You know, you'd think that loosing a baby would be enough. Baby's dead, its over, your done. But nope, not this time. Friday afternoon I got a call from the doc that my hCG levels are rising, which means that I'm technically still pregnant and that remnants of the pregnancy are still growing in my tube. Friday evening I was in the ER receiving two shots of Methotrexate (a chemotherapy drug) to stop and shrink the growth of the cells. Monday I get more blood work done and another trip to the hospital so that doctor can evaluate me again, and then again on Thursday. If the Methotrexate didn't work they'll do another round (which works 95% of the time). And if that doesn't work, they start doubling the doses. Or they'll have to take out my tube (which they'll have to do anyhow if the tube ruptures in the mean time). Its all so surreal. I can barely get a grip on the seriousness of my situation, and oddly enough I'm afraid of really trivial things (in the grand scheme of it all). Like the side effects of the Methotrexate. I already blacked out today standing on the stairs talking to my husband. Thankfully he was standing there and caught me, but it was so unexpected. That's a side effect I could live with out. Plus then there's the puking. I'm so freaked out by puking with an already sore and tender abdomen the thought of puking makes me sweat and shake. And not that I'll have these side effects for sure, but I'm consumed with fear over them. Maybe its because its the only bit of reality that I can get a grip on at the moment. Tomorrow and the rest of the week are supposed to be the hard days when the medicine really kicks into overdrive. I'm nervous to be alone with my toddler. What if something happens? What if my tube ruptures and I pass out before I call 911, and then I bleed to death right in front of her? That would so screw my kid up for life. But I'm trying not to walk around feeling like I'm dying, because I'm not. Its a remote chance. It just feels like lately, those are the chances that seem to always find their way to my door, and that freaks me out just a little. Even my doc commented on how I'm not doing anything the right way. I've been an exception to almost every rule, and that's frustrating.
Yesterday David asked me where I wanted to be buried (here or back home), just in case. That was a surreal conversation and one we quickly ended. My poor husband. He has got to be freaking out on the inside. I know I would be. He's trying to be all cool and strong for me, but it got to be messing with his head.
And how sad is it to say that I still want another baby? I do. We can't even begin to think about it until November, and David says will talk about it then. I know he's done. Who could blame him. He felt like Logan was a warning, and losing Rudy reinforced that...but now, with all of the complications and what not with this ectopic mess, I can't see him ever agreeing to a baby again.
And what am I supposed to do with that?
Anyhow, I really feel like we are on the verge of tipping over the edge around here. We're supposed to be moving in about two weeks, and I'm useless right now. I can't really help do anything, and David is having to do most of the packing on his own. Its really frustrating and stressful. We've been offered a lot of help, mostly vague help..."if you need us, maybe we can come help sometime". Well, we need it. I've said so. We'll see how much help we actually get. Lord knows we need a lot of it.