So.
Today pretty much crapped out sometime in the afternoon. We spent a nice morning at the library, seeing everyone we know come and go and picking out fun books. Then it was back home to hide from the humidity until my doctor’s appointment this afternoon.
Today was THE DAY! The day that I go off the medication that is too dangerous to take while pregnant. We had (have?) finally decided that we’re ready and it feels right for another small Hattaway to come into the world. I’m well, I’m strong, I feel happy. It’s time!
And then I went and found out that the doctor doesn’t want me off the meeds. He says I need them to stay well. (Do you remember me sick?) And that if I want to be pregnant, I need to take the risk. So I call my OBGYN, who told me in no uncertain terms that this medication is a Class D med and that no one should be pregnant on this medication. Not me. Not anyone.
So either way, either decision, I’m going AMA.
And that’s the really, really short version of the story. I intend to follow up with both doctors, try to find a way. Figure out a way that I’m not risking a dozen or more scary things for this baby, or letting myself just become sick. Again. So sick that I can’t take care of the baby that I have.
And here comes the disclaimer that I know my problems are small compared to many, but then comes the claim that they are big. To me. And to my family. And that I’m just so sad that I can’t just get pregnant like so many others. I know I’m in a big group, women who want babies, who for whatever reason can’t have them easily, or at all. And I have a feeling I’ll get some semblance of what I want, someday. But I’m human, and a FEMALE human at that. Which means I’m going to cry about this and feel scared for awhile.
What do I choose? I’m hoping there’s a miraculous option C. Some way that both the baby and I can be safe and well. You know, that baby that I’m not allowed to conceive.
Big breath….
When I came home from the appointment I found Cy playing in his room with my Mom. I tried to tell her what happened, and of course just ended up crying. And Cy came up to me and said, “Mommy, you sad?” I said “Yes, I feel sad.” He said, “I get you a KISSYOU!” And ran out of the room. He came back with one square of toilet paper, a “kissyou,” or tissue…and watched as I wiped my eyes. He then snatched it back and ran into the bathroom, where I heard him flush it down the toilet.
Later when we were on the way to pick John up at work Cy asked, “Mommy, you still sad?” And then after John was in the car he told him, “Mommy was crying at Cy’s house.”
The poor kid. He is my sweetness. And as much as he fills my heart so full that I think just sitting next to his bed and smelling his hair and listening to his breath is all I ever need to be happy forever, I want another one. Because he’d be such, such a good brother.
Check it. I finally broke down and bought a pill organizer for the 20 pills I take daily. Nothing says chronic like M-F AM PM plastic containers. Awesome.