Failing miserably

Another quick update as I currently restricted to a hospital bed. Please forgive the lack of sensitivity, but I don't know when I'll be able to post next.

Here's the rundown. I've gone from suspected preeclampsia to rapidly progressing to preeclampsia. Liver and kidney levels are crappy as ever and my blood pressure has jumped significantly. Add in severe bloating in the legs and mild headaches and the result has been a guaranteed hospital stay until the end of this pregnancy. To counter all of this, they started me on magnesium sulfate. I'm sure there are many out there that can share their horror stories with this drug, but needless to say it's not a fun one. More on the specifics at another time.

On the flip side, the Beats are doing amazing. They had a growth scan a week earlier than originally planned and they are not only developing well but measuring ahead. He-beat is 4 lbs 8 oz, while She-beat is 4 lbs 5 oz. This puts them in the 63-68% compared to singletons. The doctors have been very impressed. Only concern with them at the moment is She-beat's heart rate dips when I use the bathroom, but she's been doing better. Unbelievably proud of these little fighters.

What all this means is it's likely that the Beats will arrive in the next few days. As much as they are rocking all of this, my body is failing miserably. Today Grey and I signed a living will as well as power of attorney for me in case my body continues to crash. Granted we both have long agreed on how to proceed if the worst happens, but there were still tears when faced with the reality of all of this. Also, there's the added fact that the one goal I was holding onto during this entire pregnancy, which was getting them to at least 36 weeks, is pretty much gone. Still, now is not the time to grieve the loss of wants. Now is the time to utilize the resources, support and love that is currently surrounding us through not only this amazing care team but also from family, dear friends and this community.

Thank you all for your support, well wishes and prayers. We'll update you when we can.

Admitted

Tapping this out on an iPhone, so this will be short.

Been admitted to the hospital for monitoring due to preeclampsia. Luckily we've caught it early, but we've also been warned that the Beats may be delivered via C-section sooner than later. Needless to say, I'm terrified. The Beats need longer to grow and develop. After all the hell from the past three years, the universe owes me this one.

Please keep us in your thoughts. Somehow we need to get through this.

Acceptance

Greetings to everyone here from ICLW. It's been a long while since I participated, so bear with me as I reacclimate to the process. For more details about our journey, you can visit the TTC tab, but here's a not-so-brief summary of the past few years: 

Tossed BCPs in 2010 and began the roller-coaster that is TTC (and am now throughly convinced that Valium should be included with all prenatal vitamins, OPKs, BBTs, HPTs, etc). Diagnosed with unexplained infertility in 2011 and began 3 rounds of Clomid + IUIs in the summer of 2011, all of which were BFNs. Our REs immediately recommended IVF and we went through our first round in December 2011. Exited 2011 with a BFP and hope for the future, woke up on Jan. 1, 2012 to learn something was wrong. Diagnosed with a blighted ovum on Jan 11 and underwent a D&C. First FET was March 2012, which resulted in a BFP and increasingly high betas. A few days later, started to bleed and cramping, despite betas climbing. Our April Fool's day present was a diagnosis of a completed miscarriage and an explanation of "bad luck." FET #2 was in June 2012 which resulted in a BFN and me completely losing faith in the process. Stopped treatments with the intention of pursuing adoption. After lots of research and finding an agency, we learned that no agency would work with us as there was the possibility we would be moving within a year. Also told that "we were young and had time." Cue more grieving and finding a marriage counselor to help my husband Grey and I handle the emotional backdraft. Began researching living as a family of two (aka childfree living) and healing our marriage.

July 2012, met up with a good friend (Jay @ the2weekwait.blogspot.com) who works for Fertility Authority for lunch, which turns into a very candid discussion. She offers to have FA review our case and see if they can find another RE for a second opinion. After much internal debate, I agree and within a week have an appointment with a new RE. New RE decides that given my history, doing a RPL panel would be useful. October 2012 we receive a possible explanation for all our years of heartache: I get a tentative diagnosis of Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome. New RE pitches new treatment plan and after much more internal debate, meltdowns and literally cursing the universe, Grey and I agree for one final FET with our last two embryos. Following many months of intense therapy and oodles of support from people in this community we transferred two hatching embryos on Jan 2, 2013. Today I am just shy of 32 weeks pregnant with our miracle twins, the SugarBeats.

Grief. Defined as a multifaceted response to loss that has emotional, physical, cognitive, behavioral and even philosophical dimensions. Grief is something that our society is ill-equipped at dealing with, with the modern age pressuring its citizens to push off what minimal social customs we have to deal with it in favor of ignoring the issue at hand. Hence, actually dealing with grief requires time, energy and whole hell of a lot of help.

Back in 2010, I began to explore the different aspects of grief as I was dealing with therapists who where having extreme difficulty in understand why each BFN was leading to a meltdown (side-note: it's for this reason that I sincerely believe that anyone living with infertility/loss needs to find a therapist who specializes in these issues as most therapists are utterly worthless if not down-right destructive to the person dealing with this life trauma. RESOLVE has a fantastic directory of professionals who specialize in mental health and infertility/RPL). It wasn't long before I stumbled upon the Kubler-Ross model, commonly known as "the 5 stages of grief." The whole premise of the model is simple: when a person faces the reality of a life trauma, be it impeding death, morality or other awful fate, they will experience a series of emotional stages: denial/shock, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. The amount of time one can spend in each of these stages varies, with some quickly skipping through one stage while spending a great deal of time in another. Also these stages are not linear, allowing for a person to cycle back. For me personally, I spent a lot of time emotionally swinging between anger and depression while I flew through denial/shock and bargaining. Hence I've been a pretty pissed off individual during this journey and anger/despair has been a continual theme of therapy.

The stage I didn't start to explore until last summer was acceptance. For 6 months, I read, analyzed and struggled with acceptance of infertility and our losses. There were many meltdowns that happened during this time, with days where I truly wondered if I would come apart at the seams. But I also knew that I was long overdue with this part of the process. And so I worked hard to confront the Jabberwocky in my life and finally came to the realization that in order to be at peace, I needed to stop fighting everything around me.

And then, I stopped. Partly because I thought I had achieved my goal. Partly because I found myself in an unexpected place with a pregnancy that was progressing. Instead I did the thing many infertiles and RPLers do and began mentally checking off the days to each milestone. I braced myself for the worse to happen and tried to live each moment of this experience out of fear that it could easily be gone at any moment.

It wasn't hard to be this way as I had encouragement from the outside world. For the first time in 3 years, people were no longer afraid to reach out and support us. But what was unspoken was this assumption that it was safe to do so because we were finally cured of our infertility. That with this pregnancy progressing, not only would there be babies to "oh" and "ah" over, but that the scars and the pain would magically be washed away.

There's a hard truth with dealing with infertility/RPL that so many struggle to accept, mainly because it seems to counter-intuitive to the journey. It's a truth that seems unnatural and goes against the longing we feel in our hearts. It's a truth that until last summer would have brought fresh tears to my eyes, causing me to rage and I would have been the first to reject.

The truth is carrying a pregnancy to term will not cure you of infertility or loss. That despite the fact that we struggle so hard to achieve this one goal, thus overcoming the physical definition of infertility, healing does not come simply by bringing home a baby.

I know what you're thinking: isn't that the whole point of fertility treatments? Isn't this why so many suffer through the medications, the physical discomforts and even allow themselves to hope for a future of holding their children? The problem with this assumption is that it sticks the burden of healing directly on the child instead of forcing the individual who has lived through the trauma to confront their grief. It's also part of a bigger issue in our society, where the idea that having a baby is to cure all the other aliments of life, such as chronic unhappiness, repairing/salvaging a marriage/relationship, giving someone a purpose or even allowing someone to finally feel loved. Though it is a natural assumption that pregnancy will heal infertility/loss, it's one that ultimate inhibits healing. I can't begin to tell you the number stories I've heard from ALIers who are parenting who still feel resentment and acute pain following a pregnancy announcement. Those that talk about strife in their relationship despite finally parenting. Those that still have panic attacks over losses that happened years ago or feel a strong sense that they are still somehow unworthy.

During my time exploring the adoption and "childfree" living literature, I found that this issue was tackled directly and productively. Hence, though these routes are not the way the majority of us on this road will resolve, there is an advantage to these paths of resolution as working through grief and ultimately acceptance is key in order to be successful. Sadly, it's something that I think is also easily ignored for anyone resolving through pregnancy after infertility/loss.

All of this came to a head for me this past week. Last week, after Grey had a long discussion with Lucas about my anger towards him, the letter that David, Grey and I have been working on was sent out. To his credit, Lucas sent an incredibly thoughtful and controlled response instead of simply shooting back a nasty email. He has anger too over the last few years and it's clear that we both have a lot of work ahead of us mending this bridge. But what got to me was his final sentence.

Finally, leaving these issues aside, my wife and I want you to know that we are very happy and excited for you and Grey, and the two little one that are about to arrive.

And with that well-intentioned and sincere sentence, I found myself hyperventilating and fighting a powerful and primal urge to run away from everyone and everything in the world. To simply disappear with the Beats.

Dee and I had a long, tearful conversation about this yesterday, during which time it became incredibly clear that I still haven't finished this last part of the grieving process. Granted I fully accept that I though I will forever identify as being infertile that life will still be okay, but what I haven't done is detach the trauma from the Beats. To take the necessary steps to ensure that dysfunctional patterns will cease with me so that they can truly live their lives unburdened and free.

Today, I'm mustering the courage to confront the Jabberwocky. To look it dead in the eyes and actually understand why I am so afraid. Part of this process involves me actually giving in to a good friend who really wants to throw a baby shower. Part of it involves me setting aside my pride and admitting that Grey and I desperately need help. And the other part involves responding to Lucas's letter, taking the time and care to acknowledge how my past actions and behaviors have lead us to the standoff we are at today. But the biggest part is also no longer allowing the fear of acceptance to prevent me from embracing it. To finally give in to all that has happened and allowing healing to final be completed.

Playing chicken

The following post is a whiny one. If you are currently not in a good place, skip it. As always, there will be other posts. Take care of yourself first and foremost.

Today I had my weekly appointment with the MFMs. Following a rise in BP followed by a rise in levels of biomarkers for liver stress, they've been vigilant. In order to gather more data as to what is happening, I went in for an ultrasound yesterday to have my liver visually assessed and have been doing weekly blood draws so they can watch the levels of the markers. Lots and lots of poking and prodding.

Unfortunately, the answer to what's happening with me is still unclear. Though the labs indicate that my liver is functioning, the levels of the markers for liver stress still aren't dropping. Initially I asked if it was due to the fact that my liver is being physically compressed by She-Beat (she's currently been using it as a blanket), but that doesn't seem to be the case. Add in the fact that the ultrasound revealed I have a number of hemangiomas in my liver and it's suggestive that postpartum follow up via MRI is necessary.

The news of the mysterious liver I can handle, just as I've been handling the news that I've been officially diagnosed with prehypertension. But when I heard my MFM tell me that if things didn't improve on both these fronts I would have to be admitted to the hospital, a wave of sadness and frustration hit full force, leaving me feeling utterly defeated.

I'll be the first to admit, I've been very VERY lucky with this pregnancy. After years of living with infertility, suffering through multiple failed fertility treatments and two miscarriages, just being able to carry the Beats has been such a blessing. Add in the fact that I've really had zero medical problems despite having a tentative diagnosis of APA syndrome and having to deal with daily injections since last November, and I know how lucky I've been. Still, the thought of going into the hospital now and running the risk of the Beats having to arrive before 36 weeks scares me. And it makes me feel that my body is failing them; failing our family.

Grey has been trying his best to cheer me up since this morning's appointment. He was quick to remind me that the levels of the biomarkers did drop somewhat today. In addition, though I'm still very much at risk for preeclampsia, I currently have zero protein in my urine. Also we are doing what we need to do. I'm scheduled to be fitted tomorrow with for a maternity support belt to help with the aches and pains due to carrying two babies. In addition, the Beats are looking very good, still measuring ahead in growth and development. He also pointed out that we are in excellent hands with our care team. The fact is, due to the trust and communication that has been established over the last few months of working with them, they were able to find these issues and monitor them. Something that's different from what a lot of people go through as usually issues like this one aren't detected until it's too late.

Still, I know that we're currently having a standoff with my body; that I'm playing chicken with my funky liver. Whereas those around me have been asking about when we're going to start making preparations for the Beats arrival (something that we are sorely behind on) or whether there's even going to be a baby shower, I'm at is trying to figure out what one packs in a hospital bag for a long term stay (seriously, I'm clueless on this one).

How I wish I could just sleep the next 5 weeks away . . . .

Straddling worlds

Like many other life traumas, infertility and loss bring together a diverse group of people. My early memories of this journey are filled with initial feelings and thoughts of being an outsider and alone, so finding those first blogs about infertility were not only a source of comfort, but also amazed me that such a diverse group of people were sharing similar thoughts and feelings on such a taboo topic. Over the years, I’ve witnessed friendships bloom while dealing with this life crisis, meeting men and women who would become as dear as family and learning from those around me how to find courage and strength in seemingly hopeless circumstances.

But what happens when members of these tight-knit groups find their road to resolution while others are still firmly rooted in the trenches? How do bonds formed fighting for a common goal survive when some are successful while others are still living with the pain?

There is no one answer to this issue, with each situation depending on the individuals involved as well as the circumstances surrounding this potential conflict. Yet the issue remains of whether relationships can survive. In some cases, they most certainly do. But too often, they don’t.

This issue has been on my mind more recently, growing as the Beats grow inside of me. I recognize that as this pregnancy progresses, so does the assumption that I no longer qualify as an infertile and that I may very well be a source of pain to those still in the trenches. Frankly, I’m at a loss for how best to bridge the divide for those dealing with infertility vs. those who have or are resolving. So instead, I’ll tell you all a story of a friendship that grew out of infertility, written from the perspective of two fellow IFers.

Back in 2010, while only 6 months in to the whole TTC experience, I joined a message board with a group of women you were trying for their first child. The whole point of this group was to take some of the crazy-obsessive tendencies out of trying to get pregnant (obsessing over charts, temp fluctuations, cervical mucus and even two-week wait symptoms) and instead focusing on a more calm/relaxed approach. It didn’t take long before the ~25 women on the TTC thread dropped down to only a handful as the others found themselves pregnant. And though it hurt to be left behind, the bond that formed between those that remained grew strong.

Of this remaining handful, one woman named Maggie led the charge with seeking out a specialist and starting treatments.

Cristy has already given the background on how we met and became IF battle buddies. She was such a source of strength for me as I ended my first full year of TTC and neared the scary visit with the RE. In her I had someone who truly understood just how gut wrenching the whole process could be.

Like others in the group, I cheered for her when she went through the dreaded infertility workup, prayed for those first few IUIs, grieved with her when she lost her first pregnancy early and celebrated like crazy when she finally became pregnant following an injectable +IUI cycle. As I was just beginning my own treatment, her news gave me hope.

Even after I got pregnant, she scolded me for feeling guilt about my success while leaving others behind in the trenches. I didn’t know it at the time, but this is a common theme for people who have success after IF. She wished me nothing but the best. Still, even with her blessing, it became harder and harder to participate in the TTC thread in our group.

As Maggie progressed in her pregnancy, I encountered failure after failure with fertility treatments. The way the message board was set up, updates on pregnancy progress were on a separate thread and generally there was very little cross-talk between those two or the parenting thread. As time went on, what should have been a trivial divide became a real one.

I felt like even though my intentions were coming from a good place when I had something to offer, I was somehow rubbing my success in their faces. I hated the thought that my friends would somehow misinterpret what I said and be hurt by it.

Then came my first loss. Following the D&C I felt so empty and alone. Maggie tried to reach out to me during that time, offering comfort and support. On my end, as much as I appreciated it, I was having a hard time reciprocating. While my world was filled with pain, all I could see was the joy in her’s. As much as I loved my friend, it was hard not to be jealous.

Following our first FET, Maggie and I had an instant reconnection with the news that the cycle had worked. I was over the moon and so happy to finally be joining my friend in experiencing pregnancy together.

When I got the news that Cristy was also pregnant, I demanded she get involved in the pregnancy thread of our group. I was thrilled that we were finally going to get to experience some of our pregnancies together, even though I was nearing the end of mine. I felt like since we had been through so much of our TTC journey together, the universe owed us some pregnancy time together as well.

And then came the second round of pain: the day I miscarried for the second time Maggie delivered her daughter.

I can still recall the feeling I got in the pit of my stomach on the morning after my daughter was born. I had just opened up my laptop and was riding high on the congratulatory messages that were coming from all over. I logged into our group to find a message from one of our friends, letting us know that Cristy had miscarried. I was devastated. I really can remember it so vividly. I looked at my daughter, sleeping in her hospital bassinet, and I lost it. How fucking unfair can this life be? Doesn’t my friend deserve to hold her baby in her arms just as much as I do?

Anyone who’s lived through infertility/loss could easily write a novel about how the pain and despair changes a person. What’s rarely talked about is how relationships change for those who have walked this path together only to have one resolve. RESOLVE has a good article about pregnancybetween infertile friends that explores this, but rarely do we actually hear members of this community talk about it. The truth is, each experience is different. Just as each individual. For some, this is a non-issue as the pregnant infertile knows exactly how to navigate this tumultuous waters to offer support to the infertile still in the trenches. But too often, this stuff leads to deep fissures in the friendship if not resulting in its death.

Following my second miscarriage and failed second FET, I shut down emotionally. As more pregnancy announcements came in, I found it near impossible to be around anyone who was celebrating expanding their family. So I made a decision of self-preservation and shut out those that I didn’t think could understand. I assumed that they were in their own happy world and I didn’t have the ability to join them when it felt like my journey had come to a bitter, abrupt end.

I confess that the following days/weeks/months were a blur. I know I reached out to Cristy to express my sorrow to her. I don’t think I heard back from her, which isn’t important. The last thing on someone’s mind at a time like that is responding to emails in a timely manner. I continued to read her blog, leaving comments now and then when I had something to offer.

Maggie continued to reach out to me, though. Through comments on my blog, she let me know she was thinking of me and grieving with me. Despite this, I was too hurt and angry. I just couldn’t reciprocate.

I thought about her a lot. That summer was a tough one for me. I had a baby who refused to sleep and a nasty case of post-partum depression brought on by extreme exhaustion. I cried. I felt guilty. I felt like a crappy mother because I cried and felt so much guilt. Lather, rinse, repeat. I should be walking on sunshine because I have a baby and others don’t. They would spit on me if they could see me now, thinking how much better they would be at this than I am.

One day I wrote out a long letter to Cristy. I can’t remember now what it said, but I know I never sent it. I thought it sounded fake and insincere. I hated it and I hated myself for not being able to express to her what I really wanted to say. So I did the cowardly thing and threw it away.

This could have been the end of the story. But something happened in late fall. The group I had joined was going through its own transitions, with new members who were struggling with infertility/loss and surviving failed cycles or going on to healthy pregnancies. The concern voiced was how disconnected the group had become, with many of the more senior members no longer commenting or communicating with anyone in the group. So it was proposed that a joint thread me formed to build community. I was all for this, to the point that I sent an email to all members who I had grown close to in an effort to rally support around this decision.

With that first email, a direct line of communication was opened between me and Maggie. She wrote me back a few days later, once again offering me support and understanding. And for some reason, I decided to take that email as a chance to voice my own anger and hurt over feeling abandoned. Imagine my surprise when she wrote me back and told me that she felt abandoned by me too.

When the email came from Cristy regarding the status of our group, I saw a chance to reopen the lines of communication. I asked her flat out if she felt like I had abandoned her and our friendship. I was honestly surprised when she said yes. In my mind, I had tried as hard as I could. Looking back, I should have tried harder. I should have sent the stupid card. Cristy told me she wished I had been braver, and she was right to say that.

I still remember the response from Maggie. The shock and anger in her words and the revelation that she was trying in spite of dealing with post-partum depression. For the first time in many, many months I was able to open my eyes and see that everything wasn’t sunshine and roses on her end. That she was struggling too. And despite this, she was wrapping me in love that I was thoroughly rejecting. It was then that I realized that I needed to stop being selfish and start being brave myself.

Since then, I have tried to be braver. I try to say what I’m feeling without fretting too much about how it will be interpreted. I learned that it’s better to say anything, even if it’s not perfect, and let a person know that you care than to say nothing and let them feel forgotten.

Over the next few weeks, Maggie and I began to patch things up. A lot of this required some hard emails that certainly left me in tears. Yet she was brave enough not only to be honest with me, but also to also not allow me to simply walk away from our friendship. As Grey and I prepared for our final round of IVF, she was one of many who bombarded me with emails of encouragement and hope, allowing me to voice all my fears and doubts while holding fast to hope in moments I didn’t have the strength to. The main difference was that she didn’t have to do this. It would have been simpler and easier to lead infertility behind and instead focus solely on her family; her little girl.

I’m so glad that we have rekindled our friendship. It’s harder these days to communicate every week through email, now that I have a toddler who is walking and into everything. But I know that Cristy understands, and she knows that I understand when she doesn’t respond right away. We support each other the best way we can, and I’m not afraid to say what I feel. Everyone needs that, whether you are still TTC or are trying to navigate parenting after infertility. I’m glad I have my friend back.

Today I find myself in a similar boat as Maggie. After years of failure, I am 7 months pregnant with my miracle twins. And each time the Beats move, reminding me of how much they are growing and how soon they will be here, I’m reminded of my friends who are still trying to find their path to resolution.

The truth is I’m currently lost with where I fit in this community. As Maggie stated so eloquently above, it’s not that I don’t remember or identify as being infertile. Infertility will forever be a part of my identity. What I fear, though, is that my reaching out and supporting those in the trenches in counter-intuitive.

If you ask the average ALIer on how best to bridge the gap between living with infertility and living with resolution, you’ll get multiple answers. For some, they refuse to apologize for their journey, instead choosing to write about the next chapters of their life after infertility/loss. Others are more conscious of their readers/those around them, attempting to empathize with those still in the trenches and continuing to offer support. Still more chose to put the entire experience behind them; kind of like a bad nightmare that they really want to forget. Others refuse to forget, instead activelyadvocating for those who are still living with this trauma and helping wherethey can.

The problem with each of these options is how to manage the decision with the relationships that have been formed. And this is where things tend to get ugly. I’ve seen examples of people who try their best to not hurt anyone around them, thus failing to embrace they life that’s growing inside them in the process. I’ve also seen those still fighting in the trenches being bullied into “being happy” because their friend (who is now pregnant/parenting) knows what it means to be infertile/loss a much wanted pregnancy and, hence, they need to get over themselves. And I’ve seen everything in between.

So how does one straddle worlds? Support those that they’ve grown to love while being true to themselves and their families? Is this too complex of a problem or can we help ease this transition?

Frankly, I don't know the answer 

What I do know is that I’m grateful to still have Maggie in my life. To have her as a source of support and love. That I get to see her daughter grow and bloom. But also I hesitate to open this space to all that is happening with this pregnancy. It’s not that I’m not grateful for where I’m at (trust me, I really am) nor that I’m afraid of being true to myself or not embracing this transition. It’s more about the memory of the hurt and the pain I felt for so long; the happy-sad that at moments made me wonder if I was forever doomed to live in a pit of despair.

So, for now, I feel like I’m stuck between worlds, trying as best as I can to navigate this road to resolution. Trying to honor all that has happened while also preparing for what lies ahead.

Yellow flags

First off, to all of those who live in the US, Grey and I wish you all of happy and safe 4th of July! May your day be filled with sunshine of some sort and the only fireworks be the ones you get to "oh" and "ah" over.

For those from Canada, wishing you all a happy belated Canada Day! I hope it was amazing.

Grey and I are celebrating this Independence Day by sleeping in and staying close to home. The start of the week has been a bit too eventful for us and your's truly is now being strictly monitored by the MFMs. As I'm not much for being the center of attention, it's been an interesting few days.

Things started getting interesting on Monday night. Grey has noticed that my ankles have been swelling more than usual over the weekend and that my energy levels were near zero in the evenings. Add in the fact that I've been seeing stars for no particular reason and the end result is a suspicious husband. After a brief discussion, Grey decided it would be a good idea to monitor my blood pressure. Normally, my BP is around 105/60, but with the last couple of appointments we've both noticed it's been slowly creeping up. Still, we weren't expecting the first reading: 134/92. And when we told the triage nurses, it was immediately apparently where we would be spending the next 4 hours.

The long and the short of it, though everyone is fine, is that my liver function is questionable. The appointment I had on Wednesday (growth scan and normal OB check) has my care team on alert as the levels are still higher than normal. After ruling out Hepatitis (I've never had it and have been vaccinated) and seeing that my BP is still higher than normal (averaging around 118/66 with their devices), the concern is preeclampsia. Granted, I have zero protein in my urine and I'm still under the diagnostic range, but considering this isn't my normal they've decided to be prudent and bump me to weekly appointments.

Needless to say, though I'm not happy, I've accepted it.

A couple of weeks ago in our Multiples class, the instructor put up a slide about groups at risk for preeclampsia. Though carrying multiples is definitely a risk factor, both Grey and I quickly exchanged looks when we saw that APA syndrome was at the top of the list. I haven't done a lot of reading about this association, but there are a couple of articles that suggest a correlation with the syndrome and preeclampsia/HELLP.

So, we're being vigilant. Or as the head of my care team has pointed out, we have yellow flags. In addition to monitoring the usual symptoms weekly, I am now starting weekly blood draws to monitor liver function. Grey is also on me about monitoring BP, I officially qualify for disabled parking (which I am applying for on Friday) and that my time commuting to work is officially over.

On a good note, the Beats are doing very well. They both rocked the growth scan, measuring at ~3 lbs (putting them in the 58% for growth). Grey laughed when we got the news that they were doing well. That news helped all of us.

Now if we can just get my body to cooperate. . . .