I had the kids part of that day.
I had the day off, to celebrate my ex's birthday.
His mother came over mid day to have lunch at our house.
There are parts of last year that feel so fragmented, but on Monday, February 24, 2014, I have one memory in my head that seems to be there permanently.
On that morning a year ago, I had taken a pregnancy test. I had ovulated for the first time since my accidental pregnancy and miscarriage from the previous Fall (this loss was confirmed on November 3, 2013), and according to my tracking, if I had gotten pregnant from ovulating earlier that month, I should've had a positive pregnancy test by the 22nd.
I was down, because all of the pregnancy tests that I had taken had been negative-- the one two days earlier, and the one I picked up and took that morning. And, even though I was sad, I was also so, so glad. I didn't want to be pregnant yet. I didn't want to be trying yet. My then partner, had argued a very valid point when we decided to "try," and that point was that with PCOS it is hard to conceive when you are not ovulating. He kept arguing that we needed to be proactive, and I agreed with all his points, ignored my instincts, plans, wants, and needs and threw everything I had into becoming a mommy.
An entire day went by. It was a Monday. I had the kids part of that day, because I wanted extra time with my then boyfriend, his mother came over for lunch that Monday. I made Baked Ziti. I cleaned my house. There were hula hoops. We had birthday dinner plans at Log Haven up Millcreek Canyon.
While I was getting ready for dinner I went into the bathroom to fix my make-up prior to going out. I dropped my eye-liner into the trash bin. When I retrieved my eye-liner, I also fished out a positive pregnancy test from the garbage.
I'd like to say that all my fear and doubt fell away in that moment. I mean, I know couples that try for years to get pregnant, and here I am with my health issues, recently getting through a previous miscarriage (three months prior), and I ovulate for the very first time, and BOOM! Instant baby.
|Monday, February 24, 2014: Moments after finding out I was pregnant.|
I snapped a picture.
I really struggled. I struggled, because I never know if I should stand on hope, or reality. I never know if I should snap a picture to remember, or if it'll be a painful reminder later. Do I buy a baby book to start documenting all the exciting little things, or do I wait to see if this baby will even make it through the pregnancy?
I wasn't as open, or excited about this pregnancy, like I was about the one in the Fall, because even though it was the first pregnancy that was planned, wanted, and worked for I didn't want to get people excited, only to miscarry again-- I put a lot of people's feelings before my own during this time.
The decision was enforced by one friend's reaction while I was telling them about the exciting news about discovering my pregnancy: no excitement, or even any fake enthusiasm as I told my friend of discovering the positive pregnancy test in the trash after an entire day went by. And, it killed even more that not only I couldn't get excited, but others were also having a hard time getting excited.
Then I thought about my mom a month earlier asking me to get back on the pill-- which I am against in my situation, because I don't think taking something to keep me from ovulating is healthy, when I have issues ovulating.
So, I kept it off Facebook, and spoke of it in hushes within my online blog-- I told a few people around me, and tried to continue life as normal; contacting my OB/GYN, and making an early appointment to start prenatal care. My first prenatal was set for March 10, 2014-- 33 days after I ovulated, and about 6 weeks from my last period.
It was on March 10th that I found out that my 7th pregnancy, my 4th confirmed pregnancy (the other three were considered chemical pregnancies...one of the many things Dr. Nance helped me understand), the only pregnancy I actually tried for was an ectopic pregnancy.
I was there at the appointment alone.
Not only was this pregnancy ectopic, but the pregnancy wasn't viable, and life threatening. I was told I needed to make the decision...nothing was going to save the pregnancy, but I needed to make the decision if I was going to take methotrexate to expedite terminating the pregnancy, to avoid a rupture.
Even though I have found reason, and logic in my decision, there are times I still feel like I killed my baby. That I chose to kill it.
To make matters worse the first two injections of methotrexate didn't work well enough to drop my hormone level the way my doctor wanted, so I had to have two more injections, and then get my blood drawn every other day to ensure that my hormone level went down, that my body absorbed what material it could, and expelled what material it needed.
It took over a month to get my pregnancy hormone back down to zero. And, everything about the situation was painful. The injections, the loss, the doing it alone, not wanting to leave my bed. All painful.
By the time my hormone level was officially back to zero, my life had completely changed. I suffered bad depression, prayed for death, because as the life inside me slipped away, I wanted to too. I felt completely alone in Salt Lake City. My partner had pressed for the pregnancy and then completely left me to deal with everything on my own. Then, he dumped me.
And, I was faced again with making another choice that was even more unbearable than the last: I needed to decide to either move into my own apartment (or with Noni), or move back to Oregon. I decided to move away from Salt Lake, and back to my hometown, because I didn't want to live in Utah, and not live at The Compound, or PRC. There was no building a life there for me long term, because I didn't want to be there long term.
That's the one thing my pregnancies made clear to me: I don't/didn't want to raise a family in the pollution of the Salt Lake Valley, amongst too many Mormons (I love certain members of the church, but take fundamental issue with a lot of the political power that church holds in that city), pedophiles, no ocean, and red air days.
I finished up loose ends, and left Salt Lake City on May 9th, and now I am facing going back there for a short visit. There are two ways I've shown Jess that I love her, like whoa: 1) getting another tattoo done on my foot after swearing never to do it again, and 2) this coming up trip. Which, I want, but at the same time reject the very idea of.
I know that tomorrow's anniversary, met with the fact that I am going back to Salt Lake for the first time has got me thinking about all of this. Sorting it in my head, and reliving the hurt I felt in the first two months I was back in Eugene-- I had someone I love cut me out completely, I had someone close to me tell me they were having a hard time connecting to me because I no longer was helping raise kids (there was more to it, but those are the words that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound-- especially after just losing a baby a month and half prior), and I had someone I thought was at least a close acquaintance in Utah just completely stop interacting with me online completely until I finally removed her a friend.
It's these three hurts in particular, met with all the drama that happened with my ex (I cut him out completely, but he continued to harass me for months, and he stayed close to a few people after I left which made it near impossible to completely escape him) after leaving Utah that makes Utah really, really unappealing.
I was telling Bradford about how anxious I feel, how unready I am, how I am afraid it's going to be too much, and hurt too bad to be back. But, I am going back.
I am going back to see my best friend and wife, her husband, our babies. I am going back to hug my mummum, and tell her how much I love her, and how much my Friends calendar meant to me this year. I am going back for sweet, wet kitty kisses from a wolf, hissy-kitty, and a fox. I am going back to try and fix me and Ian (we argued my last pregnancy). I am going back for my family.