake, I checked Facebook.  Everyone is either pregnant or posting pictures of their kids.  Merry Christmas to me.

I calmed down, we went back to Christmas and watched a football game.  And we talked about the weather, work, and football.   Like usual.

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

Miscarriage on "Transparent"

I'm generally sick of infertility on TV.  It pops up where I don't want it, like Into The Woods being based on some desperate baker's wife to get pregnant, or an ectopic being a dramatic medical complication on Gray's Anatomy or a miscarriage neatly tying up a Big Love plotline.

But I just watched the second season of Transparent on Amazon, and O.M.G.  This has spoilers, so if you haven't seen it, go watch it.  This post will wait.  Just go watch it, if you can handle VERY adult content and a show that tries to make you uncomfortable whenever it can.  SPOILER ALERT.  I stayed up all night watching this season.  This show is about gender identity and graphic sex, so a sensitive portrayal of loss wasn't what I was expecting.

This miscarriage was dead on.  The ultrasound tech, "let me get the doctor," the look on her face, and I felt that feeling that can't be described.  Vomiting on the floor at crossfit, get that one too.  Running off the road and having a panic attack.  Insisting we get pregnant RIGHT NOW.  The ticking clock.  Insisting we take a minute to "breathe."  Wanting to do it "right."  Wailing at a public event and blaming some stupid shit for killing the baby.   Screaming in grief.  Narcissistically blaming myself.  Blaming the evil eye.  Strangers looking uncomfortably, not sure what to say.  Your own sister completely useless in your grief.  O.M.G.  Done all that.

I've done and said and felt all those things from all those characters.  Well, not eating lunch meat at the grocery store, that's gross haha.  When he vomited on the floor at Crossfit, I was already crying. I was so moved by this portrayal of miscarriage and for all the reactions it brings out.  So moved.  Got no sleep.  This one was exactly right.

Monday, December 21, 2015

Insurance Battle

The insurance appeal has gone to hell.  I'm in some weird overlap of Obamacare and the state regs, and I'm just being punked at this point.  The bill was way lower than I expected, only 9K for the doctor part!, but I'm pissed now.  I think I'm going to have to sue them.

So as I was gathering up all my documents and receipts, my god that appeal was sent in August?, I just felt so ANGRY.  That everyone else just has some wine and Netflix and gets their baby, and I am going to be freaking suing an insurance company for Christmas.  It's not fair.  It's all not fair.

Last night, I saw where I had hung the Christmas lights.  I put up the hooks last year when I was PUPO, just barely out of reach.  Why did I get on a step stool and go out in the cold when I was PUPO?  Why did I have that tea?  Why did I use the scented shampoo?  It's all my fault.

I was very naive for thinking a health insurance plan that said it would cover infertility actually would.  This process has brutally taken my naivete in many ways.  I wouldn't wish an insurance battle on anyone.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Not So High Risk

Six months after my scary lupus tests, I finally got a consult with a MFM.  He was young and good looking.  Maybe the most patient and start seeming doctor I've met with ever.  I was surprised he was a dude, he has a unisex name, haha.  At this point, I don't really care who sees my goods.

My lupus thing means exactly what I thought it did.  I am a hair away from the clinical diagnosis of antiphopholipis syndrome, APS.  He seemed unconcerned.  Lovenox, no big deal.  He seemed to think twins wouldn't be a big deal either.

This isn't the response I was expecting.  I told sperm donor, and he freaked out and said we can't possibly have twins.  So now we are at an impasse.  Medically, everything seems fine.  But we can't agree on what to do with the frosties.  One second I want to impant two.  The next I want to hire a surrogate.  The next I just want to do nothing.

Mostly, I'm scared.  The idea of losing another heartbeat doesn't sound like something I could survive.  I'm not sure I'm strong enough to keep going.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Thanks for Something

Thanksgiving was all about the OMG baby, of course.  I did a lot of the work.  And everything was about the baby.  Baby.  Baby.  Baby.

Of course, the baby is perfect.  It will eat from any device.  It will sleep in any location.  It will make some kind of face.  It's perfect.  And then she said that it had sperm donor's eyes.  She said her baby had my husband's eyes.

I was filled with this fucking rage of how dare she.  How dare she steal everything I ever wanted.  How dare she walk in here like nothing happened.  How dare she not even fucking text when my baby is dead.  How dare she not give a shit about the hell I am walking through.  How dare she mock me and all my loss by saying her baby looks like my husband's.  IT'S NOT MY HUSBAND'S BABY BECAUSE THAT BABY IS DEAD.

A few minutes later, when we were still talking about the baby, because what else do people talk about?, I went the back room and cried.  The same room I cried in when I saw her pregnant belly for the first time so long ago.  Maybe they could even hear me this time.  I don't even care.  This is real.

Bisabuela was even worse.  She told stories of that baby and Fancypants's baby (who isn't even blood related to her) and then related them back to the billion other babies in the family.  She looked me in the eye as if she didn't know, when she's the worst.  Oh, and when are we having a baby?  You'll have to ask God.  He took the others.

Sperm donor said he thought the comment about his eyes was flattering.  He would.  He's all about that.

And maybe some of this is a cultural barrier.  I've lived as an interloper in a Mexican family for a long time, and have had very few issues, none once married.  The issues I had were sitcom level jokes about the language barrier.  But I think this one might be cultural.  I think there might not be a language of loss for this.  I think there might not be words for the struggle for what I am going through.   Worse, I think they might blame me (not that I give a shit).

But I feel stabbed through the heart by the way I have been treated.

I could just completely skip Christmas and no one would give a shit.  I understand now why people go on cruises or go to Paris or something for Christmas.  I get it.