You Don't Remember Me...But I'll Never Forget You

To the nurse:

We work together.
We work on different units but share the same locker room.

We're shedding our street clothes and donning our white scrubs right next to each other.
Your scrubs are all white while mine have green stripes on the sleeves. 
You do women and I do sick babies.
We make eye contact and exchange a polite smile.

You don't recognize me.

But I'll never forget you.

Months ago, you were my nurse and I was the patient.
I still had the IV tubing attached to my left arm and was a bit dazed after the anesthesia.
You helped me take off my bra.

You helped me peel off my old nursing scrub top.
It wasn't white anymore...only the top half of it was.
The bottom half was soaked from my belly button down with blood...my own blood.

You helped me to the shower.
There, I washed off the last physical reminders of my pregnancy...my failed pregnancy.
Red water swirled down the drain.

To the doctor:

We meet again but in a birthing room.

A proper birthing room this time.
Equipped with a real bed instead of a gurney.
A birthing ball instead of a gyno-chair.
A baby scale instead of plastic trash bags.
The first time we met, you were between my legs with worry on your face.

You're between another mother's legs now.
I'm perched next to the radiant warmer waiting for you to push another woman's baby into my arms. 

You're focused on the mom-to-be but you look briefly in my direction and signal that the baby is almost there.

You don't recognize me.

But I'll never forget you.

The last time I saw you, you had my blood all over your pants.
You were talking to me about my D&C and about the possibility of needing a blood transfusion.
Despite my pain in that moment, I was trying to place your accent.
It was Italian I believe.

Rewind a bit.

No one told me about the blood. When I miscarried at work in the 13th gestational week no one told me there could be so much.

I was at work about to take care of one of my babies. When I stood up from the computer chair, I felt a rush of warmth between my legs. 
I knew then that it was over.

Another rush of blood.

More this time.

I took a step forward.

More blood pulsed out.

I yelled for help, but my colleague didn't hear me.

I managed to walk about 15 feet to my nearest coworkers. I'm pretty sure I left drops of blood behind me in my path.

Before I sat, I grabbed something to put on the chair to protect it. 

Only a few people at work new I was pregnant but at this moment, the "secret" was out. 

"Hey, listen, I'm pregnant..."
*surprise on their face*
"...but I'm losing the baby right now and I think I need help." 

Anna, my coworker, grabbed a wheelchair and wheeled me down the hall. We stopped at Labor and Delivery but they told us to go downstairs to the women's emergency room. Anna knocked on the door and we explained to the woman that answered what was happening.

To the midwife:

You probably don't remember me.
But I'll never forget you.

I'll never forget the dismissive way you told me you couldn't do anything for my "baby."
So matter-of-factly.

"With 13 weeks there's nothing we can do for you." you snarled.

"I...I know." I stammered, "But I think I need help right now."

She told me to follow her to the bathroom so she can see my underwear to see how much I was bleeding. I only lifted my nursing bag from my lap and she could see my white nursing scrub pants were a bright red. The blood was down to my knees and it wasn't stopping.

She brought me to another room and stripped me from the waist down. She threw my pants straight in the trash. I think it surprised Anna too because Anna asked me if there was anything in the pockets that I still needed. There wasn't.

I saw then the blood had reached my socks and began to saturate the backs of my shoes.

There was a palpable panic in the room.

"Umm...I'm B positive." I sputtered.

"I'm B positive." I repeated, to anyone listening.

I could tell things were getting a bit serious.

Once the midwife started the IV I felt a bit safer knowing they had access should I need volume replacement. 

The blood kept coming.
In pulses and with clots now.
Anna was still at my bedside.
I felt more blood pulse out and I tried to politely push Anna away from the bed.
I was sure it was about to flow over the side of the bed and drip on to her.
I was embarrassed and didn't want her to get dirty too.

The nurse was frantically changing the large flat pads covering my bed.
I saw all the clots and coagulations for the first time.

"Um, excuse me, if you think you see a fetus in there, can you save it? I want to see it." I said to the midwife.

"Mrs. Frick, I'm not trained enough to distinguish that. It will all be sent to the pathology lab." she replied in a rush.

Each blood soaked item was put in a separate plastic bag.
I couldn't help but wonder if my "baby" was in one of them.

Anna asked me later if I remember asking to see it. "Of course," I said "it was a part of me." I truly and deeply wanted to see it. I would not have been grossed out.

The bleeding wasn't stopping.
The Italian doctor was there now (the first time we'd met) and started gathering bits and pieces of my story from the midwife.
They wheeled me into another examination room with a gynocology chair.

In the chair, the shakes started.
The Italian doctor did a vaginal exam but couldn't determine if the bleeding would stop on its own.
I felt more blood spill onto the floor.
I felt cold and couldn't stop shaking.

Another nurse came into my line of vision.

"Mrs. Frick, I'm going to give you a medicine through your IV that will help aid in the removal and might cause your heart rate to increase."

"Um, ok. *lightbulb* Are you giving my oxytocin?!"

"Um...yes." She seemed surprised I knew the medical name.

I knew then that this wasn't going to be a good time...soon I would be feeling contractions.

The next thing I knew, the room filled with people. People in white. My monitor started alarming. My heart rate was 143 and my blood pressure was 70 something/30 something. A suitable blood pressure for a neonate...but not good for me. 

I remember being confused about all the noise and the alarms. It was weird that it was my monitor alarming. I've never been on this side before.

I also thought, "is this hypovolemic shock? I think this is hypovolemic shock! This is what hypovolemic shock looks (and feels) like. Crazy! I'm not doing very well."

More people. More blood. My blood.

My blood is on me and on them.

On their blue rubber gloves. 

On their paperwork.
On their hospital cell phones.

My blood in on my own pens in my scrub top pocket.

I'm back on the gurney. Another doctor comes in and tries to gather a medical history. The contractions have started in full force and it's hard to get the answers out.

"Mrs. Frick, are you allergic to morphine?"

"I don't think so, I've never had it." I grunt as another contraction builds.

He turned his head over his shoulder and shouted behind him, "You guys are cruel, get her some morphine."

The morphine went straight to my head. My mind felt fuzzy but I could still feel each contraction.

"Was your son born healthy, Mrs. Frick?" the doctor continued.

"Yes...well he was born at 25+ weeks."

"Wow, that's early."

"Not really. I mean, a little."

Anna from behind the curtain "She means 35 weeks!"

"Oh, Anna is still here! Nice!" I thought.

"Yea, sorry, 35+ I meant."

"Anna! Can you update Eddie for me?!" I screamed.

"Already did!" She returned.

"Mrs. Frick, I need you to sign this consent form for a curettage. We will need to take you into surgery and..."

"I know what it is, I'll just sign."
Contraction.

This doctor spoke to me with his eyes closed.

"Look at me." I thought. "Open your eyes, do I look that pathetic right now? You're weird. Why aren't you looking at me?!"

My signature was a scribble. The pain was immense.

I was in a permanent "mid-crunch" pose. My stomach muscles and neck muscles were constantly flexed from the pain.

"This sucks." I said in English. 

Oh, did I mention that all the words said until this point were in German?

"This sucks..." I repeated to no one in particular.

"...so much pain for no baby at the end."

I had a birth but had nothing to show for it.

Suddenly, I feel someone shove oxygen prongs in my nose.

"Hm, is my oxygen saturation dropping or is this standard procedure on morphine?" I thought to myself.

I'm in pain and things are a bit fuzzy but I'm still processing things in nurse-mode.

I briefly heard my sister-in-law come into the room.
She needed my car keys because we car-pooled together.

All of a sudden, we were moving. I still had the oxygen tubing in my nose but I was pretty sure there was no oxygen flowing because we were now on our way to the OR and I didn't hear anyone grab an O2 gas tank.

Anna followed my bed as far as she could. We parted ways at the OR room doors and she told me she would be waiting with Eddie.
A man gives me a hair net and wheels me into the OR room.

More strangers. Lots of strangers. In a hurry. Lots of lights. They're sticking things to my chest. Putting things on my fingers. The pulse oxymeter, I recognize, but there is something on my thumb. I ask the next random woman that enters my line of vision what it is.

"That's a muscle monitor. With that, we can tell if you're truly relaxed from the anesthesia."
"Hm, ok, interesting." I say. "Thanks, random woman." I think.

Another man in my face. He introduces himself. I don't have the energy to remember it. I'm tired. He asked me when I ate last. I told him and he said they will need to pump my stomach. 

I felt sad. The last thing I ate was wedding cake from the parents of a baby on our unit that got married the day before. I felt disappointed. It was delicious. That felt like ages ago, when I was sitting with my coworkers on our break. I never would have thought that 2 hrs later I'd be on an OR table.

This same man told me that he will intubate me.

That shocked me too. I'd never been intubated before. A part of me was disappointed. Not because of the invasiveness but rather that I couldn't witness it myself.

He begins to put a mask over my face.

I quickly explain to him that...

"I want more babies! Don't injure my uterus! Leave it in there!"

My instructions are muffled by the mask now. I hear chuckles in the OR room.

I can feel myself fading.

I'm able to dictate one last time "I'm serious, don't injure my uterus..."

When I awake there is another nurse.

Another accent. French?

I start asking where my husband is.

She tells me she doesn't speak English.

...even though I was speaking German.

Moments later when I ask something else she reminds me that she doesn't speak English.

But again, I'm speaking German the entire time! 


Is my accent that horrible after anesthesia?

My throats hurts but I'm not allowed to drink.

Someone wheels me to my room upstairs.

Eddie's there. He's sitting in a chair in the corner by the window with a bag full of clothes for me.

"I'm not pregnant anymore, Ed. I'm sorry."

I'm still wearing my nursing scrub top. 
It's half white and half dark brown now. 
My pants are somewhere in a garbage bag one floor down. 
My socks and shoes are in a plastic bag and have magically already teleported themselves next to my bed in my room.

I change and shower with help.

I'm lightheaded and nauseous when I stand. Circulatory weakness, I note, still in nurse-mode.

The night was restless. I was given anxiety meds but I don't think I slept more than 2 hours. I strangely kept thinking about my patients and my coworkers that I left stranded on my unit. I didn't get to give anyone report. Will they see that my babies have meds due? I didn't get to finish charting. I'm supposed to work tomorrow...or is it already tomorrow today...what time is it even?

Shit. The blood. My coworkers had to clean up my blood from the floor and chair. I feel inexplicably mortified.

The blood.

My blood.

It was everywhere. I can't get it out of my mind. For days and weeks it's the only thing I can think about. The blood and all the people.

Germany vs. America

400.   If there is a car accident on the highway in Germany, the other drivers instinctively build a "Rettungsgasse" which literally translates to a "rescue alley." This way, the service vehicles can easily get to the people/accident faster.

401.   I feel like most homes have two refrigerators in the States. One in the kitchen (naturally) and one say...in the garage? Solely for drinks? Maybe one in the basement? I only know one person here that has 2 fridges. It doesn't seem necessary here.

402.   In the US you can quickly tell if you are in a "bad neighborhood." You can drive mere minutes and the change in socioeconomic status is palpable. I don't see that in our area here. 

403.   A native German once told me she found it offensive that in the US the waiters/waitresses bring you the check in the restaurant even though you haven't asked for it. She said she felt rushed. She's not wrong, I suppose, sometimes that is their way of saying "skedaddle."

404.   Greeting cards, for birthdays or other celebratory events, are often blank here. You fill them out yourself in your own words. I'm too lazy for that. I'd rather stand in an aisle for 20 minutes at Walgreen's searching for the "perfect" pre-printed wording.

405.   In English when you're teasing someone you say "Nana nana boo boo" in German you say "ätschi bätschi!"

406.   Similarly, in english we say "gootchy gootchy goo" when tickling someone. Here, they say "killeh killeh killeh." I guess the english version is dumber.

407.   I recently went to a public pool and laid out my towel in a nice shady spot near an umbrella. A few moments later, a woman came and gave me a nasty look. Apparently, the shade belonged to her. She rented the metal, generic looking umbrella sticking in the ground. I moved further back after a friend told me what her (my?) problem was.

408.   Fire sirens make the sounds "tattooo tattaaa" according to Germans.

409.   Currently: $1 = 0.83 euros = 0.96 CHF (Swiss francs)

When the Onesies Run Out

This is it, son. It's going to be over soon. Your babiness is slipping from me.

Even though you haven't slept in our room for a year, I could never bring myself to break down your bay bed. Yes, I know, you're almost two but I'm beginning to think I have a serious mental problem. I distinctly remember the first night home from the NICU that you slept in it. For over a year it was used only to collect clothes that weren't exactly dirty enough to go into the hamper but shouldn't be hung back in the closet. I recently found the heart to at least remove it from next to my side of the bed and into the living room. I threw a blanket and some pillows on it and now you refer to it as "Eddie's Towtch" (Eddie's Couch). Phew! At least I was able to procrastinate that one for a bit longer.

While grocery shopping, I rarely have the need to go down the Baby Aisle. When I do, for your favorite pre-bedtime pudding or for more diapers/wipes, I pause in front of the baby food jars. There was a time when I stood here for what seemed like hours picking and choosing, replacing it on the shelf, picking it up again, and reading the labels. These days, the jars almost feel foreign to me. The empty glasses no longer fill my recyclables.

I still rock you to bed at night - because I can. Sometimes, while swaying in my arms, you look me in the eye and say "Bed!" I reluctantly place you in your crib but I suppose I am thankful for those few minutes where you laid peacefully in my arms. Sometimes, after you get snug in your bed, you dismiss me from your room with a "Mama, raus!"("Mama, out!"). I thought I still had a few more years until that would happen. I oblige but, little do you know, I sneak back in later just to lay eyes on you just one more time.

I breastfed you for 14 months. I only stopped because we were trying to give you a sibling and I needed to inject hormones again. Had I known that it wouldn't work even a year later, I'd have breastfed you longer. That day, I knew it was the last breastfeeding session. I cried through part of if. I filmed the rest. To this day, I won't delete it from my phone. No matter how many times I'm reminded of low storage on my phone, that video always makes the cut! I watch it every couple weeks too. We were such a good team.

The onesies are disappearing. Not only are you outgrowing them, they're beginning to become impractical with potty training. I'm trying really hard to squeeze you into some of them. They're adorable! I just can't part from them. I purposely don't put them in the dryer so that they don't shrink or become too tight. I know with 1 you became a toddler but the day I pack away your last onesie will be the official end to your Baby Stage. Promise me I won't have to!

Please, God, if you insist that he leaves this baby stage...bless me with another! The ache is unbearable at times.

And now, some "Then and Now" comparisons from our Christmas photo session with JF Photography!

Germany vs. America

390.   So you now how in America before you take an exit off the highway there is a sign that lets you know at about what speed you should take the off ramp...yea, rarely the case in the Land of Deutsch.

391.   I was born in 1984. In the US, I would say I was born in the 80s but apparently in Germany they would say that I was born in the 90s. I suppose it is similar to gestational week counting. When a pregnant woman is 34 weeks + 2 days we say that she is in her 35th week.

392.   In English we say "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" but in German they say "supercalifragilisticexpialigetisch." Throws ya through a loop for a sec.

393.   In Germany (and Switzerland) if during your vacation from work you become ill, your employer will give you those days of vacation back to take again at a later time.

394.   I have 5 weeks (+5 days) of vacation. I think in America we were guaranteed 2.

395.   It is not possible to take FMLA here but you do receive a certain amount of sick days if your child is ill.

395.   There is much less respect for the military in Germany. No disrespect, just less respect.

397.   I never heard of someone getting sued here. Imagine that!

398.   Political campaigns are publicly financed in Germany. Imagine that! 

399.   Germany/US size comparison. 

I'm Having a Hard Time

I'm having a hard time.

Today would have been the due date of our baby, had our first attempt after Eddie been successful. I remember doing the calculations on the way home from the clinic and saying to Eddie, "if this works, we'll have a new baby just in time for Christmas!" It's hard for me to accept that not only do I not have a huge, gravid belly right now, my womb is completely empty. I won't hold my newborn today and it's looking a bit grim for 2017 as well.

"Rachel, relax. Don't think like that. Stay positive. You're putting too much pressure on yourself."

They don't get it. My mind obsesses over it.

This time around, I know what I'm missing out on. While trying to conceive Eddie I had a good idea what it was like to be pregnant, give birth, care for a baby and raise a child. This time around I know what it is like because I've already experienced it first hand. It's remarkable. Indescribable in this short text. It's all-consuming to wonder if I'll ever feel it all again.

Work's hard.
I care for other people's babies while desperately wanting another of my own.

Friendships are hard.
Her - "Come upstairs with me while I breastfeed!"
Me - "Ok!"
Also me - Sure, let me sit there like a doofus watching you do something I hope so desperately to be able to do again someday.

Her- "Want to hold the baby?"
Me - "Yes!"
Also me - No.

Family relationships are hard.
Her - "We're pregnant!"
Us - "Congratulations!" *hugs*
Her - "Your reactions weren't that good."
(There's enough guilt inside, do not assign me more.)

Holidays are hard.
For Christmas, I caved and bought Eddie a baby doll. He is so interested in babies and I figured by now he'd have a real one to play with. I feel sick that I can't give him a sibling.

His birthday is coming up, reminding me that the age gap between him and any potential sibling is growing by the day.

It's a strange feeling, to want something so badly but being so powerless to achieve it.
Unlike any other goal in my life -
I can't study for this.
I can't save up money to buy this.
I can't train for this.

It's out of my control and seemingly out of my reach.

(JF Photography)

The Two Week Wait

For those of you fortunate to not have fertility issues you are blissfully unaware of the acronym TWW. It stands for the "two week wait" and it is the period of time between a pregnancy attempt (in our case ICSI) and the blood work confirmation. These days are painfully long. The days...no, hours...seem to creep by while you wait for a "BFP" (big fat positive). These days are agonizing...but I adore them at the same time.

During these two weeks Eddie and I are hopeful. We day dream.

We discuss the joys of having another baby boy...
Me - "Remember that sleeper we have with the monster on the butt? Oh, I'd love to have another baby to wear that and cuddle him in it!"

...or a girl!
Eddie - "Maybe we'll have a girl this time, Mitz!"

We fantasize what our future baby will look like. 
Eddie - "What if this time the baby has your dark hair?!"
Me - "I'd love that!"

We bounce our ideas and feelings off of each other.
Me - (in true nurse form) "From 0-10, 10 being the most, how sure are you that it worked this time?"

When we lie in bed at night we talk about the possibility of multiples. 
Me - "Oh gosh, Frick. Can you imagine? What would we do?!"
Eddie - "We'd just do it. We're a good team."

During these two weeks, there is nothing more to do but to hope, pray and wait. Aside from inserting hormones 3 times a day, there is nothing more I can do to facilitate a pregnancy. I'm not required to be on bed rest and there aren't many other restrictions either. There is nothing more the doctors, nurses or biologists can do for us. It's just a matter of time. Either the embryo(s) stick or they don't.

I am terrified during these two weeks but there is still hope.

I pray to God and I ask him to keep us here. I ask him to let me hold on to these days a little longer. I feel good right now. I feel hopeful. I feel faithful. I feel trustful. I feel cheerful.
I know all too well that in a few days this enthusiastic and optimistic feeling can feel like a hallucination. 

After about a week goes by I feel the courage to take a pregnancy test. This just so happened to fall on my birthday and I took it to be the perfect sign.

On December 2, 2016, for my 4th 29th birthday I received this...



Negative pregnancy test number 212, followed in the evening by the soul-crushing bleeding.

For the seventh time in a row, my hopes and dreams, no, OUR hopes and dreams for the future...much like my uterine lining...were torn from me, flushed away like they never existed.

America vs. Germany

380.   You never see people in athletic wear unless, wait for it, they were just working out! Shocker...and unfortunate because I like to bebop around in some yoga pants/workout leggings.

381.   If a German asks "Do you do sports?" they're not asking you if you play an organized sport or on a team, they mean "Do you work out?" Either way...

382.   The bagpipes in German are called "Dudelsack." DUDELSACK!

383.   You know Crayola Crayons? I'm talkin' like the 64 pack or even the 96/120 pack with the sharpener in the back!...yea, um, nonexistent in Germany. German kids get the primary and secondary colors. Forget tertiary. Poor Kinder don't even know 'bout that...

384.   Germans transfer money from personal bank account to personal bank account a lot more often. It's terribly convenient. 

385.   Germans, or maybe Europeans in general, put a lot more layers of clothes of their babies. They will put a onesie on under the sleeper and then put booties/socks on on top of the *already footed* sleeper. In the US, just the sleeper and "Gute Nacht, baby!"

386.   Doesn't stop after the infant stage either. I once got a picture from a friend that said "It's finally spring!" and her daughter was wearing a hat, a scarf, a jacket, a sweater, (I assume a onesie under that), a skirt, thick tights, socks on top, then boots. Couldn't help but think, "Yep, spring has sprung...and so has her core temperature."

387.   The US is the only country that requires its citizens to file taxes irregardless of where they live/work in the world. A-nnoying.

388.   I was denied a bank account in Switzerland for the mere fact that I have a US Passport.

389.   I was also denied benefits at work because Switzerland is not in contract with the US to do so with people living outside the Swiss borders.

Enough

July 12

Finally, he's gone. I usually hate when your daddy leaves but I'm happy today is Tuesday. He'll be gone at wrestling practice for hours. As for you, you're gone too, off dreaming sweet toddler dreams. I imagine you dreaming of your favorites right now - pretzels, watermelon, whales, and maybe Bob the Train. I just laid you down for the night. You didn't fight me at all. You probably know how kaput I am. ("kaputt" in German - exhausted, defeated, broken). I haven't been there lately for you. For about a week I've been mentally absent. You're a smart boy. I know you've noticed. 

We tried again, your daddy and I, to give you a sibling but it didn't work. This makes attempt number three. I'm sorry, son.

I'm happy I'm alone tonight. As soon as your daddy's motorcycle pulled away, the tears came. I'm really hurting this cycle and I can't seem to shake this funk. I crept into your room. I'm sorry if the rattle of the baby gate disturbed your sleep. I needed to lay eyes on you. You mean so much to me. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have gotten out of bed these last few days. You looked so peaceful. I pray you're happy with your life...all 1.5 years of it.

The next thing I knew, I raised up on my tippy-toes and lifted my one leg to straddle your crib side. I gingerly lowered myself next to you. I guess laying eyes on you wasn't enough. I needed to be next to you.

I wasn't sure the crib would hold me too but then I remembered "It's made in Germany. You know those Germans make good stuff!" (-ShamWow Guy, 2009). There was the perfect amount of space for me next to you. Did you do that on purpose, son? Did you leave me a little room because you knew I would be in here later? Our cuddles are getting a bit sparse these days so it's nice to have some time alone again with you. 

The tears started streaming again. I cried really hard. A deep, silent cry. My forehead touching yours. My eyes were clenched so tightly I thought my eyelids could turn inside out. I tried not to make a sound. My silent weeps spliced into multiple exhalations. The drool came. It's been a while since I wept this hard. I used to cry like this alone in the shower or on the bathroom floor. My drool and snot would string to the cold tile, but tonight, your blanket catches them. One of my sniffles startles you in your sleep and you kick me in my tummy. It reminded me of your little kicks and jabs from the inside. We used to always be this close, you and I. Do you remember? I loved you even back then.

I want you to know you're enough for me. If you're all I get in this life time, you are enough. You always were enough. What makes me sad is I'm not enough for you. Daddy and I will not always be enough for you. You love me now but one day you'll find me annoying. One day, in the not-so-far-away future, you may consider us embarrassing....impossible even! I want you to have siblings. I want you to have someone who knows exactly what you mean when you complain about your parents.

Your daddy has 3 siblings and mommy has 3 siblings - all of us very different from each other. We both agree it was a lot of fun growing up in a family with four kids. I want to provide you with a similar experience.

I want your children to have cousins. Maybe they still will, from your partner's side. But a high chance at cousins. Cousins are right behind siblings when it comes to the coolest people on the earth. I want you to know this, experience that, feel it first hand.

I don't want the burden to be only on you when I'm old. When my heart stops beating I want someone to be there to comfort you because they're in the same boat as you. I pray you have a supportive partner to help you through that time but a sibling would truly understand how you're feeling.

With this attempt I was so sure it would work. I even took this picture of you with your siblings on the way home from the clinic.

(See you in heaven babies number 11 and 12)

I sent the picture to your Oma labeling it the first sibling picture together.

It didn't work. I'm so sorry, son.

...

In the days following the transfer, Eddie and I went for a ride on his motorcycle. It was so relaxing on his bike that day. I remember the sun and the wind. My grandma always tells me that when I want something to happen, not only to pray about it (on my knees), but to say it out loud. So I did. On the back of the motorcycle, hugging Eddie tight, traveling at comfortable speeds and high speeds, I said the words out loud.

"I'm pregnant."

I whispered it at first.

"I'm pregnant."

Then a bit louder. Inside my helmet, it felt like I was shouting it, but I realized I was saying to only to myself and God.

Next, I opened the face shield and said it aloud into the open air whizzing by me.

"I'm pregnant."

Eddie turned around and asked if I said something. I smiled and denied it.

I waited for Eddie to give it some gas and during a loud engine rev, I yelled out, to myself and to God, but to anyone listening at all.

"I'M PREGNAAAAANT!"

About a week later, it was confirmed that I was positively NOT pregnant.

America vs. Germany

370.   German mailboxes don't have little red flags attached to them.

371.   In Switzerland they still have milk deliveries. Under the mailbox there is a box that is open for the milk, eggs, cheese, and/or yogurt deliveries.

372.   The Germans have a saying that if someone doesn't eat everything on their plate, it means there will be bad weather the next day.

373.   On New Year's Eve it is tradition to watch "Dinner for One" on T.V. It is an English play from the 1960s that eveyone thought I was crazy for never watching/hearing of before.

374.  Only 46 percent of Germans own their homes.

375.  "Schmuck" in German means "jewelry." "Schmuck" in English has a very different meaning of "a person who is foolish or obnoxious." Very different. 

376.   Apparently, in German schools they call such words "False Friends." Two words that you think translate easily or directly but don't.

377.   The average German carries 112€ in their wallet. Average American? Hm...0$? We use our credit/debit cards way more in the US.

378.   This one I am pretty sure about but my research abilities are a bit limited. German men sit to pee. In public place, no. But at home and visiting other people's home, they typically sit down. German guy friends, am I right? Back me up here. As a girl with two brothers, I will tell you that that is NOT the case back home. I will teach my son to sit and pee at home too. I've lived here for 5 years and have never sat in pee nor cleaned it from the side of the toilet. Imagine that!

379.   With the warm weather, this one needs repeated. Germans do not drink warm beer.

The Woman in the Mirror

May, 2016 - Attempt 2

"Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't you dare cry. You knew this was going to happen. You knew it didn't work. You took four pregnancy tests, Rachel. Four! Two of them in secrecy and two with Eddie and all of them were negative, remember? You knew your period was going to come eventually, so suck it up." I can hear the woman in the mirror reprimanding me as I wash my hands in the sink.

Do I feel like staying in the bathroom for a while and crying? Yes. Can I? No. Because in barges my toddler. He's getting fussy and probably wants a snack or to go outside. I can't completely lose it, not yet at least. I'll have to wait for his afternoon nap to do that.

Rewinding a bit -

I left off my last blog letting everyone know we were trying again and our attempt in March was unsuccessful. I also mentioned we had used up the rest of our frozen embryos meaning our next attempt, this one, would have to be a "fresh cycle." That means more hormones, more sub cutaneous shots in the abdomen, more blood work, more ultrasounds, more pain.

(Before anesthesia, I look like crap. Reappearance of the stork in the background,)

With the hormone stimulation I produced 15 eggs. ::cluck cluck:: From the 15 eggs they retrieved, 10 of them fertilized. From the 10 embryos, they froze 5 immediately and monitored the other 5 for 3-5 days. From those 5, 1 didn't make it during the observation period. 2 made it to an early blastocyst stage (5 days old) and were then frozen. The other 2 still left were put back in me 3 days after the egg retrieval. We spoke with the doctors and had requested that they be watched for 5 days their reason for putting them back in after only 3 days of observation was that those two were doing so well that in 2 more days (5 days total) they would have selected those exact two anyway to put back in. The thought is that the uterus may be a better place for them to grow than in the lab. Maybe they wouldn't have made it in the lab but back in me they would have.

(Before embryo transfer)

Fast forwarding a bit -

After a night shift one morning, I went to the pharmacy to buy a pregnancy test. I made sure to buy the most sensitive one as I can never wait the full two weeks before my beta blood test. I need to take one as soon as possible, I don't care what the doctors (or Eddie) say. As the woman behind the counter goes to fetch the test (yes, you have to ask the pharmacist for a pregnancy test in Germany) I yelled after her "ZWEI BITTE!" ("TWO PLEASE!" for you non-German speaking folk...Volk.) She smiled kindly and maybe figured I was an excited new mom. In my head, however, I'm thinking, "it's probably going to be negative, so I better buy another one to test again in a few days." I need to keep my sanity somehow. If I were in America, I probably would have swept the whole shelf of pregnancy tests in my shopping cart. But alas, here I stand, alone, in Germany, buying two pregnancy tests, with a thick accent.

When I got home, it was hard for me not to take the test right then and there. However, they say the results are more accurate when the urine is the most concentrated. That means in the morning for normal people, but for nurses, after you sleep. So I force myself to finally go to sleep after working my night shift and when I awoke, I took the test then.

With our last attempt I didn't even get the chance to pee on a stick. I almost forgot how much it hurts to see one line. Almost. I almost forgot what a slow ache in my stomach it causes. Almost forgot how a negative pregnancy test renders me breathless for a few seconds. My face flushes - in disappointment, in anger, in shame. My heart pounds and I can feel the blood pulsate in my temples. I can hear it swish in my ears. The last pregnancy test I held in my hands was positive. (I still have it...um...is that gross?) I couldn't share my grief with anyone because I wanted to surprise Eddie for (German) Father's Day. How dumb. I even googled "unique ways to surprise expecting dads on Father's day." I took screen shots of the ideas I liked too. How dumb. How dumb, how dumb, how utterly dumb.

I took the second test one or two days later. Again, negative. Again, I sat there alone. I'm pretty sure I deleted the screen shots pf Father's Day ideas as I sat on the bathtub ledge. My reflection mocking me again "You're a fool for thinking it would work on the second try, Rach. A damn fool." I threw the test in the trash but not before secretly stashing it and its box under some other trash and used tissues. Oh crap, the bag and receipt from the pharmacy too! I almost forgot those! I shoved those in there too and put some more toilet paper on top for good measure.

After that, I remember I went to grab something to eat from the kitchen. Want to hear something messed up though? I was still chewing when I got the bright idea to go check the test again. ("But Rachel, it tells you in the directions not to read the test after 10 minutes" Yea, thanks, I know, now hush!) I went back into the bathroom, tossed the used tissues to the side,  and dug out the test. Why? Because, apparently, I love torture, and I needed to read it again. "Maaaaaybe, I didn't give the test enough time. Or maybe I missed the faintest of lines?" Guys, I actually took out my cell phone and turned on the flashlight to get a better look. I tried convincing myself that there is a possibility that the lighting in the bathroom is just too poor and I may have missed it. Are you understanding the desperation? 

Yea, what do ya know, still negative. I strategically placed the test back in the trash for the second time. As I passed by the mirror to turn off the light. I swear I could hear my reflection whisper and shake her head, "Idiot..."

A couple more days pass and Eddie excitedly gets the idea to take a pregnancy test. "Yoohoo..." I think, but I have to play along. I just didn't have the heart to tell him I already knew it didn't work. I humor us all - me, Eddie, God and my judging reflection - the woman in the mirror. Again, negative. Only this time, not alone. It was sweet to watch my husband try to hide his disappointment while trying to simultaneously convince me and himself that it was just too early to take the test.

Fast forward another day or so, pregnancy test numero cuatro, again, negative.

What do you do when you feel so good about another attempt but the rug gets pulled out from under you again? I thought for sure it would work because they chose the best embryos that developed so nicely they didn't even need the full 5 days to grow.

What do you do?

I'll tell ya. You do nothing. You do absolutely. fucking. nothing. 1. Because there's nothing to be done and 2. because you don't have the energy to do anything.

(See ya in heaven babies number 9 and number 10.)

Germany vs. America

360.   Random and morbid fact - a crap ton of people jump in front of trains in Germany. It doesn't get reported in the newspapers but you hear it from witnesses, first responders and/or clean up crew. The news doesn't report it because they don't want others to get the same idea, I think I heard before. My personal explanation is because not many people own guns here. Moreover, in America, we don't travel by train very often.

361.   There is a tower in the area that I live that seems to be the people's choice to jump from to commit suicide. It's not even that high. They've tried to build higher fences at the top to prevent it.

362.   Bread and salt is a traditional housewarming gift in Germany.

363.   Germans love scarves. Maybe it's all Europeans. As soon as the temp goes below 70...scarves! Scarves, scarves everywhere!

364.   I live in a small village and when I go for a walk I greet the people I see. Apparently, this is not true outside of small villages. I was walking with some friends and we were pushing our strollers and when someone walked past us I would say "hello" until my friend asked me "Rachel, do you know them?" "Uh, no." "Then why are you saying 'hi?'" Oh, ok, whoops.

365.   There are no local news stations on T.V. here. Eddie said there are in bigger cities. If you want to get the scoop on the goings-on in your area, you read the newspaper. #aintnobodygottimeforthat

366.   Similarly, no annoying local car dealership ads.

367.   Lebkuchenherzen are gingerbread hearts that are typically seen at Oktoberfest and other German festivals/carnivals. I think people wear them around their necks too. They usually have cute German sayings on them.

This one says "Please arrive punctual to all appointments."

368.   Flammkuchen/Flammwaie are popular in the area where I live (southern Germany). They kinda look like really thin pizzas. I like a basic one with a creamy cheese, onions and thin strips of bacon. The name's literal translation is "flame cake." They're typically baked in wood-fired ovens.

369.   When you buy ice cream in Germany, they will put your ice cream cone in one of these while you pay and they handle your money. In America, they hand them to you one by one as they are made.

Secrets

How wonderful it must be to turn to your partner and ask "Want to have a baby?" or say "I think I'm ready for another baby! Are you?" And it happens. How splendid. How perfect! Or, gosh, to think, what if it wasn't even planned?! Like BAM! it just happened and everyone is thrilled! Yay, hooray! How exciting! How...romantic, even. There is nothing romantic about this journey. It's a bunch of hoping and failing...and shame and pain and frustration and secrets. 

When we decide to have a baby, there are dozens of people involved in the process. There is no late night intimacy or daytime spontaneity. (Well, I mean, there still is ::wink:: it just has nothing to do with baby-making.) It's not just charting out my ovulation and doing it. I first need to coordinate my personal wants with insurance companies, banks, secretaries, nurses, doctors - andrologists, embryologists, gynecologists, anesthesiologists, phlebotomists, pharmacists, lab techs, doctors' assistants, and even transport drivers. (I'm probably even forgetting a few specialists.) Literally, dozens of people are involved in the making of a Frick Baby.

Many people have asked me if I think it will be different this time around. If I will hurt less because I already have one child. I don't know how to answer that. I talked about it a bit at the end of the post - I Didn't Expect That. The volume level of the pain/stress of infertility was turned down while I was pregnant and for about the first 6 months after Eddie's birth. Eventually, I started hearing the negative thoughts begin to whisper in my ear again.
"You'll never be pregnant again."
"Enjoy the one you have."
"You'll never give him a sibling."
"You can't afford any more attempts."
"You can't handle any more attempts."
Today, those voices are loud and clear.

I want another baby. I want another baby badly and sometimes I feel selfish or greedy for it. Maybe even you're thinking it too. "Rachel, quit complaining. You got one. Be happy." Or maybe when I finally got pregnant last time you thought "Ugh, finally, maybe now she will stop her belly achin'!" (Heh, did you catch that small pun, belly achin' = pregnancy.) 

Sorry to disappoint, friends. Here we are again.

Many of you have offered your support. You've given me kind words of encouragement. Some of you have said you're happy I'm writing again. The thing is is I'm always writing, I'm just not posting. I have many drafts typed up. I write when I feel something strong. I don't post it because I think, "What's another infertility blog? There's literally thousands out there. Better ones. Why follow mine?"

I'm aware that not everyone that asks about us or that reads this cares. I get bombarded at work a lot. People point blank ask me in front of a group of people if we're trying again. I can't help but wonder if they ask other coworkers if they are planning on going home and having sexual intercourse with their sig others to try to make a baby too. It's hard to keep our attempts secret from people at work as I am usually written off sick.

Some of you may only be curious. It's strange to think that my suffering could be seen as a form of entertainment to some. While surfing Facebook one evening, "Hm, I'm bored. Nothing good here. Oh wait, look at that. Rachel posted another blog. Nice. That chick has got some major issues. Let's see what she's crying about today."

Then I think, I don't know, maybe you read this because you know me. Maybe you know others that have opened up about their struggles. When you hear about infertility or IVF/ICSI you can put a face to it now. 

(One face of infertility, mine. Waiting on a lounge chair that may or may not be specifically built to elevate the legs...to keep the embryos/sperm in with gravity? In my hands is an important red form (that I talk about a bit later) and also my "Customer Loyalty Card" (not really what it's called) for our fertility clinic. I don't even know what kind of information is on that. I assume details of our previous attempts. I'll ask next time.)

Or maybe if we go back a few chapters earlier, this whole mess started because of cancer. Chemotherapy killed Eddie's cancer, but also his sperm. Maybe you'll think twice about lighting up that next cig or not lathering up with some SPF 30 or higher sunscreen. Even the most treatable cancers can have lifelong effects.

Ok, let's rewind a bit.

So obviously, we're trying again. In my last post I mentioned "my one year old" and "my 13-month-old." And the very observant may even have noticed I was wearing boots and a scarf in the last pictures. Currently, I go to my appointments in a sundress with my almost 1.5 yr old. (It's easier to lift a dress/skirt than it is to drop trou...it's all about practicality these days.) So, not only are we back at it, we've been at it for a while.

I didn't tell anyone this time. Not even close friends and family. Don't take it personally that I didn't tell you or that I didn't write about it. My own mother didn't even know. I can still hear her complaining "Rachel! You need to tell me these things! I need to know when you're being put to sleep!" I dreamt of breaking the news to my family in America in person. We were planning a trip to the States in late May and I thought "How cool would it be to be picked up from the airport sporting a small baby bump?! To unveil it in my bikini on our family vacation?" I would love to see the look on my mom's, grandma's, aunt's, cousins', friends' faces in real life. My American friends and family never got the chance to see my big belly or feel the kicks.

Get this: I even kept it a secret from Eddie. Yea, you read that correctly. I wanted to completely catch him off guard. Like a normal person, maybe. After we do a treatment, he starts expecting something after about a week or so. Either a scream of excitement or despair from the bathroom. (It's usually the latter.) This time, I wanted to go at it solo. Hit him with the news that I'm pregnant completely out of nowhere.

Well, it didn't work.
The secret didn't work.
And the pregnancy attempt didn't work.

I was able to go to a few appointments and blood draws without him getting too suspicious of my absence. I coordinated things after my night shifts and told him I had to work a bit later. I told him I was meeting friends for lunch but drove an hour north to our fertility clinic. However, when it came down to the point where we both needed to sign the red form, I just couldn't bring myself to forge his signature. No matter how good my intentions were, I had to come clean. 

This attempt used up the last two of our frozen embryos. I was pretty sure they were two girls and I kept referring to them as such until it was obvious it hadn't worked. They were the last ones leftover from Eddie's batch.

(These girls waited over a year in a freezer for me, but just didn't make it.)

My grandma is convinced that I will meet all these babies one day. That I will be able to care for them in heaven. I don't know how to feel about that. They never attached to me but they were parts of us. They existed. Very briefly, but I have pictures of each one of our embryos to prove it. Sometimes, I dream of their little faces. Would they have looked like my son? Would they have looked like me? To picture Eddie and I chasing around a dozen (ok, not quite, but those two make #7 and #8) kids in heaven makes me smile...and perspire at the same time.

Germany vs. America

350.   If someone invites you out to a restaurant in Germany, that means that they are paying for your meal. "Ich lade dich ein." Literal translation - "I'm inviting you." Germans in America shouldn't make that assumption.

351.   People still iron in Germany. They wash, dry and immediately iron the clothes. I often see clothes hung out to dry here but in the States, not so much anymore. Sorry, Ed, but your fancier shirts get hung and gravity can work out the wrinkles until you're ready to wear them again. Also, I am not wasting my time ironing a basic T-Shirt. Call the Gestapo, I'm just not doing it. If something is still wrinkled when you go to wear it, by all means, iron it yourself. I refuse.

352.   Similarly, dryers are very intense here. When my clothes are in the middle of drying, I can't even touch them. Not just the metal buttons or zippers, but the fabric itself, that's how hot they get. I feel like my dryers in the US were never like that. Maybe that's why they hang dry them?

353.   Furthermore, it's commonplace to iron baby clothes. Apparently, it kills the germs. My mother-in-law was pretty surprised to learn my stance on ironing as she used to wash, boil, hang dry and iron her babies' cloth diapers. (Yes, hang dry them in the winter of Kazakhstan.)

354.   Speaking of winter, the cold is a HUGE issue over here. I mentioned socks in another "fact" of mine and not wearing a hat means you will get an ear infect but check this...not wearing socks will cause a bladder infection.

355.   Sitting on a cold surface...you guessed it...bladder infection! It's VERY frustrating to have studied the human body for years and to hear this "fact" come up ALL.THE.TIME! All the time. However, just as they could never convince me that sitting on cold concrete causes a bladder infection, I could never convince them otherwise. My coworkers believe this. Nurses! Doctors, people! European doctors pass this along. This is not a joke!

356.   Air conditioning causes illnesses here. ::eye roll:: Stop. STOP! 
Them - "It's true, Rachel. Whenever I go on vacation, I always get sick."
Me - "Yea? Because of the AC? Not because of the germs in the airports or the hundreds of people sharing recirculated air inside of a capsule for hours? Ok." ::thumbs up::

357.   God forbid a child drink a refrigerated drink or a drink with ice in it! (I don't even know what they think will happen if a child drinks a cold drink. I don't even think they know themselves what would happen if a child drinks a cold drink.) Spoiler alert: nothing. Been drinking cold drinks for 30+ years. Literally, everyone I know drank cold drinks as a child. All of them, still kickin' it. It literally has a 100% survival rate. 
Never once:
Teacher - "Class, little Timmy won't be joining us in school for a while."
Students - "Why? What happened?"
Teacher - "He drank refigerated juice!"
Students - ::gasp:: "The horror! The negligence!"

358.   Drafts are the worst thing imaginable for children. Every single time I am at any type of gathering with babies or children the mothers and grandmothers are always yelling at people to close the windows and the doors. "Es zieht! Mach die Türe zu! ES ZIEHT!" (Literal translation - "It's pulling. Close the doors. IT'S PULLING!") "There's a draft! Close the doors! THERE'S A DRAFT!") 

359.   I don't see many people wearing shorts here. If you prematurely wear a dress/shorts you will most likely get a comment from a German somewhere along the lines of "Du wünscht dir aber Sommer!" (Literal translation - "You're rather wishing for summer!") A.K.A. I find it slightly inappropriate that you're wearing such little clothing already.