Just saving this for later… a book(?) about cells and meiosis.

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/bv.fcgi?rid=cooper.section.2484

Yes, most of that is greek to me, too. What I do understand is that my eggs aren’t proceeding through meiosis properly. Something isn’t triggering properly to cause meiosis to resume, like it normally would. The hCG trigger (fake LH surge) is what is supposed to do that.

Now if I could just figure out how to make this information useful I’d be laughing.

The sheep – the stuffed sheep given to us as a gift after Devin died – lives between our pillows on the bed. Sometimes he falls down between the wall and the mattress; sometimes he sits up between our heads as we sleep. He’s always there.

Den frequently reaches for him when we are in bed. He holds him, sits him down on his chest, looking at it with far too much sadness in his eyes, knowing why the sheep is here. Today he said to me, “This sheep always makes me sad.” He sighed.

I looked over a few minutes later and Den was asleep… the sheep laying across his face.

::

The lawn and garden center called me back today. The tree expert agreed with the woman I spoke to, that it’s a fungus and needs this spray. I went to pick it up today, along with a sprayer and some fertilizer for later. She said the tree sounds like it will survive, though we may lose the main stem branch – which is sad in its own right, since Den picked this particular tree out because of how nice and strong and straight that main stem was. But it will live and that’s all that matters to me. She did say that if not treated it most certainly would have died.

I got two calls from arborists I called… neither service this town. I have a call in at one other arborist company that I haven’t heard back from yet. I’m getting rather pissed. Especially since at least one of the companies I called say on their website that they service “the valley area” and “western MA.” So perhaps they should have been a little more specific and I wouldn’t have wated their time and mine.

I read up a little on tree diseases. It’s depressing, to be honest. Makes me wish we chose a pet rock, instead. It’s too scary to have something live. There’s too much that could happen to it. How could I invest so much of my heart in something so fragile? It feels like I’m just begging to get hurt again. Maybe at least a pine tree that will grow to 100′ and live for 200 years. As long as it outlives me, right? But a cherry tree? How long will that last? Not long enough, I suspect. Not nearly long enough. It should live forever, to make Devin’s mark upon this world everlasting.

I have built myself back up again after our terrible loss, but I have built myself up using that tree is a foundation. Devin’s handprints; Devin’s photo; the tree… these are the things that I cling to, the concrete base to my sanity. If one of them should break I will come tumbling down. I cannot afford that right now. I teeter on my platform.

::

I cheated. I looked at the calendar. I wish I hadn’t – or, rather, I wish I hadn’t needed to. I started thinking AF was overdue and I had to look and remind myself that that was not the case. I am incredibly idiotic sometimes. How many times does one have to run into a wall before you stop running? My period should arrive Monday-ish. Although I have bets in that it will arrive Sunday afternoon, when I am at BabyH’s christening at church.

I just want it to show up. Now. Soon. I am prepared for it now… and I beg for it to come now, while I am braced, rather than give myself some time to relax a little. Why does it do that? Why does it always wait until you let your guard down? Then it’ll get in a nice uppercut while I’m looking off to the side. Freaking bitch.

God I’m such a sap. I’m watching on my DVR the Olympic Opening Ceremony and I just got to the part where China enters.

The announcers spoke of the 9 year old boy, Lin Hao, who was in the earthquake a few months ago. He freed himself, then went back to pull two classmates from the rubble and carry them to safety. When asked why he did that he apparently said, “I’m a class leader, a hall monitor. It’s my responsibility.”

And here I am, sitting on the couch crying. Sheesh. He’s the cutest little boy, too.

Yelling at the universe to hurry it up finally worked: period is on its way. Cervix was open this morning and when I checked just now I see a streak. I am amused in a not-so-amused kind of way… I’m heading to the pool. Can it hold off for a few hours?

I somehow think it’s going to hit in full tomorrow. Now Natalie, you would ask, why are you so sure of that? Because the dates. Cycle 1 started on May 10, Cycle 2 started on June 10, Cycle 3 started on July 10, and tomorrow is – you guessed it – August 10. WTF kind of pattern is that? Months don’t all have the same amount of days in them!

So yes, I am heading to a friend’s now, with booze, and I am going to get drunk and let my husband drive me home.

Getting drunk worked. I now feel pretty sick, actually. I may have to stop drinking if this continues to be the case… I never used to feel this backlash before I got pregnant. Now my body just does not respond well to alchohol. Ugh.

In the course of the evening we were all sitting around with good friends. One of them isn’t a close friend of Den’s, but a longtime friend of his brother – so, not close enough to know about Devin. I was saying something about religion to the effect of, “I’ve had some people say, ‘God saved my baby!’ – what, does that mean he didn’t like anyone else’s?” This friend, obviously completely clueless, said, “But yours survived! So it’s all good.” Den responded in a very matter-of-fact tone with, “Actually, ours didn’t.” The friend looked MORTIFIED. I think he mumbled, “Oh shit. So sorry, man.” Then stared at the floor for the next five minutes. Den and I looked at each other and proceeded to try to let the guy know that it was okay, that he didn’t know. It took a while to get him to re-join the conversation. I think we totally ruined his night. I’m pretty sure he was willing the floor to open up and eat him.

Yay us. Bringing death and depression everywhere we go since 2008. Sigh.

I feel like I should come with a warning sign. “Hi, I’m Natalie. Just to let you know, we had a baby who died. … You may now resume normal conversation.”

Hangover + period = uggghhhhhhh. I got next to no sleep because the room was spinning and my stomach was upset. I knew my period was coming, so I suspected some of it was that, but I couldn’t really separate the two. Now I just feel crappy. Blech. I never used to get hangovers, before I got pregnant. This is bullshit! Hmph. (The cramps and general icky-ness of AF I am too well aquainted with.)

Yesterday while the men played horseshoes I held BabyH for a while, shifting her around from arm to arm, bouncing her and chatting to her while she watched with wide eyes, taking in the movement and shapes. Den glanced over at me and smiled, then walked over and said, “You look like a natural. You’re going to be the best baby momma ever.” It feels natural, you know? And she’s such a freakin cutie. I’ve offered to babysit her on one of the days that I’m not working and SIL is (she doesn’t start until September) and I hope they let me do that… her parents are going to be babysitting on the other days. I just would really love to have that time with her every week. I really want to be an active part of her life, to be Aunt Nat, the cool one, not just one of the aunts and uncles she sees at special occassions. I love that kid a whole lot and I hope she knows it.

Now excuse me while I lay down before we have to get dressed up and go to church for BabyH’s Christening (I am the photographer! Wheeee). I may be sick. Freaking hell, what a day to be hit with everything at once. (Den asked about breakfast. I looked at him like, “Dude, you want to wear it??”)

So the Baptism was a bit of a disaster for me. For one thing I am not Christian, and that specific church is a little bit… special. Think sing-song chanting bible verses. Very weird, very over the top for us. The priest’s words while sending the children to children’s church didn’t really put me in a great mood to start with: “Let us give thanks, children are G*d’s gift!”

And of course the service was all about how important being Baptised is to G*d and, my favorite line, “Those of you here who haven’t been Baptised may wonder why your life is so chaotic.” That just felt way too personal to me. I had far too much time during the service to just feel angry, thinking about Devin. By the time the children were all brought back in to watch the Baptism I wasn’t in a very stable mood and as the service wound to a close I found myself gripping the pew in front of mine, tears rolling down my cheeks as a little boy walked up and down the aisle beside me during the Eucharist (which, of course, we did not partake in). Den held my hand and passed me a tissue, which I used to dab at my eyes. I fought the urge to run out of the church during the final prayer. I held on, focussed on breathing. Wound too tight.

Everyone filed out slowly and I walked into the small foyer to find it crowded with parents and children stopping to chat. I (somewhat rudely) shoved through, banged out the front door, and ran into the parking lot sobbing. I just totally lost it. Den ran out behind me and held me for a few minutes while I cried. My son was supposed to be there. We were not supposed to be sitting alone today.

I settled down after that. It helped that SIL’s mom and grandmother both came over to give me a hug and tell me that it’s okay to feel sad and mourn our loss whenever the grief hits. They are really so very kind.

Afterwards we ate, I photographed (too bad I can’t post any), and the athiest side of the family marvelled at how they could be related to BIL.

It ended on a fine note. But boy I did not expect that kind of reaction from myself during the service. I thought I was just going to doodle in my notebook, roll my eyes at some of the G*d comments, and take photos of BabyH being Baptised. But I forgot about the children, and I didn’t account for what kind of toll having to hold myself still and stately for such a long period of time with nothing to do but think about those children. Fucking sucks, man.

I’m completely bloated and burping up a storm. It’s aweful. Ugh!! AF sucks.

With AF right in my face I’ve been staring at the calendar trying to envision how this is going to go, when we’re going to get to do IVF. I become eligible for health insurance 90 days after starting, which will fall mid-November. Now I’m assuming it’ll take a week or two to actually get coverage, so I was thinking I’d be starting my BCP cycle with my December cycle, and end up with my IVF cycle – with retrieval and transfer – in January.

But I’m thinking here. I know an IVF cycle has to get pre-approved by insurance. So I can’t order meds until I get approval. But… can I do BCP before? I can pay for BCP myself, that’s not an issue. Would insurance consider the BCP cycle part of the IVF cycle? I think there’s a good chance I could get that in. Retrieval and transfer in December. September due date. There’s no way, even if I did do retrieval and transfer in December, that I would actually know if I was pregnant or not by Christmas. But it’s a step closer.

I don’t even know why a couple weeks matters so much, but I just. can’t. stand. the waiting. It sucks so effing bad and I just want to get pregnant again. Devin’s 6-month birthday is coming up next month, which depresses the hell out of me, and the only way I can see actually enjoying this Christmas is knowing I have an embryo inside of me… a real, honest chance at this pregnancy and baby thing.

I’ll add this to my list of things to talk to the doctor about. It’s a long list.

We lost half the tree today. I say lost it today, but in reality it was already dead – I was just trying to convince myself it was going to be okay. I had an arborist out to look at it, who quickly determined that the top half of the tree was dead, and promptly cut it off. The bottom branches are still looking good though – he said it’s very promising.

I came inside, freaked out, starting crying hysterically. I shot off a couple of emails during which I realized this has just gone too far for me. I hate to speak it because I know it’s going to freak people out, but I feel myself edging too close to becoming suicidal. I’m not there yet. But I’ve been thinking too much, too scarily, in the moments that I freak out and I just can’t keep doing this anymore. I need to do something about it or I’m worried about how far down this is going to take me. It’s not that I want to die – I just want to stop hurting. Losing half that tree felt like having my heart ripped out all over again. Stabs of pain right from my temple down to my toes.

I dug through my pile of papers from the hospital to find some of the lists they gave me with bereavement resources. I called social services, said I need to find a therapist of some sort who who has experience with child loss. I was referred to someone. Unfortunately they’re on vacation for the week, but I should hear back next week. I might put in some more calls tomorrow, I’m not sure. I also don’t even know what I’m looking for… therapist? Psychologist? Psychiatrist? Who knows.

I just feel so discordant. Most of the time I feel fine (as far as “fine” can be, less than 6 months after your baby died). I’m capable, I’m productive, I’m social. But all it takes is a crack… one little crack in my armor. And I fall to pieces. I fall into that pit. I lose it. I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel strong at all.

When I told my co-worker what my schedule will be like this fall she said, “That doesn’t leave much time off.” “I know,” I replied, “it’s on purpose.” My goal for this year is just to get through it.

I’ve been watching a lot of Olympic coverage. I don’t remember watching much of the previous Olympics, even though for the last winter and summer Olympics I must have been here in this house. I vaguely remember flipping through some things. But this year it’s become a routine for us… we come home, eat something, turn on the Olympic coverage and watch until we absolutely have to turn it off and get some sleep. It’s enjoyable. It’s something for us to do together.

I still have serious doubts as to whether or not that tree is going to live. I walk out there every day with an air of disappointment and despair. I’d beg it to live, but I’m far past the point where I believe that good will or intentions prevent bad things from happening. It will either die or it won’t, and there is little more I can do about it at this point. I am following the instructions. I’ve done what I can – the rest is up to the universe and how bad 2008 is going to suck overall.

The top half of the tree was just laying on the lawn beside the rest of the tree where the arborist left it. Initially I was going to toss it in the woods, though I also had a very strong wish to throw it in the woodchipper with a scream and many tears. Instead, today, I picked it up and carried it inside. I sat it on my desk behind my monitor, half a tree. I cannot decide if it is comforting or depressing. But I know I can’t quite let it go right now.

I aleady have plans to plant a new tree. Originally it was an “if this tree dies” plan, but I’m thinking I might do it anyways. I get sad thinking about how a cherry tree only lives 20 to 30 years – something we did not know when we planted it. (Note to others: do research before planting a memorial tree. Apparently fruit trees, while very symbolic, aren’t exactly the best choice for this.) So I’ve been thinking about a maple tree of some sort…. I’ve always loved my parents’ variegated maples, and we have a huge, gorgeous japanese maple that we both adore. Den doesn’t want a huge tree in the front, so I’ll probably pick somewhere out back. I really love the idea of a tree being around long after we are gone. As long as it outlives me. My children can deal with it then, and it won’t really matter. If this cherry dies, Den may very well want to replace it with a new fruit tree, and I’m totally fine with that. I’ve had to get used to the idea of two trees, but this whole ordeal has forced me to accept what I did not want to… to view things in a different way.

After thinking about all of this for a little while today I went out back to my small vegetable garden (which doesn’t hold much anymore, and is getting a little overgrown) to look at the small japanese maple trees I re-planted this year. Every year we get tons of seedlings sprouting around our yard from the big tree, and this year I finally hunted down some good ones and transplanted them to a safe corner of my garden where I can nurse them. The smallest ones started this year; the larger two I rescued from quieter spots in the yard where they had been left undisturbed since their sprouting last year. I thought to myself, wouldn’t that be fitting? A tree that sprouted last year… when Devin’s little egg was just turning into an embryo. Possibly a good choice. So I will watch these little trees and see if I want to choose one of them. But I’m still quite fond of the idea of a variegated maple – we do not have one of those yet. Either way I will decide next year… on his birthday, or his due-date-birthday (because March 6 may still be too early to plant a new tree).

I had this plan, you see. A plan that this cherry tree would be His Tree, and I would take photos of it every year for his scrapbook, that we’d take photos of us with it, our future children with it. That it would be a thread running through our lives, a way for him to be with us. We started this year. I took photos of it of us with it, I made scrapbook pages. The very real possibility that it won’t be there next year, that we’ll have to start again with a new tree, leaves me feeling so lost. I need something to cling to, goddamnit. I need some kind of thread that will carry me from this year to the next. I cannot start fresh every year. That takes all the meaning out of it.

Dear Universe: YOU SUCK. You took my fertility, you took my son, and now you’re taking his damn tree, too. Throw me a fucking BONE, will you please.

I am very, very angry, and I do not like feeling this way. I miss the person I used to be… naive and foolish as she was. At least she was happy. At least she believed that things could work out for the best. I feel like I walk around every day with a 50lb weight strapped to my back. I just feel like weeping because I am so damn tired of not being able to stand up straight.