Saturday, September 30, 2006

So Far So Good

That's the conversation I have with my Mom every morning. Nothing's fallen out yet. Odd is hanging in there.

A funny thought struck me just now as I was vacuuming *cough* turning on the Roomba *cough* and singing along with the Indigo Girls. Sometimes when people are pregnant? They get to have a baby at the end. Do I dare to hope? I think I've begun. I've passed my longest previous pregnancy in recent years by a week and a half. I'll take that as a good sign.

I'm 6 weeks and 4 days along according to the day I ovulated. Which, yes. I know on exactly what day I ovulated. I started charting this cycle. Charting is a quite invovled process of detecting ovulation. One which I am far too lazy right now to explain. But you can look at my chart here. I just wanted to pull out the big guns this time. I hadn't gotten pregnant by 'Not Trying But Not Trying NOT To' in six months. I paid for a full year's subscription to Fertility Friend in August to keep track of my charts. A whole year. And I conceived in the first month. So the rest of the year will, I hopity-hope-hope, be useless. It's Odd really.

On Thursday, I received a call from the OB's office.

*ring ring*

Z-Girl: Hello?

Marissa: Hi, is this Zube?

Z-Girl: Yes.

Marissa: Well, I wanted to call and make sure everything was okay. We missed you at your ultrasound today.

Z-Girl: What?! No, no, no. My ultrasound is NEXT week.

Marissa: Hm...We had you scheduled for today. I don't see you on here for next week.

Z-Girl: Okay, because Dr. D, when he called me yesterday said that he wanted me to come in NEXT week. He said he'd talk to the receptionist and transfer me over. When he did, the receptionist said, "How does Thursday sound?" NOT how does TOMORROW sound. She said, "How does Thursday sound?" And SINCE Dr. D wanted me in NEXT week, well, you know, I assumed she meant Thursday of NEXT week.

Marissa: Hmmm...

Z-Girl: And, just curious, but do you really think that with how concerned I am and how often I've been up your butts calling and whatnot, I'd just blow off an ultrasound appointment?

Marissa: Well, no. That's why I was worried that something might be wrong.

Z-Girl: No. Nothing's wrong really. Well, save the fact that I could have had an ultrasound TODAY. That sort of sucks. Because I really would've liked to.

Marissa: Well, let's see what we can do.

Z-Girl: Thank you.

Long story short. I now have an ultrasound on Monday. 11AM Mountain Time. Perty please think of Odd and I? Honestly, it was probably a blessing in disguise that I didn't have an ultrasound this past Thursday. I mean, it's entirely possible that we might have seen a heartbeat, but it's also entirely possible that we wouldn't have seen a whole heck of a lot. And that would have freaked me the fuck out. Anywho, think lots of heartbeaty thoughts for us, would ya?

And you can bet your ass that I'll let you all know what happens ASAP. You've been kind of my lifeline these days, as silly as that may sound. I read your comments over and over and I find hope in the fact that so many people out there are holding us up with their good vibrations.

Keep on keepin' on.

PS- I threw up this morning. Never in my life did I ever think I'd be so happy to yak. My lack of nausea has unnerved me a little. Though the proverbial 'they' say that many women don't experience morning sickness. It still makes me feel better to know that Odd is being all ominipotent and parasitic and getting what s/he needs from me, even if it is at the expense of my aversion to resting my head on toilets. Know what I mean?

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Doctorspeak...Something I am Apparently NOT Fluent in...

Am I expected to be?

You see, the doctor called me today, proclaiming that things looked GREAT! And I, naturally, was like, "What? Are you serious? Because last week I left off at 35 and this week I went down to 33. How can that be good?"

He said, "Oh. Ah. Well, actually, your counts were 33 HUNDRED on Thursday. And then on Saturday, they were 66 HUNDRED."

33-Fucking-Hundred you say?


Hmmm...It would have been nice if the hundred part weren't excluded because then I wouldn't have spent five days thinking I was miscarrying or having horrible diseases

My eyes sort of glazed over and my mind went stupid for just about the entire rest of our conversation. I remember such phrases as "great levels" and "more than doubling." But that's about it.

Anyway, I'm in shock. I have an ultrasound next Thursday. October 5. I suppose we'll attempt to see a heartbeat then. That'd be far more awesome than I can even describe.

Holy fucking hell. I can't believe this shit.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

What in the Fucking, Fuck?!

My hcg on Saturday was 66. Doubled from 33 on Thursday. This makes NO fucking sense. I've had absolutely no bleeding or cramping. But two Mondays ago they were 17 and then 35 two days later. This still doesn't bode well, but again. What the fuck? Apparently I can't even miscarry correctly.

This is infuriatingly, uh, infuriating. I'm speechless.

Odd is certaintly living up to his/her name.

And seriously. I'm not getting all hopeful. My hcg should be in the 1,000s at this stage. In fact, after consulting Dr. Google regarding fluctuating hcg levels, I'm a wee bit alarmed that Molar Pregnancy came up quite frequently.

Again? The fuck? I'm losing my mind. Oh, and as always, waiting for a doctor to call me back. Naturally.

So while miracle voodoo, good vibes, and prayer would be nice, I'd appreciate if they were coupled with voodoo, good vibes, and prayer that this does not mean I have a complication which essentially is a type of cancer.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Hmm, How Not So Odd...

My hcg on Thursday was 33. That's not so good. Actually, it's terrible. It means that, not only did my numbers not roughly double every 48 hours, but they've dropped from what they were a week ago.

I'm having a rough time not blaming this on the dropping of a myriad of balls on the part of the doctor's office. Primarily, I'm really torqued about the fact that, despite me calling the office last Monday requesting a progesterone test, and being ignored, it turned out that on Wednesday, even though my request for a progesterone test was ignored again, the nice blood taker lady heeded my pleas to take another vial to test progesterone, and it WAS low. Only I didn't find out until Friday night when the doctor called. And it was too late for me to find a pharmacy in Chicago and have him call the prescription in. I'd like to mention here that by Friday night my tatas were already beginning to shrink back to their usual pre-porn star size and all the crazy ass blue mappy looking veins had all but receded.

As I was told, I called the office at 8:01AM on Saturday with the phone number of a pharmacy around the corner so the prescription could be called in. Lo and behold, by 4:00PM the pharmacy had STILL heard no such thing of this Zube chick, much less were they able to prepare a cure for what ailed her. So, I called the emergency line at the office and my doctor happened to be on call. He told me he'd asked his nurse to call that in at 9:00AM and he was sorry she hadn't. He called it in immediately.

I didn't get my hands on those pills until 6:00PM. That means I endured six days of low progesterone, the pregnancy kick-start hormone. Which is really shitty considering that if they had taken my progesterone on Monday like I'd asked, and been all timely and shit about getting me on supplements, I could have started it on Tuesday. Tuesday when I still happened to have porn star blue mappy tits. And felt the faintest bit of nausea. Pretty much, when I was still feeling pregnant.

I'm pretty sure that by Saturday it was too late and things had already begun to deteriorate. It's infuriating that it took almost a week to take care of this. One would think that, given I lose my pregnancies so quickly, it might've been a priority to get things figured out in a more timely manner. I don't get the feeling that the people at this office CARE about me. In fact, since my name is responded to with a knowing sigh whenever I call, I get the feeling that I bother them. And that is not the kind of bedside manner I'm looking for.

So, I'm pissed. But I'm also a little hopeful. Perhaps it IS the progesterone that is the problem. And I can take that information to my NEW doctor, whom I haven't found yet. I'm still asking around.

Oh, and to add insult to injury. I received a phone call from the pharmacy on Tuesday. They recieved a second order for the same prescription I'd picked up on Saturday and wanted to know what was up with that. I guess Nurse Fucking Moron finally found the time to call in my scrip. Three days later. Bitch.

I feel absolutely assish putting you guys through this. I really do. I thank you immensely for your well wishes and love. It means A LOT. And in the words of my most awesome husband, "I really think we're getting closer." Me, too. I hope.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006


Have you ever played peek-a-boo with a child? A really young one who actually believes that when his or her eyes are covered and they can no longer see you, that you can't see them either? It's kind of fun. Knowing that their world view does not yet take into account that they do not, in fact disappear when they cover their eyes. So you play along. "Oh my GOOOOOOOOOOOSH, WHERE is Susie? I can't see her anywhere." And when they unveil their baby blues or browns or greens you squeal with delight, "THERE she is!" It wouldn't be as much fun to get all matter of fact on 'em by telling them the truth. It'd ruin the game.

That's kind of how I feel about being pregnant. Little Odd has got her/his eyes covered, plugging away, hopefully doing the cell multiplication thing, and I'm pretending I don't see it happening. Like, if I take notice, I'll screw up the fun. And I don't want to do that.

I'd love to be excited about passing milestones. But I'm trying to be realistic. So pretty much, I've been getting by each day simply noting, "Huh, nothing has fallen out yet."

Maybe it's going to work. Maybe it's just lasting longer. Maybe y'all are wicked awesome at the voodoo thing. Whatever it is, I hope it keeps up.

For those in the know, sadly you'll probably be infertile or fellow miscarriers, here were my #'s from Monday and Wednesday last week.

Monday - hcg - 17

Wednesday - hcg - 35 - progesterone - 10.5

For those of you lucky enough to not be all pregnancy hormone savvy, I'll give you a little crash course. Hcg is supposed to double roughly every 48 hours. Which, as you can see, mine did. Almost precisely. While it's nice to know that Odd is somewhat of a perfectionist in this arena, I'd have loved to see my #s more than double, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The doctor said my progesterone is a little on the low side so I'm taking supplements. I've already bitched an earful to everyone who knows about that debacle and how the prescription was never called in to the Walgreens in Chicago when I was told it would be and I ended up having to call the OB's emergency line to ask them to call it in again, so I won't go on and on about it.

I have an appointment tomorrow where we'll follow up the hcg. Here's to hoping.

Chicago was incredi-awesom-fabu-tastic. I had a blast seeing my in-laws and my family. It was neat to have them all together. Good news abounds in Zube Boy's family. My sister-in-law is engaged. She's asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding next summer and it makes me all teary with honor just thinking about it. Really. We've picked out the bridesmaid dresses already. Mine's a size 8. Let's hope that I have to lose weight to fit into it. Baby weight. And I wouldn't mind if, on that occasion, Odd were to meet his/her Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt and Uncle. Pretty, pretty please, fates?

I told Hoot and My Belle while we were having a sisterly chat that I'd even pay for half of Odd's first car though I always swore my kids would buy their own damn cars. Aunt Hoot and Aunt My Belle said they wouldn't let me forget that promise. I hope they don't have to. I really hope that in sixteen some years, they're throwing that promise back in my face.

Well, I'm sorry I left you all hanging. I'm going to go find a star to wish on. I'll be back.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Up, Up and Away, But It's Not Necessarily a Bad Thing, So Don't Worry...

I've got worrying covered.

Here's the deal. I have NO news. Because my doctor's office hasn't returned any of my frazzled phone calls since Monday. They mentioned then that it might not be advisable for me to go on this trip. But never said for sure. At yesterday's blood draw, after begging the nurse to PLEASE take an additional tube of blood to test my progesterone like I've been ASKING for since Monday and like my doctor and I decided after the THIRD miscarriage to do and like they've been blatantly ignoring me about since Monday, I also told her that I'd been waiting to hear SINCE Monday whether or not I should go on vacation. She PROMISED me that someone would call me last night.

And no one ever did. So I'm going. Because let's be honest. While tracking my hormones will enable them to know if things aren't looking good, it's not going to make a difference really. Particularly if they're going to keep brushing aside my pleas to follow my progesterone. There is a huge element to this that is simply, in the words of a song from my favorite movie, Heathers, whatever will be, will be. And I think I'm okay with that.

Just so you know, whether or not things work out, I'm ditching this bunch of ass-punchers at my current doctor's office and finding a new one. I don't think ignoring patients and looking at them like they've got three heads that will disintegrate into a puddle of salty tears if you treat them like a normal person because OHMYGOD, they had THREE MISCARRIAGES! is good protocol. I mean, I'm a seasoned pro at this miscarriage thing. NOT a fucking psycho. Put away those kid gloves you're handling me with and give me some fucking INFORMATION. And maybe treat me like a normal person. Ahem.

So, I'll be with family. In Chicago. And hopefully things go swimmingly. But if they don't, well, I'll be with family. I miss family. They miss me. I need them right now.

I don't know what kind of internet access I'll have but I'll try to update and PLEASE know that your vibes and love and voodoo all mean more to me than you could imagine.

Gotta catch a flight. Thank you again.


Zube and the resident within whose timing we shall say is odd. Maybe we'll nickname it Odd. Sounds good to me. It's already taking after me.


Zube and Odd

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Look! No Hands!

Good vibes. Voodoo. Prayer. Encouragement. Gentle chastising of a clump of cells. I'll take anything. I don't discriminiate against good wishes.

Usually I wait to tell you guys because I'm deathly afraid of the jinx. But fuck the jinx. Respecting it hasn't done one iota of good in the past.

I'm knocked up again. It's brand spankin' new. Just found out. So let's curb any excitement just a little. I'm kind of MEH about it. It just is. Or I just am. Knocked up. Again. I have another blood draw today. If the news is good, I have to cancel my trip to Chicago so my hormones can be closely monitered. Damnit. But the good kind of Damnit. Even though Zube Boy and I were going to hang with his family and my Mom and sisters are planning a trek out from New Jersey to join us. This trip has been months in the making. Just my luck.

If the news is bad, we're still going to Chicago. And I'll be celebrating My Belle's 21st birthday by drinking fizzy adult beverages.

I hope we don't go to Chicago. No offense My Belle. I'm sure you get it what with wanting to be an Aunt in the worst fucking way.


All aboard the reckless rollercoaster that is my reproductive life. The ride is free. I can't find it in my heart to charge you when I just don't know whether you'll have a good time or not.

Monday, September 11, 2006

In Memory of Del Rose Forbes-Cheatham

Name: Del Rose Forbes-Cheatham

Age: 48

Residence: New York, NY

Occupation: Cantor Fitzgerald

I joined Project 2,996 and was randomly assigned a 9/11 victim to honor today. I'll say all the standard remarks. The ones I've heard many times today. I can't believe it's been five years. I remember ever second of every hour of that day. Driving through western Colorado, Nebraska, Iowa, and Illinois, en route to my brother's wedding in New Jersey via Zube Boy's parents in Chicago. Listening to the voices over the radio theorizing, crying, lamenting, informing. For seventeen hours, I relentlessly clung to every bit of news. I couldn't tear myself away. I remember people days before telling me how silly it was to drive all the way to New Jesery to trade cars with my sister. Why not get a Jeep Cherokee in Colorado? It'd be worth it once you figured in gas money. But I was dead set on driving home. And the irony that I would not have made it to my brother's wedding if we hadn't driven has not escaped me.

What tore me apart the most was the magnitude of it all. That sounds stupid. It's what tore us all apart the most, I think. The individual stories. Imagining that a few thousand people, people like me and Zube Boy and you and my sisters and my brother and my aunts, cousins, uncles, parents,'s exhausting. What drew me to this project was the ability to get to know just one a little better.

Del Rose Forbes-Cheatam.

I've stared at her picture for hours. She's beautiful. Her smile. The way even her eyes smile. The way she can pull off red. I've always wanted to be able to pull off red. And a hat. I love her hat. It is so her. And I don't even have to know her. I've tried to figure out what kind of person she might be. I'd toyed with the idea of finding her brother, mentioned here. I wish I knew how he thinks she might like to be honored. How he would like to see her honored. I want to tell him that I am so sorry for his loss. That she was beatiful. IS beautiful. But I googled Christopher Forbes and New York City, assuming that is where he lives, and there are just too many. I don't even know where to start.

I wonder, too. I wonder if she suffered. I wonder if she was scared. I wonder if she was comforted. Maybe by a coworker. Or a friend. Or a stranger. Or if she found peace in comforting someone else. I hope. I hope it all. Because I can't even imagine.

Every year on 9/11 I light a candle and take a minute to think about all who were lost that day. And this year I'll send my love to Del. And her brother. And all of those I'm sure are missing her brilliant smile, too.

They say Never Forget. And I Never Will. And, Del, I will never forget you.


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