8 Weeks (Or 28 Weeks. Whatever.)

Today marks a milestone. I've been holding my breath for eight weeks now, waiting for today to come.

Since I left the hospital eight weeks ago today, I had this date in the back of my mind. As I gathered my things to go, I asked the nurse what to expect next. "They're sending the material away for a genetic workup. It should take 6-8 weeks for the results to to come in. If you haven't heard anything by eight weeks, give the office a call."

Eight weeks and no word, so I finally gave myself permission to make the call. The nurse in the office put me on hold while she went to fetch my chart. I listened to soothing music until she picked up again.

"Mete? They got the results back from the genetics lab. Unfortunately, they were unable to obtain a useable cell culture. They couldn't tell anything from the testing."

"Okay..."

"Alrighty. Have a nice..."

"Well, wait. So that's it, right? There's nothing else, right? No other tests?"

"Yes, that's it."

I pretty much knew that was going to be the answer. I mean, it had died at least a week before the D&E, definitely longer. They warned me from the beginning that there was not much chance of getting a valid sample.

I'm not really sure how I feel about this. I'm disappointed. It would have been nice to have answers, a place to point the finger, or something to rule out.

But I'm also relieved. One of my biggest concerns was finding out the gender. It would change things tremendously for me to have that knowledge. With this door shut, it can stay an It. Not a boy or a girl; not a son or daughter. Just a lost possibility that never developed into anything more than a bunch of bad cells.

(Think what you will, but denial's working for me right now. Okay?)

So really, getting no answers is a good thing. In fact, I may have overlooked other positive things that came out of this. I think it's time I start looking on the bright side. Why don't we examine:

The Top 10 Reasons Having A Miscarriage Ain't So Bad

1. You actually fit into - and get to wear, this season - those new pants you bought just before you found out you were pregnant.
2. You get to use up all those dang 'pads cluttering up the bathroom cabinet.
3. Fear and worry + no more baby + ensuing depression = 10 pound weight loss.
4. You don't have to deal with the combination of your major insurance changes coinciding with giving birth and enrolling an infant.
5. You're saving tons on gas money by not having to drive to the OB-GYN as often.
6. You can start drinking alcohol, if you so desire. (So what if you don't want to? You know you could.)
7. Maybe now, the two pregnancy tests you have left from that three-pack won't go to waste.
8. You get a few extra months out of those expensive family photos. And, a few bonus months of only cramming two children into your tiny house and tiny car.
9. The food apathy is finally gone, and you get to experience cravings after all. (PMS cravings, of course: "Salt. Chocolate. SALT! CHOCOLATE!")
10. No more A lot less Slightly fewer mood swings.

See? It's all good. Sheesh. I don't know WHAT I was complaining about before...

A Very Long Post about A Very Boring Topic. Get It?

Growing up, I didn't like autumn. What good is it to a child? Autumn signifies the end of summer. The end of freedom. The end of warm days playing outside until dark. The beginning of school. The beginning of homework. The beginning of responsibility.

Did I say "I didn't like autumn"? Correction: I hated it.

I finally grew up, got out of school and learned to appreciate the fall. Autumn in New England signifies the end of heat waves. The end of oppressive humidity. The beginning of cool nights that welcome sleep. The beginning of amazing displays of color and the true beauty of nature. We chose to get married in the autumn. I realized that it was actually becoming my favorite season. I loved it.

And then, things changed again.

Autumn still stands for all those things I learned to appreciate as an adult. But it also signifies the time of year I hate the most: health insurance enrollment period.

I've whined about health insurance more than once. More than twice. More, I suppose, than any sane person would whine. See, a sane person would GET IT. A sane person would understand that whining and complaining is nothing but a waste of time.

I guess I like wasting time.

I can't help it. Health insurance pushes my buttons. It's one of those things that keep me up at night. We all have them. For Jete, it's where to locate the ceiling fan on our newly refinished porch. That idea will drive him crazy until it's finally installed. Me, not so much. Instead, I'm concerned that we have medical coverage for our toddler and handicapped son for the next twelve months.

(Feel free to debate which of us is the deeper person.)

This time of year, I'm a woman obsessed. I scour websites, benefits fairs and any scrap of paperwork I can to determine which plan I should go with. I don't take this process lightly. This decision will stick with us for the next year. There's no backing out or changing things, short of getting fired, divorced, or having another baby.

Ha ha ha ha ha. HA.

Ahem.

For many people, deciding which insurance to enroll in is as easy as deciding which value meal to order at the local fast food joint. "This one costs $60 a week, but this one costs $50 a week. So I'll get the $50 one." They eagerly sign up for their company's High Deductible Health Plan (HDHP) because, wow, the premiums are so darn cheap. And yes, for people who never get sick, don't have sick children, and don't have to use their health insurance very often, that's fine.

But for the rest of us, it just doesn't work that way.

I'm a little different to begin with. I'm the kind of girl that would rather pay 9 dollars for a quality hamburger than to get one off the 99 cent menu at McDonalds. Yes, you're saving money, but at what cost? What are you really gaining in the long run? Most of the time, you end up with a cold, scrawny, tasteless meal that leaves you hungering for more anyway.

High deductible plans are good in theory. They want us to believe that we'll make "cost-conscious choices" by enrolling in plans like these. Patients will suddenly choose to get the generic drug instead of the costly brand name. They'll pick the cheapest doctor instead of the pricey specialist.

But really, who does this help? The people who suffer under these plans aren't the upper middle class who insist on the brand name purple pills they saw on TV. It's the families, who can't afford the pricey deductibles to bring their children to the best available doctors. It's the sick, who have to take so many medications and have so many tests that they buckle under the weight of deductibles, copays, and coinsurance.

So far, I've been lucky to avoid the HDHP's because we've had choices. But every year, I see more and more of my options being removed. At my employer this year, I have the choice of one high deductible plan ($9000 maximum out-of-pocket per family), one middle of the road deductible plan ($5000 max out-of-pocket per family) and four HMO's.

(Did I mention I hate HMO's too? But I think I'll save that for another post.)

But really, I know I'm luckier than most when it comes to the number of options that I have. Many people have a single take-it-or-leave-it insurance plan, or worse, no insurance at all. Sadly, I'm fortunate to have the six crappy plans to choose from.

Beyond bad choices, the thing I hate the most about health insurance season is all the lying. The distrust I put on every year like hipwaders. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll hardly have to pay a cent throughout the year. I won't even notice the small bills coming in. I'll get great customer service if I have questions or issues."

"Oh, and no one in Washington ever lies."

In the past two weeks, I had to deal with two untruths slapping me in the face, reminding me yet again why I hate this time of year.

The first was when my company dropped my current health plan. I had a sinking feeling last year when they changed things majorly on our prescription plan. I spoke directly to a benefits representative, expressing my concerns that the changes were a first step towards dropping it completely. He told me that they had no intention of doing that. It was one of their most popular plans, and the employees that used it were very happy with it. They would most definitely have that option for years to come.

And then they dropped it anyway.

Lie #2 came from Jete's employer. They shifted his role a few months ago under a different umbrella. They forced his coworkers to sign a waiver about moving into these roles with the promise that everything would stay the same. They would have the same insurance, the same benefits, blah blah blah. NO changes. No sirree.

While the rest of his company was getting paperwork for their annual benefit enrollment, we still hadn't received ours. We got the flyers from the insurers - shiny brochures covered in smiling faces screaming "Health insurance that will make you happy!" - but none of the meat, the premium and copay pricing.

The other night, I went to one of their open enrollment meetings to find out why we hadn't gotten our paperwork yet. The woman very curtly explained it was because he was not covered under the insurance as of the first of the year.

I sat in stunned silence, thinking to myself (but they promised...they said nothing would change) while she explained loopholes and contracts. The bottom line is that, yes, he will have insurance, but no, they don't know what yet. "You'll definitely have something by January 1st." she said, as if that was supposed to be of some comfort to me.

The thing this woman didn't understand is that "something" just isn't good enough. "Something" may not pay for Ethan's surgeries, braces, therapies, multitudes of specialists. "Something" may not pay for his five different prescriptions each month. I need to know what this "something" is, and soon. I need to be able to plan, to compare, to crunch the numbers and figure out just how much this "something" is going to cost us.

But I guess that's just me being crazy.

In the midst of lie upon lie and crappy choice upon crappy choice, I broke down. I started crying in the middle of the benefits fair. I snuck off to the corner to call Jete about it. He listened to me rant and rave for 5 minutes, and finally said, "Okay." Nothing more.

"You're off the insurance, they lied to us, they won't tell me anything, and we have no way to know when they'll make a decision!"

"Okay." And then he proceeded to talk to me about the porch ceiling fan for 17 minutes.

As I hung up the phone, I decided I needed to blog about this. I needed to reach out to the world at large and, somehow, not feel so alone. My family is great, my friends are great, my husband is great. But sometimes, none of them GET IT. They can sympathize, they can say they understand, but they still don't get why I go so crazy. After all, we'll still have insurance. What is there to get so upset about?

Somewhere out there, someone else must GET IT, right? Someone else must know the frustration of dealing with this insurance CRAP month after month, year after year, with no hope in sight? Someone else must know what it feels like to be so tired, so fed up with the lies and bullshit, that they break down in tears in the middle of a convention center? Right?

Or maybe I just need to GET IT, and stop wasting my time whining. At least until next autumn.

More Proof I'm Different

Me: Oh, crap.

Coworker: What?

M: They've discontinued my insurance.

C: Huh?

M: It's that time of year again, and they sent out a preview of the changes. They've decided to drop the health insurance plan I use.

C: Oh.

M: I only switched here because I wanted that insurance; the constant run-around got old. Guess we're going back to Jete's insurance (even though we never cancelled it in the first place, just in case). It's a bit cheaper.

C: Well, why'd they drop it?

M: Because it's expensive. That's why Jete's company dropped it too. The only problem is, it's expensive because it's GOOD. But that doesn't matter; the company's got to go with what's cheapest for them. "Good" doesn't really matter to them.

C: Huh. Well... what does that mean to me? Do I have to switch?

M: It all depends. Do you have that insurance?

C: I don't know.

M: (spinning head around at mach speed) What do you mean?

C: I don't know who I have for health insurance.

M: You. don't. KNOW?

C: Uh-uh. Wait. Let me get the card. (fumbles through her purse and pulls out card.) I can't read it without my glasses. What does it say?

M: It says Other HMO.

C: What does that mean?

M: You have the other insurance. They're still carrying that one.

C: Oh good. So I don't have to worry?

M: Well, considering you don't know the name of your own health insurance company? I'm not sure I'd go that far...

Fine and Good

So I'm totally fine. I'm good, actually. I'm enjoying a Friday evening after what seemed to have been one of the longest weeks this year.

And then I see this.

And I'm crying again, and thinking of all we lost. And thinking, she totally deserves that, they all do. But so do we. Don't we? And we haven't just lost it once, we've lost it three times now. We lost that first year that Ethan should have had. And yeah, we had it with CG, but we didn't Get It, didn't enjoy it at all, because we were so worried that it would all come crashing down on us at any minute. And now, we've lost it again, before we even had a chance to relax and do things differently. It all seems so unfair, and yes, we aren't alone, and yes, there are so many other people who have it worse. But right now, in this moment, I'm not thinking of them. I'm thinking of me. And that's okay.

But no. I'm fine. I'm cleaning myself up, wiping my eyes. Everything is good.

Seriously. Carry on with whatever it was you were doing before. There's nothing to see here.

Crash Landing

I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, but I don't travel on airplanes. Ever.

Some people think I'm crazy, or missing out on some part of life that I'm supposed to desire, but it doesn't bother me in the slightest. I have zero interest in travel, and never have the vacation time to waste anyway.

Basically, I'm terrified of flying. I suppose "phobic" is the proper word. I have nightmares occasionally that I'm being forced to get on a plane against my will. I would give up all of my darkest family secrets under such torture.

The immediate assumption is that I'm afraid of flying because I'm afraid of crashing. And yes, that's a big part of it, naturally. (Did I mention I'm also terrified of heights? And falling from heights?) But there's more to it than that.

I flew once, the summer before my senior year of high school. I found myself nauseous through the entire flight. And worse, in severe pain. My ears, the bane of my existence with repeat infections through childhood and beyond, were killing me.

Everyone gave me tips. Hold your nose and blow, hard. (Do you know how much that HURTS by the way?) Chew gum. Take a decongestant. Swallow. A lot. None of them worked.

I found the worst parts of the flight were the take-off and the landing. Not only were they the most terrifying parts crash-wise, they were the most physically painful. My ears reacted almost immediately to the pressure and started to hurt. They stayed blocked that way until several hours after we landed, when they painfully popped back open.

I decided somewhere along the way that things wouldn't be so bad if the pilot would just ascend and descend more gradually. You can't just climb from zero to 20,000 feet (or vice versa) in a short amount of time and expect a body not to react. The sudden change was too much for my insides to take. Pain was a natural recourse.

Ever since that trip, thoughts of take-offs and landings fill me with dread. I've chosen to stay earthbound.

***
This past Tuesday marked exactly five weeks since The Ultrasound, and four weeks since the D&E. Tomorrow marks one month since I became officially Not Pregnant.

It amazes me how much a life can change in one short month.

My hormones are responsible for much of that change. Since I was twelve years old they've been running the show around here, keeping things going in a steady rhythm. They made this pregnancy possible in the first place. But by slamming on the brakes from Pregnant to Not Pregnant in a ten minute procedure, I experienced a rapid descent in levels. Suddenly, I felt like I was crashing.

As the weeks went on, this wreaked havoc with my body and my mind. The grief was a big part of it, but the hormones were in charge. I found myself experiencing typical PMS symptoms, but in overdrive. I was having panic attacks regularly for the first time in three years. My body felt exhausted, completely wiped out. And of course, there was plenty of crying.

Last week, I went to my doctor for a follow-up visit. The nurse brought out my chart and asked me how I was feeling. Four weeks of pent up emotions hit me, and I burst into tears.

She let me use the bathroom and I tried to clean myself up. When I came back out she brought me into the exam room. I couldn't help but remember being in the same room only a few weeks earlier, under different circumstances. I felt the tears come again. I scolded myself. Not now. This is not the time.

I thought about my reaction. This is not the time. It seemed ridiculous. When is the time? There's never a good time to stop and cry. Can't cry in front of the kids. Can't cry at work. Can't cry at the grocery store. If I can't cry in my doctor's office, what's left?

I got through the past few weeks, day by day. Sometimes I gave myself permission to cry - in the car; in bed after everyone else was asleep. I tried to get some rest. I tried to concentrate on the details. Slowly, things started to improve.

This past Monday was okay. That night, I woke up at 2:30 in the morning and my mind was racing. Ethan's second surgery has been scheduled for November... I have to call the surgeon back to find out how long he'll be in the hospital. I wonder if we need a hotel room? I'll have to find a sitter for CG. We still have to schedule the pre-op visit. I'd better complete the family medical leave forms again; I think they expired.

I would have rather been sleeping, but at the same time, I took this as a good sign. Preparing for appointments, thinking through the details in the middle of the night - this is my life's version of "normal".

Tuesday afternoon, I realized that I had felt almost human for the entire day. None of the roller coaster emotions, none of the vague physical complaints. For the first time in a month I felt ... good.

I've found solid ground again.

iPain

I have a tendency to associate odd songs with people or moments in my life. Case in point: Ethan's theme song. Forever I will think of his strength when I hear that song, even if it was written with another meaning in mind.

Someday I'll fly
Someday I'll soar
Someday I'll be so damn much more
Cause I'm bigger than my body gives me credit for

At the same time, Evanescence's My Immortal also reminds me of Ethan - but in a different way. On hearing it the first time, I was immediately brought back to the pain and grief I felt at "losing" Ethan - the figurative death of our much anticipated, and much loved, neurotypical child.

You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase

When I was pregnant with CG, I became attached to The Reason by Hoobastank. It touched on my lingering pain about Ethan and myself and all we'd been through, and how I was becoming refocused with this new chance at life.

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is you

The morning of my c-section, we had to be at the hospital at the crack of dawn, so I put VH1 on to help wake me up. This video was the last one I saw before we left. Fitting, I think.

Since my miscarriage, I've heard a few songs that I think will be permanantly ingrained in my memory as representative of this time in my life. On the way home from the D&E, we had to stop at CVS to get a prescription filled. While Jete ran into the store, I sat in the car listening to music, and heard What Hurts the Most by Rascal Flatts.

What hurts the most
Was being so close
And having so much to say
And watching you walk away
And never knowing
What could have been
And not seeing that loving you
Is what I was tryin’ to do

This past summer, I frequently caught this video on CMT while getting ready for work in the morning. Being a sappy hormonal pregnant woman, it always made me cry. At the time, I equated the song to the story in the video: a young girl singing about her boyfriend's sudden death. But suddenly, in a dirty parking lot, it became about my own loss instead. Yet another loss of "what could have been".

On the way to work the other day, I heard Kelly Clarkson's Behind These Hazel Eyes and was surprised to find myself crying. The song had never upset me before, but like everything else in my life, things just seemed different.

I told you everything
Opened up and let you in
You made me feel alright
For once in my life
Now all that's left of me
Is what I pretend to be
So together, but so broken up inside
'Cause I can't breathe
No, I can't sleep
I'm barely hangin' on

Here I am, once again
I'm torn into pieces
Can't deny it, can't pretend
Just thought you were the one
Broken up, deep inside
But you won't get to see the tears I cry
Behind these hazel eyes

The lyrics seemed to echo the running commentary in my mind lately. As much as I tried to stay distant, tried to take the "wait and see" approach, I couldn't. I let myself believe things could be okay this time. Someone left the window open and that damn bird flew in again.

I hate birds.

Things People Say

Things People Said When We Announced We Were Expecting:

• "Better you than me."
• "Where are you going to put it?"
• "Aren't your hands full enough?"
• "I'd kill myself."

Other Things People Said When We Announced We Were Expecting:

• "Congratulations!"
• "That's so exciting."
• "Good for you."

---
Things People Said When They Found Out I Had a Miscarriage:

• "Was it a planned pregnancy?"
• "Sometimes, the father secretly doesn't want the baby and that's what happens."
• "Well, CG is always jumping on her and kicking her in the stomach..."
• "Don't think you've seen it all. There are a lot of other bad things you haven't even experienced."

Other Things People Said When They Found Out I Had a Miscarriage:

• "I'm so sorry."
• "My wife and I went through the same thing."
• "Our prayers are with you.
• (All of your comments.)

Thank you all. It really does mean a lot to me.