Harley:
Shortly after my birthday this year, we noticed that Harley was acting different. More lethargic, not getting excited. She stopped eating. And after two days of her being like this we took her to the emergency vet, since it was a weekend. The initial diagnosis was pancreatitis, though he thought something else might be going on due to her bloodwork. We went into two days later for an ultrasound and the whole world shattered.
The vet said he suspected stage III stomach lymphoma. Her prognosis? Not good. Especially if we couldn't get her to eat. If we did IV chemo we could optimistically have a year with her left. But most likely 3-6 months. I was by myself and that was all the information I retained. I spent the rest of the appointment holding myself together. Not because I didn't want to cry in front of the vet, but because I didn't want to stress Harley out by crying. I was given a bag of medication and sent home.
I rolled the windows down in the car and cried the whole way home. I figured if Harley had her head out the window, she couldn't hear my sobs.
I nearly collapsed out of the car when I got home. It was awful. Absolutely the worst feeling in the world. Because how do you explain to a dog that she's going to die? We went inside the house and I put Harley on the couch with me and just held her. Trey and I stayed up with her and just wanted to spend time with her.
I felt so guilty going to work. Leaving her home alone. We arranged to have our dog sitter come by and check on her, mostly because I was terrified she would die while I was gone and I would come home to her, by myself.
One of the medications, a steroid, started to get her feeling better. We were told this would happen, and it would allow her to eat and get her strength back, but it wouldn't cure the cancer.
We got a referral for a specialized practice with an oncology center and waited. I felt sick the whole time. How late is too late? How come I didn't know she had this? How could I have let her get this way? I felt like a horrible dog mom. I felt incredibly guilty. I cried every single day.
Harley is not just my dog. She's MY dog. She knows me. It's almost as if she can read my mind. When she hears me laughing she comes to see what we're laughing at so she can get in on the action. When she hears me crying she lays down next to me. She has been by my side through the worst parts of my life. Some days I cried so much on her that her hair was soaked. But she didn't care. She loved me and I loved her.
The day finally came to take her to the oncologist. It was a really nice place. The room was nice, not stuffy. I guess they want you to be comfortable when they tell you your pet is going to die.
Harley had a barrage of tests. We were there for hours. She was poked, prodded, xrayed, ultrasounds, needle aspirations.
And guess what.
They did not think her test results and symptoms were consistent with cancer. Her cells were fine. Her ultrasound unremarkable. Her xrays-well, that was a different story. They did a chest xray, which was consistent with pneumonia. The previous ultrasound we had from the hospital showed thickening of the stomach wall. This was due to acute gastroenteritis. My baby did not have cancer. She had some other things, but curable things! We just needed to get her on antibiotics and watch her while she ate to check for aspiration (which is what they said caused the pneumonia).
We have xrays in a couple of weeks to check for improvement and then bloodwork and another ultrasound after that to make sure nothing has changed. But oh, I cannot tell you how worried we were. I was not, am not, ready to lose her. And I'm so glad that she's back to her normal self and still has a lot more time with us.
Briony:
A few weeks ago we noticed a bump on Briony's belly. Thinking it was just an inflamed nipple (maybe Harley had bitten it or something), we didn't really worry too much. Then it got bigger, and harder. So in the middle of all of the Harley's stuff (and some other personal stuff that we'll talk about later), I made an appointment to take Briony in.
Once again, I was by myself when I received bad news.
I am never going to the vet by myself again.
The vet stated that she thought it was a mammary tumor. Since Briony was older when she was spayed she has a higher risk of developing these. At this point she didn't know if it was benign or malignant, but recommended we remove it and send it for testing. UGH.
Can we please catch a break on our dogs??!!
***Update:
Briony has been diagnosed with osteosarcoma of the mammary tissue. This is a very rare cancer as it's a bone cancer found in the soft tissue of her mammary gland. We did have the whole tumor removed and we have clear margins. The initial xrays showed nodules on her spleen so we started chemo. At her last xrays there were no nodules on her spleen and she is doing great!
She seems to tolerate the chemo well and is doing very good with eating, drinking, etc. We are hopeful that she will be with us a little longer.
Harley, on the other hand, is very sick. A couple of days ago she had some cysts on her neck. They opened up and began bleeding. We took her to the vet and she suspects fibrosarcoma and believes that's what is causing her discomfort eating and drinking. We are waiting on the results from the pathology on the masses.
Thursday, July 19, 2018
What it feels like when your heart breaks out of its ice cage
It's been awhile since we've provided an update. Unfortunately for y'all, you won't see this for some time after it's happened, anyway.
You see, on March 22 we transferred 2 embryos. It was our third transfer. We transferred the 4th and 5th embryo. I was in a state of being and feeling blank. I felt nothing. No excitement, no anxiety. I even took a nap while waiting for the doctor and embryologist to come in. I had removed myself.
Trey would constantly have to remind me about the shot. I would forget. I was not involved because why would I be? We have lost all the other embryos ever transferred, why would this be any different?
Went for beta, came back as 40, which is pregnant. The RN sounded excited, but I couldn't muster any sort of feeling in my voice. Next beta, came back as 95. A little low so they wanted a third test. "Of course. This is it." I told myself. This is the beginning of the end. Next beta: 225. Doctors ecstatic. It had more than doubled! Ok, great. Still doesnt change anything, I thought. I've had great numbers before, and still, nothing.
Went in for early ultrasound. Empty gestational sac. Just like the last two times. Just like EVERY OTHER TIME. And because I had walled myself in I didn't feel anything, except validated that I was right.
Went in for 7 week ultrasound. Tried to convince Trey not to come. "It'll just be the same 'no longer viable shit' " I said. He said he was coming anyway.
I didn't ask to see the screen. I didn't look at anything or anyone except the ceiling.
"Ok, this looks great. We've got the pregnancy right where it needs to be *zoning out* and here you have a yolk sac-"
"I have one?!" I exclaimed. You see, we had never seen anything at the 7 week ultrasound. It had always just been empty. So that's what I was expecting. When your body continually fails you. When you continuously experience disappointment and failure coming from yourself, you don't expect anything else.
We saw the HEART BEATING. And the ice melted from mine. A flood of everything came over me. I broke down after the doctor left the room. Trey just held me and let me cry. How could we have had good news??! I asked "Is this real?" It didn't feel real. I kept expecting to wake up.
We were given pictures. We took them. We had never taken the pictures offered at 7 weeks before. We were given a due date. A due date. I had a due date.
I went home. Still trying to figure out who's dream I was in. Pinching myself. Doing things that I wouldn't normally do to see if I would wake up. It was real. But it didn't feel real. It felt surreal.
The next day, at the 2018 Race to Parenthood, we were so excited. SO excited. I would have a baby at the next R2P. I would have a race baby.
And then. Blood. A river of blood. I tried to ignore it. But then, I felt something. I went into the bathroom (aka porta potty) and things were falling out of me. I couldn't see what it was. Was it just blood or...something more? I knew it was gone. I had lost it in a porta potty for fuck's sakes. Of course. Of course this would happen less than 24 hours after we saw our little beans. Of course. Because WHY would we get our dream?
Went home. Put my blood soaked clothes in the washer. I didn't want to wash them right away because I didn't want to lose the last of our miracle.
"You know you're the strongest person I know." Said to my while lying in bed praying this was a dream. I turned to liquid inside. I didn't feel strong. I felt weak. Felt like a failure. We were going through this again because I can't stay pregnant. Because no one wants to grow inside of me for nine months. Because this is all my fault.
Went in for ultrasound. It was a Saturday and most of the office was out at the race. We waited maybe 20 minutes which was an eternity.
I was anxious to see, but terrified to look.
And there on the screen was our answer.
Our baby beans was ok. Bigger even. Stronger heartbeat. Everything fine.
Everything fine? I asked.
Sometimes it just happens and we have patients who have healthy babies. It certainly freaks us out
(how do you think it makes us feel???) but try not to worry.
Ok-I'll try and not do the impossible, thanks Doc.
But baby beans is still there. And, for now, I am still pregnant. For now, everything is still ok. I will walk around terrified and worried, overanalyzing everything, in between appointments. But for now, the three of us are ok.
We were discharged from the fertility clinic at 8 weeks. I never, ever thought this would happen. I was going to be a regular patient at a regular OB office. No one would automatically assume we had spent years getting to this point. No one would automatically assume that we had to do what we did to make this baby.
When I called the OB office to make my first appointment the receptionist was ecstatic. I'm sure that I sounded less than enthused (I was also attempting to get over a horrendous cold). Because I was terrified. It wasn't real. This was obviously not my life, because we didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve this. I thought the rest of this journey would be filled with heartbreak and loss and devastation. And I am still having a hard time believing that this is happening.
Every time I see baby beans and I hear the heartbeat it's a miracle. Because in between ultrasounds I have convinced myself that I've lost it and I just don't know it. I've convinced myself that this time isn't going to work either. And then, there it is on the monitor, a strong heartbeat.
At our first visit to the OB, just over 9 weeks, we got to hear the heartbeat again. AND, it didn't look like a blob anymore. There was a discernible head, body and little limb buds.
We've been putting the sonograms on our whiteboard and each time I pass by it I wonder if that's the last picture we'll have. I know many of you are yelling at me right now, telling me to enjoy this and stop being so morbid and negative. But, you see, when all you know is losing babies, that's what you expect to happen to you. When something magical finally does happen, it doesn't feel real. At least, not for awhile.
The horrible thing about being a patient of a regular OB office is that I don't get my weekly ultrasound. I don't get to see my baby every week. I have to wait a MONTH until my next visit. A month. Four weeks. If you thought I worried and freaked out waiting a week, can you imagine how I feel waiting a month???
**Update:
So far, at almost 20 weeks, everything is going well. We found out we are having a baby BOY and I am anxious to get the nursery set up.
I never thought this would happen. I thought for the rest of my life we would keep losing. Some days it doesn't seem real and some days I have convinced myself that I am living in a fantasy world. I still convince myself that the baby is gone. The closer we get to appointments, the more anxious I am because in between I can pretend that everything is ok. That we are ok. That he is ok. How do I get through the next half of this pregnancy without having a panic attack every month? It's difficult, but we take one day at a time. Each day that nothing horrible happens, is one more day closer to when we get to meet our miracle baby.
You see, on March 22 we transferred 2 embryos. It was our third transfer. We transferred the 4th and 5th embryo. I was in a state of being and feeling blank. I felt nothing. No excitement, no anxiety. I even took a nap while waiting for the doctor and embryologist to come in. I had removed myself.
Trey would constantly have to remind me about the shot. I would forget. I was not involved because why would I be? We have lost all the other embryos ever transferred, why would this be any different?
Went for beta, came back as 40, which is pregnant. The RN sounded excited, but I couldn't muster any sort of feeling in my voice. Next beta, came back as 95. A little low so they wanted a third test. "Of course. This is it." I told myself. This is the beginning of the end. Next beta: 225. Doctors ecstatic. It had more than doubled! Ok, great. Still doesnt change anything, I thought. I've had great numbers before, and still, nothing.
Went in for early ultrasound. Empty gestational sac. Just like the last two times. Just like EVERY OTHER TIME. And because I had walled myself in I didn't feel anything, except validated that I was right.
Went in for 7 week ultrasound. Tried to convince Trey not to come. "It'll just be the same 'no longer viable shit' " I said. He said he was coming anyway.
I didn't ask to see the screen. I didn't look at anything or anyone except the ceiling.
"Ok, this looks great. We've got the pregnancy right where it needs to be *zoning out* and here you have a yolk sac-"
"I have one?!" I exclaimed. You see, we had never seen anything at the 7 week ultrasound. It had always just been empty. So that's what I was expecting. When your body continually fails you. When you continuously experience disappointment and failure coming from yourself, you don't expect anything else.
We saw the HEART BEATING. And the ice melted from mine. A flood of everything came over me. I broke down after the doctor left the room. Trey just held me and let me cry. How could we have had good news??! I asked "Is this real?" It didn't feel real. I kept expecting to wake up.
We were given pictures. We took them. We had never taken the pictures offered at 7 weeks before. We were given a due date. A due date. I had a due date.
I went home. Still trying to figure out who's dream I was in. Pinching myself. Doing things that I wouldn't normally do to see if I would wake up. It was real. But it didn't feel real. It felt surreal.
The next day, at the 2018 Race to Parenthood, we were so excited. SO excited. I would have a baby at the next R2P. I would have a race baby.
And then. Blood. A river of blood. I tried to ignore it. But then, I felt something. I went into the bathroom (aka porta potty) and things were falling out of me. I couldn't see what it was. Was it just blood or...something more? I knew it was gone. I had lost it in a porta potty for fuck's sakes. Of course. Of course this would happen less than 24 hours after we saw our little beans. Of course. Because WHY would we get our dream?
Went home. Put my blood soaked clothes in the washer. I didn't want to wash them right away because I didn't want to lose the last of our miracle.
"You know you're the strongest person I know." Said to my while lying in bed praying this was a dream. I turned to liquid inside. I didn't feel strong. I felt weak. Felt like a failure. We were going through this again because I can't stay pregnant. Because no one wants to grow inside of me for nine months. Because this is all my fault.
Went in for ultrasound. It was a Saturday and most of the office was out at the race. We waited maybe 20 minutes which was an eternity.
I was anxious to see, but terrified to look.
And there on the screen was our answer.
Our baby beans was ok. Bigger even. Stronger heartbeat. Everything fine.
Everything fine? I asked.
Sometimes it just happens and we have patients who have healthy babies. It certainly freaks us out
(how do you think it makes us feel???) but try not to worry.
Ok-I'll try and not do the impossible, thanks Doc.
But baby beans is still there. And, for now, I am still pregnant. For now, everything is still ok. I will walk around terrified and worried, overanalyzing everything, in between appointments. But for now, the three of us are ok.
We were discharged from the fertility clinic at 8 weeks. I never, ever thought this would happen. I was going to be a regular patient at a regular OB office. No one would automatically assume we had spent years getting to this point. No one would automatically assume that we had to do what we did to make this baby.
When I called the OB office to make my first appointment the receptionist was ecstatic. I'm sure that I sounded less than enthused (I was also attempting to get over a horrendous cold). Because I was terrified. It wasn't real. This was obviously not my life, because we didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve this. I thought the rest of this journey would be filled with heartbreak and loss and devastation. And I am still having a hard time believing that this is happening.
Every time I see baby beans and I hear the heartbeat it's a miracle. Because in between ultrasounds I have convinced myself that I've lost it and I just don't know it. I've convinced myself that this time isn't going to work either. And then, there it is on the monitor, a strong heartbeat.
At our first visit to the OB, just over 9 weeks, we got to hear the heartbeat again. AND, it didn't look like a blob anymore. There was a discernible head, body and little limb buds.
We've been putting the sonograms on our whiteboard and each time I pass by it I wonder if that's the last picture we'll have. I know many of you are yelling at me right now, telling me to enjoy this and stop being so morbid and negative. But, you see, when all you know is losing babies, that's what you expect to happen to you. When something magical finally does happen, it doesn't feel real. At least, not for awhile.
The horrible thing about being a patient of a regular OB office is that I don't get my weekly ultrasound. I don't get to see my baby every week. I have to wait a MONTH until my next visit. A month. Four weeks. If you thought I worried and freaked out waiting a week, can you imagine how I feel waiting a month???
**Update:
So far, at almost 20 weeks, everything is going well. We found out we are having a baby BOY and I am anxious to get the nursery set up.
I never thought this would happen. I thought for the rest of my life we would keep losing. Some days it doesn't seem real and some days I have convinced myself that I am living in a fantasy world. I still convince myself that the baby is gone. The closer we get to appointments, the more anxious I am because in between I can pretend that everything is ok. That we are ok. That he is ok. How do I get through the next half of this pregnancy without having a panic attack every month? It's difficult, but we take one day at a time. Each day that nothing horrible happens, is one more day closer to when we get to meet our miracle baby.
A Letter to God
Dear God,
I know we don't talk much. We have a long past of me not talking to you, unless I'm angry or grateful. I've been mostly angry and hopeless lately, so you've been getting a lot of that.
But now I'm coming to you on behalf of someone else. Still for purely selfish reasons, but it's for someone else.
You see, just a few days ago we transferred a couple of embryos. I have mostly been annoyed and ill-tempered while waiting to see if they stick. If these don't, then we only have 4 more embryos. That means I will have lost five. I will have lost more than what I have left. And I can't. I need someone to live. I need to not feel like a failure again and again. I need to not say goodbye all the time. I can't lose another baby. I can't only be a mother to fur babies and angel babies. If that is going to be Your will then You will need to change me. You will need to change me into a completely different person, someone who doesn't want children. Someone who doesn't hurt every time someone else has a baby. Someone who doesn't get jealous or frustrated or cry themselves to sleep at night because they feel to empty. You will have to change me into someone else.
These embabies don't deserve this. They deserve to be warm and cuddled for 9 months and then warm and cuddled by me for the rest of their lives. They do not deserve to be buried in the flower garden. They do not deserve to be called "the products of conception" after it is discovered they are no longer viable. You have already caused this hurt to three of my embabies already. Don't do it to the rest. Give me something. Please don't leave me with nothing. Please don't leave them alone and in the ground. No parent should have to bury their child...no matter how old they are.
So you see, this is a plea for them. So that they can live. So that I can show them this beautiful world. So that I can teach them to make it a better place. So that they can fall in love and be loved by someone and have wonderful friendships and passions and hobbies. So that maybe one day they can change someone's life.
You have already taken too many. You already have enough of my children. Let me get to keep one. Let me hold one and raise one. Let me have one. All I want is one. Just don't take anymore from me. My heart can't take it anymore.
I am begging you.
I know we don't talk much. We have a long past of me not talking to you, unless I'm angry or grateful. I've been mostly angry and hopeless lately, so you've been getting a lot of that.
But now I'm coming to you on behalf of someone else. Still for purely selfish reasons, but it's for someone else.
You see, just a few days ago we transferred a couple of embryos. I have mostly been annoyed and ill-tempered while waiting to see if they stick. If these don't, then we only have 4 more embryos. That means I will have lost five. I will have lost more than what I have left. And I can't. I need someone to live. I need to not feel like a failure again and again. I need to not say goodbye all the time. I can't lose another baby. I can't only be a mother to fur babies and angel babies. If that is going to be Your will then You will need to change me. You will need to change me into a completely different person, someone who doesn't want children. Someone who doesn't hurt every time someone else has a baby. Someone who doesn't get jealous or frustrated or cry themselves to sleep at night because they feel to empty. You will have to change me into someone else.
These embabies don't deserve this. They deserve to be warm and cuddled for 9 months and then warm and cuddled by me for the rest of their lives. They do not deserve to be buried in the flower garden. They do not deserve to be called "the products of conception" after it is discovered they are no longer viable. You have already caused this hurt to three of my embabies already. Don't do it to the rest. Give me something. Please don't leave me with nothing. Please don't leave them alone and in the ground. No parent should have to bury their child...no matter how old they are.
So you see, this is a plea for them. So that they can live. So that I can show them this beautiful world. So that I can teach them to make it a better place. So that they can fall in love and be loved by someone and have wonderful friendships and passions and hobbies. So that maybe one day they can change someone's life.
You have already taken too many. You already have enough of my children. Let me get to keep one. Let me hold one and raise one. Let me have one. All I want is one. Just don't take anymore from me. My heart can't take it anymore.
I am begging you.
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