Thanks, Mom

Be warned, this is a long one.

G and I decided sometime in April 2003 that we should try to have a baby. We had been married for almost a year and we were ready.

After I got home from spending the day in Golden Gate Park to see Duran Duran (and giggling like a 14 year old) with G's sis, I decided to break out a pregnancy test and, woo hoo, there was that extra line. I was beside myself, I was so happy. I wonder if that was why I steered away from beer during the concert. Nah, it's probably because it was about eleven million degrees that day. But it does explain why earlier in the week the smell of apple cinammon oatmeal made me want to barf. I told my mom immediately because she needed to hear some good news. She had been diagnosed with colon cancer the previous October and my dad had died in December. She was so excited to be a grandma.

I called the doctor the next day to schedule my first prenatal appointment. Everything seemed to be fine until the afternoon of October 22 when I found blood during one of my many trips to the little girls' room. In a panic, I called Al to find out if this was normal. She said it probably was, but that I should call my doctor for peace of mind. The doctor said to come in immediately for an ultrasound. I told my supervisor that I wasn't feeling well and that I was running to the doctor. No one other than some close friends and family knew I was pregnant and I wasn't about to tell the office.

The doctor I saw was a very no nonsense woman who could never be described as warm. Her comment during the ultrasound was "this does not look good." I was 9 weeks 3 days pregnant, but the baby had stopped developing a few weeks back. I was to go back the following day for a d&c. I wanted to die.

They took me to a room where I could collect myself and make phone calls. I called my mom first. I guess I needed her to tell me everything would be ok. I needed my mommy. Then I called G and drove home. I don't remember much of the rest of the day other than making phone calls to untell the people with whom we had shared our good news. We had not told Doof, so at least we didn't have to untell her. And I called the headhunter through whom I had gotten my job (it was a long term temp gig) to tell her I would be having surgery and would be out the rest of the week.

I woke up the next morning and checked my e-mail. The first thing I saw was a snarky message from the headhunter wanting to know why I hadn't given more notice that I would be out for two days. Shocked and horrified and then a bit numb, I called her. She asked if I meant this week and, when I said yes, started to give me grief about lack of notice. It was all I could do not to scream at her, but I simply said that I was sorry and that I had suffered a miscarriage and was going in for a medical procedure. Well that shut her up pretty good. When I told, G, he was furious, called her nasty names and ultimately sent her a fax telling how unreasonable she was and that she owed me an apology for giving me a hard time. God, I love him.

G took the day off to take me to the doctor. The doctor doing the procedure greeted me with a hug and a valium. I think all doctors should greet me this way. I was conscious for and cried through the whole thing, with G at my side. Then we went home and made more phone calls and cried a lot more until I finally ran out of tears for the night. My mom called all of our family members, but was instructed by one of my aunts not to tell one of my cousins (who was then pregnant) because it would be too stressful for her to hear my news. Whatever.

The following day was worse because G had to work. The lone bright spot was the delivery of sunflowers from XT and Bab because they understand that sunflowers are incredibly cheery. I don't think I thanked them enough. XT then sent some books on miscarriage and a tracking number for another package. When I checked it out to find out when it might arrive, I saw that whatever it was weighed 8 pounds. Given my frame of mind, is it any wonder that my first thought was "but you can't order a baby from Amazon"?

Things plugged along and I went on with my life as best I could. I suffered a bit of a setback and a whole lot of poor me when XT told me she was pregnant with Ali. I didn't handle the news very well. I felt terrible about not being a particularly good friend to her on hearing her announcement since I felt that I was the one who was supposed to be pregnant. I later called her back to tell her that I was happy for her, apologize for freaking out, and ask she was feeling. We talked about how hard it was for her to tell me and I sure didn't make it any easier. But it was my job to be happy for my friend. And I was.

We finally got the go ahead to try again later in the spring of 2004, but wouldn't you know it my system went wonky with the hormones. At this same time, my mom started getting sicker. In March, she broke her leg. It turned out that her cancer had spread and tumor growing in her leg broke the bone. And then it spread to her brain. Perhaps it was the stress that caused things to go crazy with my body. All I know is that I stopped ovulating.

So there I was 33 years old, desperately wanting a baby, and watching my mom deteriorate. And my baby would have been due at the end of May. Because her cancer had spread so much, my mom had to stop working. She had worked at UCLA for 40 years, so her office decided to throw her a retirement party near the end of June. The plan was to have it on campus, but she wasn't up to the travel, so they brought it to the nursing home where she was staying after a Memorial Day fall and the resulting blackout. She wasn't the same afterwards and she didn't get those missing days back. Her short term memory was gone. But interestingly enough, her long term memory was all there. We know this because her boss had brought her personnel file to the party and when asked how much she made when she started working there, my mom was able to state her weekly salary for 1964. Some thirty people from her office came to the home with gifts and food and good wishes. They went around the room telling how long they had known her and providing anecdotes about how she had helped them at work or made them laugh. She was the belle of the ball and she was on. It was great. And bittersweet. And strangely difficult for me because my cousin came with her 6 week old baby. He was just about 10 days older than mine would have been. And my aunt who had said not to tell my cousin what had happened back in October made stupid comments about how natural I looked with the baby and that I should try to have one of my own. She's an idiot and G wanted to kill her.

My mom passed away a few weeks later, the day after her 60th birthday. Shortly before she died, I learned from the oncology department social worker, with whom she had met during the course of her treatment, that my mom blamed herself for my miscarriage. She was concerned that the stress of her illness caused it to happen. She couldn't have been more wrong. But she never told me and by the time I found out, it was really too late to tell her that it was not her fault and that I didn't blame her. I would never have blamed her. I blamed myself because, clearly, there had to be something wrong with me. Or else sometimes things just happen.

After we got back home from the funeral and cleaning out my mom's apartment and a previously planned vacation at a cabin by a lake, I met with my doctor to discuss why my body had gone wonky. I started a medication to treat a hormonal imbalance and was scheduled to start a fertility medication in the fall. About 10 days later, I woke up with a migraine and called in sick to work. During the afternoon, I was feeling better, but was bored. I found a pregnancy test under the cupboard. And you are thinking why would she think of a pregnancy test at this point in time. I'll tell you why. Since I hadn't had a cycle in a few months, I took a pregnancy test maybe once a week just to see if perhaps that was why I hadn't had a visit from Aunt Flo. So I was due for a test. And I took it. There was that extra line again. I called the doctor to see if perhaps the new medication caused false positives. She said no and that I should come in the following Monday to find out when the heck this happened. G showed up with lunch about 30 minutes later and the minute he entered the apartment I handed him the test. To say we were shocked would be an understatement. After lunch, I took one of those digital tests and it immediately read PREGNANT.

We decided we wouldn't tell anyone before I saw the doctor on Monday. And I really tried to keep it quiet. But I couldn't. I told XT at her baby shower because I just couldn't not tell her. And then I told Al. But that's it.

I was a nervous wreck on Sunday night before my appointment. I didn't want more bad news. I didn't think I would be able to handle it. After all, in just 19 months, I had lost both parents and a baby. I got to the doctor's office, hoping that I would see the doctor with the hugs (and the valium). But no. I got to see the warm one that had told me I had miscarried. I tried to breathe and tried not to panic. She showed me the screen and there she was, my little Bug. No visible heartbeat yet, but that's ok, it was too early. She then told me my due date was April 7, 2005, based on Bug's size, since they couldn't determine the date based on my last period (the usual way to determine a due date). So, of course, I asked, "so when did this happen?" "Oh, around July 14." I nearly fainted. July 14 was the day my mom died.

I have to think that my mom had something to do with this. How could she not? I wasn't supposed to get pregnant without some medical assistance. But I did. And Bug is here and will be six months old on Tuesday.

So, thank you, Mom, so so very much. I miss you and Dad every day, but having Bug here makes it a little easier.