So why are we trying again? Didn't it work out the first time?
Yes and no.
Yes.
But subsequently no.
Let's go back to the filmstrip about where babies come from. Not the one in the gym. That one reeeally doesn't track with my experience. The one in science class. Sperm is introduced into the "vagina" (or "man cave," or whatever the owner of the orifice in question calls it). The ones who get their act together survive the acidity of that region probably with the help of super-friendly eggwhite-consistency cervical mucus. If they make it to the cervix, they swim up up up the fallopian tubes, headed for the ovaries. If an egg is already present, it's party time. If not, they hang out and wait. (I don't think that eggs are inherently female, but I suspect that they're inherently femme).
Side note: your average ejaculatory emission contains about a quarter of a billion sperm. 250 million. Of these, maybe 100 will get a shot at the egg. Those may be discouraging odds, but I do like that the body sets a nice high bar for making humans. If you're still chasing your tail 24 hours after being introduced to a nice cervix, I don't think you should be fertilizing anybody. And even if you're a clever little sperm, zipping up a fallopian tube, there's no guarantee that the ovary you're headed for is the one that released an egg this cycle. What's more, if you make it to the right destination but the egg hasn't arrived yet, you're going to have to wait. Female sperm live longer, so if insemination happens days before ovulation, the sperm who are still around to greet the egg are probably going to produce a girl. Alternately, if insemination is timed very close to ovulation, the race is to the swift--which tend to be male sperm. So it's a tough combination of speed and endurance that generally yields a 50-50 chance of creating a boy child or a girl child, even among DIY/assisted insemination conception. (Also, in 1 in 100 live births babies show signs of sexual ambiguity, suggesting that biological sex itself is more of a spectrum than a binary. That's another blog post).
We inseminated, and then we waited. If you knew me, you'd know how very not-at-all-good I am at waiting. See, even if fertilization occurs, you're still looking at a week of travel for the zygote to be passed back down through the fallopian tubes to the uterus where it implants. (If it implants anywhere but in the wall of the uterus, that's bad). So that's a week where you feel normal, but there's something of great interest taking place that you can't see or sense. All the early pregnancy symptoms are pretty much just like PMS symptoms, and most of the clear indicators don't happen any sooner than your next missed period. So it's waiting. For me, I spent the time being obnoxious. If I had a headache, I would announce in a grave scientific voice that this was clearly a "pregnancy headache." I was also burdened with "pregnancy allergies" and "pregnancy munchies." But I really was just playing around until the morning I woke up and instead of getting my coffee and perusing the internet before work, I jumped Socks's bones. Like whoa. They next day I did it again. This is about a week after my ovulation, which means that it would be about time for a fertilized egg to implant in my uterus and for my body to ramp up production of pregnancy hormones. All of the sudden I was almost annoyingly aroused, kind of all the time. I had read that this can be caused by increased blood flow, but for all my "pregnancy munchies" jokes, I really didn't have any reason to think that I was pregnant--or wasn't! It was frustrating, because it was a total coin flip; just no clue on way or another.
Then exactly 7 days after ovulation, I found light pink blood on a tissue after urinating. (Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome! So much mucus and urine for sharing!) Socks tripped on one of our doofy cats while I was in the restroom and hollared, "I'm alright!" I stared at the tissue and after several seconds, found my voice to say: "I don't think I am." Socks and I jumped up and down in the living room. "I might be pregnant!" "You might be pregnant!" I felt increasingly certain the next day as I felt cramping that wasn't followed by bleeding. I even had the tiny temperature dip that often corresponds to implantation. My chart and symptoms were textbook.
I had about two and a half days of quiet, almost matter-of-fact joy. I knew to expect that things might not work out. My luteal cycle is between 9 and 11 days. That's on the short side, because your luteal cycle is the maximum amount of time an egg has to get fertilized, head for the uterus, implant, and for the body to release the chemicals that help you support a pregnancy. If there's too short a time between ovulation and when menstuation would usually begin, you may never be able to support a pregnancy without intervention. Fortunately a luteal cycle defect (that's what they call it) is pretty easy to correct with diet, supplements, and hormones. But even everything starts well, something like 1 in 3 pregnancies doesn't continue to healthy birth. Most of those miscarriages happen in the first 12 weeks. Our friends Keds and Eds lost a pregnancy after the 5th week, for no apparent reason, and it was devastating for them. So I was trying to be ready for one or more false starts. But you're not really ready. Especially for something you've simply never experienced.
Friday, 11 days after conception occurred, I felt cramps. I went to the restroom and there was blood, blood, blood. I texted my partners and my sister. I couldn't hold the feeling of having lost that beginning inside of me. The meeting I was in had broken for lunch and I sort of staggered out of the building and down the street. There was a health food store at the corner (because this is Austin) and I wandered in, searching on my phone for supplements that help lengthen your luteal cycle. Socks called me. I was choking up, trying to squeeze out an even voice: "I want--you to research--short luteal cycles for me." Socks murmured, "I don't think that there's anything wrong with your luteal--" "It would really help me right now if you would help me by researching short luteal cycles." I was losing it. "Okay. I will." I can't remember the rest of the conversation. I was blinded by tears trying to speak quietly and calmly in a health food store without attracting attention, and I was falling apart. I bought chasteberry after a conversation about which product the associate recommended. She was friendly and knowledgeable, and I wondered if she could tell I was having trouble keeping it together. I bought myself cheese and a protein smoothie as consolation and went back to my meeting.
I came home to the boys. Mr. Fish was working from home and Socks had returned from an errand. I got in the bath and gave in. This was more than the abstract sense of loss of a potential child. This was physical. This was a part of me that didn't have language, that didn't reason, that just wanted to scream and howl with emptiness. I just kept rocking and sobbing, with Socks behind me, holding me in his arms. I just couldn't hold onto it. Why couldn't I hold onto it? I had it. I had it. I'm not crazy. I had it. I felt insane for grieving something that didn't even test positive on an early pregnancy test. But I also knew what I felt.
Over the next few days I kept looking at my chart: the picture of insemination and ovulation, conception and implantation, and then the 2 degree temperature drop that signaled my body was halting the pregnancy. I just needed proof to show--somebody? everybody? myself?--that my grief had some cause. I was a mess for days. I just couldn't stop crying. I drove down to Houston for my mom's birthday. It was an occasion I was hoping to celebrate with good news. Instead I was just "scattered showers" all weekend. It wasn't like I was in shock or still reeling from the disappointment. I had hardly started to hope! It was just...bare, physical loss. I could be around people for two or three hours, and then I just had to get away. I felt even more wrecked that no one was experiencing the loss the way I was--not even my partners. They were disappointed and sad, and particularly sad for my sorrow, but the grief was located in my body and no one else's and ultimately it just had to run its course.
I'm wearing what Socks described as an art installation around my neck. One necklace is from Socks. It's a gift from his mother, a simple silver heart on a chain. The heart usually catches on a silver cylinder--a souvenir from a church in St. Petersburg, Russia, that holds a prayer for Tk: Come home, Tk: whole and healthy and already loved. Another necklace was a gift from my mother for Tk's altar; it's a gift from a family friend upon her high school graduation, shortly after her father's death. The last necklace in Tink's brass key. I mean to take them off, but they give me comfort. Most people around me don't know I'm trying to get pregnant, and they certainly don't know about my disappointment. I like the tangle of delicate chains, and the chime when I lean forward and they touch. I like that my 9 month old godson reaches for them.
It's strange to write this with detachment now. It's been two weeks, and I feel...normal? This morning I did experience a jolt of excitement and fear, thinking that I may be starting the process all over again, and it could happen again. The having and the losing. It could be worse (as I'm certain that it's worse and worse the longer the pregnancy lasts before ending). I'm taking chasteberry, vitamin B6, and I'm trying to get progesterone cream from my doctor before implantation would be likely. When I go home tonight, I'll see my loves, I'll clean my room, I'll put on the Boss again, and try again.
Wish us luck. Come home, Tk.
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