Here we go

Tomorrow morning I head out to the R*E*I clinic (don't wanna get googled by a bunch of outdoor sports enthusiasts. SO not the target audience for this blog). It's the last test to try to determine if there's a physical cause for the multiple miscarriages, then it's back in the saddle again (assuming there's nothing wrong, or at least nothing they can't treat).

I have really mixed feelings about these tests. On the one hand, I am the child of a doctor and a nurse, and therefore have greater faith in the medical establishment than, I think, do most people. I believe that the tests provided have a good shot at identifying a problem with my body, if there truly is one. And that the results of these tests will make it easier for me to have a baby.

On the other hand, I find it almost impossible to believe that a body that almost effortlessly produced the Kraken almost 4 years ago could suddenly be a hostile environment for an embryo. Come on. I did this before, and it was easy. What could suddenly be wrong? Yes, I realize I am now 37, almost 38, but I don't feel that much older, and it's hard for me to believe my eggs are suddenly all past the expiration date. I know from many late night hideous google searches that this is possible, but I can't get my brain to translate that possibility to my current situation.

Of course, there is always "anomaly". One of the doctors who examined me after the twins showed no heartbeats told me sadly that I had probably just "been hit by lightning twice". I want that to be the truth, so badly. But then again, a part of me would welcome the news that some physical ailment has introduced itself between 2004 and now.

Because then it can't be my fault. For the gin and tonic I had before I knew I was pregnant. For the 25 pounds I have on me that I didn't have when I got pregnant with the Kraken. For the stress that I feel daily that eats away at my nightly rest, for a variety of reasons. For the soft serve ice cream cone I ate at the zoo, only to discover later to my horror that soft serve machines are a candidate for harboring listeria. For the morning, sleep deprived and dopey (with the child I lost in January) that I took my allergy medicine before I remembered that I was pregnant. For all the little mistakes that I made that I don't remember making with the Kraken.

Of course, with the Kraken I never stopped drinking my usual go cup of coffee, and I did have a glass of wine or two during the pregnancy. I ate cold cuts all the time for 4 months before coming across a warning about listeriosis, something my doctor never mentioned to me. I made all kinds of different mistakes with the Kraken, like you do, because no one can do this completely by the book or they would eat nothing but broccoli and cheese (and make sure that's not soft cheese, dammit. It might not be pasteurized). And she is FINE. I carried her in my body for almost exactly forty weeks, and she is smart, and strong, and healthy, and happy, and FINE.

One way or the other, I need to move forward. I need to try again. Because the big fat pregnant women in Target are killing me. With their puffy faces, swollen ankles, miserable sweaty necks in the heat of summer.

Please. I want that. Please.