I have been trying to process the last week, but my brain, unlike my body, seems unable to completely grasp what happened.  I’ve mostly just been numb, or maybe intentionally blank, because it is just too hard to think about yet another loss, especially so close to the last one.  I suppose the positive thing to consider is that we’ve never gotten pregnant so quickly; this was actually the first cycle after the last miscarriage.  Maybe that’s proof positive that the baby aspirin/folate is working.  On the other hand, it’s incredibly hard to deal with the loss of a pregnancy less than two months after another loss.  Whatever progress I had made through the grief process was just obliterated.

I was finally starting to feel a little bit normal – less moody, less depressed, less angry – and now it’s starting all over again.  I don’t enjoy being an emotional wreck, and I know my husband isn’t a big fan of the mood swings and inexplicable outbursts of anger and/or frustration.  Now I feel like I’m starting a marathon with a five mile penalty and enough weight to anchor a cruise ship.  I know I have to keep running the race, but I am just so tired of starting over.  I am so tired of discovering some new reason to hope for a different outcome only to have it dashed to pieces when all of my hormone levels start dropping.

I am so tired of the inexplicable waste of life.  With all of the unwanted pregnancies in the world, with all of those unwanted pregnancies that end in abortion, it seems that God should have enough “angel babies” without the people who want children having to make more of them.  It’s hard to see any point in the continued loss; why even allow the pregnancy if we’re never going to carry one to term?  Why allow so many losses if we are ever going to carry to term?  As directive signs from God go, this is one hell of a mess.  Are we to interpret constant loss as a sign to stop trying to have our own children and either adopt or find some ministry to be a part of instead?  Are we to interpret the possible medical factors as a sign to try again since we might be able to correct the problem?  Although God does sometimes use our circumstances to speak to us, I’m pretty sure there is no such sign here – just a mile marker on the race course from which to measure the distance already run and to affirm that the race is not yet completed.

I’m not quite ready to write about what I’m feeling right now, so I’m sharing this instead.  I realized a funny thing about myself yesterday when I posted the poem.  It had to be the same feeling the emperor had the second he realized he was naked.  It’s not always easy to write, but I worry less about what I write and post now than I did when I started the blog.  It’s okay if people disagree with the way I think or feel (they are entitled to be wrong, after all ;)), and discussing it makes me think and examine my thought/belief process even harder.  But posting a poem or a story is still really hard for me.

I hover over the “Publish” button and weigh the words waiting for other eyes.  Is it too personal?  Did I reveal too much of myself?  Do I sound like a lunatic?  What if someone doesn’t like it?  I felt far more exposed posting “Flotation Device” than with anything else I have ever written.  In spite of the fact that I make a point to be honest about what I’m dealing with and how I really feel about it, it felt like my soul was a little naked yesterday.  I know that’s a little ridiculous, but such is my emotional process.  I guess the difference is that a poem is a creative act, which makes it more like sharing my actual self versus sharing about myself.

At any rate, I caught myself doing this hover dance for a good ten minutes yesterday, and it made me laugh at how worried I was about it.  99% of the people reading my blog are my friends, and you guys are great.  I appreciate that you will share some of your responses with me, and I know that very few of you would ever tell me if you hated a poem.  (And I know the odds are that you will not like everything I write.)  I do love when you let me know if I’m on the right track or not, so keep it up!  And I will endeaver to be less neurotic about publishing in the future…

This is a post I would usually call family and close friends about first.  If you are among that number and become offended after reading this that you are reading the news instead of hearing it, I’m sorry; I just didn’t have it in me to call anyone.  In fact, I only called my mother and my mother-in-law.

Sunday night, we had a positive home pregnancy test.  Monday morning, I went in for blood work at the specialist’s office.  The results showed a faint positive, with the progesterone and hcg levels extremely low unless we were extremely early in the pregnancy (realistically, both numbers should have been at least 5 times higher than they were).  The repeat hcg level on Wednesday showed that it had dropped (in half) from Monday instead of doubling.  The repeat blood work was unnecessary: by Tuesday I was cramping and by Wednesday I had started bleeding.  It was too early to do a d&c, which means there is no pathology to perform.  Next Wednesday, I go back for another blood draw to ensure that the hcg level has dropped back to zero, and then I will go in for a follow-up with the doctor.

I am so tired – tired of the process; tired of the loss; tired of knowing that every time I think the depths of my disappointment have been exhausted, there is some new and horrifying loss to prove me wrong.  It is beyond bleak to realize that, with the exception of our first pregnancy, we have never made it past week six, which makes pathology impossible/futile.  It is a wordless frustration to know that in six pregnancies, I have accumulated less than a trimester in total actual weeks pregnant.  I am tired of hope and the certain disappointment that will follow; I am tired of feeling ridiculous for hoping that somehow each new pregnancy will follow a different route than the previous ones.  I am tired of the disappointment each loss causes my husband and my family and the friends who have buoyed me through the last several years.

It would be so much easier to know, to have a definitive answer.  It would be a relief to know that either way, I wouldn’t have to have another miscarriage.  Regardless of the anticipated reward for doing so, it does feel remarkably good to quit beating one’s head against the proverbial brick wall.  That said, I don’t know if this is the time to beg God for a reprieve or not.  Jacob wrestled the Angel of the Lord and refused to quit until God blessed him and gave him a new name.  I don’t know if this situation counts as wrestling with the divine, but if I give up too soon, what will I miss?  I am not so laser-focused on having a baby that I think a baby could be the only blessing in this situation.  And the new name references in the Bible have always fascinated me – what beautiful name might I miss if I quit wrestling now?  In my heart I want to ask, “How much more of this can I take?”  But the millisecond I ask, I already know God’s answer: “As much as I give you.”  My human being wishes there were another answer; my eternal being glories in the knowledge of God’s abiding peace.

We had a sign up over the sewing machines in the college costume shop that read: “The Devil’s in the details, AND CURVED SEAMS!”  If you sew, you likely know why that sign was terribly accurate and why I remember that sign so vividly.  But I’ve always wondered at the old saying that inspired our little sign.  Why is it that the Devil lives in the details and not the Lord?  After my uninspired attempt to clean out and clean up my house, I think I know why.

I might be the worst housekeeper on earth: I really, really hate to clean or fold laundry or sort through and throw out piles of junk mail.  My poor, dear husband lived with a laundry fairy and cleaning fairy until we got married.  Sadly, neither fairy chose to follow him into marriage; I think they took one look at our apartment and ran for the hills.  I try to enjoy cleaning, and when that fails, I try to inspire myself to clean anyway, employing verses such as 1 Corinthians 10:31, “So…whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.”  When it becomes apparent that my housekeeping skills are not glorifying God, I resort to Philippians 4:13, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” in an attempt to power through it.  It’s not that any of the tasks at hand is terribly difficult, I just procrastinate until I can plant flowers in the dust or perform weird science experiments on unknown life forms living in my refrigerator.  I don’t want to live in a dirty house, but I don’t want to clean it, and I lack the discipline to keep it up once I do get it clean.  In this case, the Devil certainly is in the details.

I want more than anything to be a good wife – the kind of wife that Proverbs 31 describes – but, I apparently haven’t wanted it badly enough to change my habits.  I’d like to say that the bad habits end here, and from now on, I will be an excellent housekeeper.  I know that I won’t stick to it.  I am a perfectionist at heart, and I tend not to do things that I’m not sure I can master (immediately).  So, if I know I can’t get the entire house clean in a day, I will drag it out so that it takes a week instead.  Of course this makes no sense, and I’m working on it a little every day.  I have actually been somewhat successful, cleaning out all but one crazy room in the house over the last week.  (I’m currently procrastinating that room, sitting in it while typing this blog entry.  Not to worry, I’m headed right back to work on it after this break.)  Also in an attempt to conquer the psycho perfectionism (I think a little bit is good – too much is just nuts), I have been tinkering with learning to play my mom’s old guitar.  I have learned to play three notes so badly that my dogs will not stop barking until I put down the guitar.  It frustrates me to learn so slowly and to play (my three notes) so badly, but I’m learning to laugh at my complete lack of coordination.  I’m also learning how to accept taking the little steps that I can take to reach the larger goals.

In that respect, I’m trying to change the old saying in my life so that Christ is in the details.  He’s often in our big goals or our dreams, but he’s not often found in the preparation required to accomplish those dreams he’s given us.  We’re often willing to make dramatic gestures or grand sacrifices, but (at least in my case) we’re often unwilling to perform the inglorious daily grind with the same gusto.  It will be a miracle if I ever get my whole house clean, but the bigger miracle will be the daily discipline required to both accomplish and maintain that goal for more than a week.  The greatest miracle will be finding God in every detail every day.  To that end, I am trying just a little bit harder or doing just one extra task each day so that I might build up to the total discipline required to follow God with all my strength, all my mind, and all my heart.

I feel like I should apologize for neglecting the blog for the last week, so: I’m sorry that I have been neglectful.  There are two very good reasons, though.  First, I have been working more at the office, which is good, but it is far busier than working at home; and I have been busier at church, helping with our Christmas play and getting back into choir.  Second, the last week was much easier emotionally, which means that I tend to forget to write as I have fewer issues to resolve.  It’s nice to be able to focus on something other than merely surviving for a while.

After finding that I am a mutant a few weeks ago, last week we had the follow-up visit with the specialist to review the whole panel of blood tests.  Everything except one gene mutation was normal.  The short version of the mutation report is that I have a homozygous A1298C mutation of the MTHFR gene.  (I will admit that the first thing I thought of when I saw the name of the gene printed on the report was, “I’d like to buy a vowel…”)  There are five variations of this mutation, and I have the next-to-least serious of them, and one of the two versions that generally isn’t ever symptomatic.  Also generally speaking, most doctors would not test for or even treat this mutation, and specifically not this variation of it.  My doc says we are “way out there” in treating this, and we will not do heparin or anything stronger than baby aspirin unless we have another miscarriage while we’re on this course of action.  According to the published research, we are no more or less likely to miscarry because of the treatment.  However, any homozygous (just a fancy word for duplicate) mutation of the MTHFR gene has been linked to recurrent pregnancy loss, and it appears that the reasons are not completely clear.

I was a little frustrated after the doctor’s visit because it felt like I had been so excited about having an answer, and it turns out that it may just be a whole lot of nothing.  On the other hand, anecdotally, it seems that there are quite a few women who have been able to carry to term after treating the very same variation of the mutation.  And, since I’ve been taking the baby aspirin and folic acid, I have noticed some differences in how I feel, so maybe there’s something to the mutant thing, after all.  I’m really not sure how that leaves me feeling about getting pregnant again, but I’ll keep you posted…

On a brighter note, I have started running again (it probably appears to anyone watching that I am merely limping at a quick pace) a few times a week, and that has helped ease my normal stress and the extra depression tremendously.  And perpetually singing the Christmas music I need to learn for choir and ensemble in the car every day makes everything better; I think it’s a scientifically proven fact that one cannot both sing a Jingle Bell medley and be depressed at the same time.  The biggest challenge for me right now is balance; this is the point at which I will bite off far more than I can chew because I finally feel better, and doing things (acts of service, if you will) make me feel useful, which makes me feel happy, which renews my vicious cycle of finding my value in the things I can accomplish or the ways I can serve others.  I’m not sure that I’ve ever been aware of that as a problem for me, so I think I’m finally heading in the right direction, at least until the next mutation is discovered.