Category Archives: molar pregnancy

March 5, 2013 · 10:25 am

Six Years Ago I Was Dead

The other day, Dylan said to me, “Six years ago I was dead.”  We were at the gas station.  I was pumping gas, and Dylan and Riley were hanging out the window.

I replied, “No, you weren’t dead.  You just weren’t born yet.”

Then he said, “I was dead when I was in your belly.”

I replied, “No, you weren’t.  You were growing inside of me.”

Then he said, “Look, I’m dead,” and his body went limp.

Then Riley said, “Look, I’m dead, too,” and he went limp next to his brother.

“Neither of you are dead,” I said.

Then Dylan said, “Two years ago I was dead and now I’m back.”

After that zinger, I changed the subject.

The ease with which my kids talk about, think about, and imitate death astounds me.  Equally surprising is the ease with which I talk about it with them.  Dylan has, on many occasions, asked me about death (thankfully he’s only had to mourn a fish so far), and I’ve had some pretty darn good answers (if I do say so myself).  The problem is that underneath my super cool, no big deal this-is-what-happens-when-you-die exterior, I’m a hot, flaming mess.

You see, death is one thing.  Dying is another.  I don’t even like it when my boys go to birthday parties without me.  How am I supposed to die?  How am I supposed to be gone?  Forever?  Holy crap.

I don’t know what happens after we die.  (Maybe Dylan was dead before he was born.)  Even more unsettling is that, if I’m being totally honest, the theory I consider to be the most likely is that nothing happens, which doesn’t leave me much to hang a hat on.

So, how exactly does one prepare for the end?  For nothingness?  And as long as I’m on the subject, what’s my purpose and why am I here?

Wait.  I’m sorry.  Do you think I have answers to these questions?  Ha!  If I contemplate for just a few seconds the notion that the earth is a speck of dust in an infinite universe, my chest tightens and I can’t catch my breath.

I don’t like being out of control, which is why general anesthesia is so hard for me and why life’s lemons propel me to clean out closets and organize cabinets (or at least go shopping for these projects at the Container Store).  Every aspect of death – from how to when to where to why – is a crapshoot, so I can’t embrace it any more than I can Dylan going to sleepaway camp or – gulp – driving a car.

I’ve lost my fair share of loved ones.  Their lives and deaths have not only given purpose to mine, but also amplified theirs.  I cherish the memories I have of them, the perspective they impart, the lessons they pass on, and the endless wisdom they share, even in death.   Whether I know it or not, my children and loved ones will have the same experience after I’m gone, which is a beautiful proposition, but it’s the “whether or not I know it” part with which I struggle.

I don’t believe in anything enough to surrender to it.  After 9/11, I desperately wanted to believe in something to make sense of why I was alive and others were dead, and I felt something eerily similar after my molar pregnancy.  In the end, though, these tragedies didn’t give me faith; rather they made me keenly aware of what I don’t believe.  I don’t believe in fate, I don’t believe in a plan, and I don’t believe things happen for a reason, all of which make dying a tricky proposition.

I certainly hope that by the time I’m an old lady – assuming I have the great fortune of growing old – I’ll have adopted a belief in something other than nothing or become exhausted enough with life to accept what does or doesn’t happen next.  In the meantime, I’ll obsess over the wrinkles developing in my cleavage (true story) and how my hands are starting to look like my mom’s (sorry mom), and I’ll live my life how I want my children to live theirs and how I want their children to live theirs and how I want their children’s children to live theirs.   Chest tightening.  Can’t catch breath.  And when overwhelming thoughts of death, nothingness, infinity, and my children’s children’s children take hold, I’ll do what I did after Dylan said, “Six years ago I was dead.”  I’ll change the subject.  Or, I’ll go to the Container Store.  (Ahh.)

watersunpark

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Filed under anxiety, conversations to remember, death, molar pregnancy, September 11th, shopping

December 12, 2012 · 2:36 pm

Five, Four, Three

Nothing gets my adrenaline flowing, heart pumping, and anxiety surging like a good old-fashioned health scare.  During the holidays.  A week before my tenth anniversary getaway.  When I’m frantically putting holiday cards in the mail, wrapping and shipping gifts, obsessively shopping for a bathing suit that makes me look five ten pounds thinner (haven’t found it yet!), and prepping the house for my parents’ 12 day visit, including the five days when Mike and I will be away.

A week ago, my doctor informed me that the ultrasound on my thyroid showed a solid mass on the right side.  She went on to say that it’s common, it’s small, don’t worry, these masses are almost never malignant…but all I heard was solid mass.  Solid.  Mass.

What happened next probably won’t surprise you.  I panicked.  The past week has been long and exhausting, but I have some answers and some peace of mind.  My anxiety level is still high, but some of that might be due to (1) packing (must pack light…must have options!) and (2) guilt (my boys will never survive five nights without me…they’ll never forgive me…I’m a rotten, selfish mother…you get the idea).

Here are some thoughts on my thyroid (and a few other things):

I overreact when it comes to my health.  I’m helpless to stop the Crazy train that leaves the station when something appears to be wrong, but I also know that waiting, putting off, and ignoring can be bad, too.  There must be a balance – a way to feel concerned but calm – but I haven’t found it.

I’m loved.  Within 24 hours of hearing the words “solid” and “mass,” I had a list of a dozen endocrinologists I could call.  My friends and family went above and beyond to help me.  (Grateful Mama!)

Speaking of endocrinologists, they are a tough bunch with which to get an appointment.  On my first round of calls, the soonest appointment I could get was January 17, 2013.  (That’s next year!)

It’s just as hard for me to ask for a favor as it is for me to take a compliment.  My friend’s father is an endocrinologist.  Calling her to see if his office could get me an appointment quickly (before my trip and, perhaps more importantly, before I imploded from anxiety) was really hard for me to do.  Really hard.  I hope if something like this ever happens again, I’ll know that I’m worthy of such a favor.  I also hope I’ll have the chance to someday pay it forward.

I have good doctors (and health insurance).  I’ll never forget sitting in the gynecological oncologist’s office seven years ago and being told that the cancer from a molar pregnancy was 100% curable as long as it was treated quickly.  If not, the cancer in the uterus could jump to the liver, lungs or brain.  (I sometimes forget how scary that experience was.)  I couldn’t help but think about how some women – without the quality of care I had – might have suffered a much worse outcome in the same situation.

At 10:30 this Monday morning, I sat across from a highly regarded endocrinologist and got the care and reassurance I needed about my thyroid.

Lots of people – especially women – have cysts and/or solid nodules on their thyroids.  Most of them are insignificant.  Thyroid cancer is possible, but it’s rare.  It’s also curable if caught early.  I have a small solid mass on my thyroid.  Maybe it’s been there for ten years.  Maybe it’s been there for ten days.  In three months, I’ll have a repeat ultrasound to check for changes in shape or size.  If it grows, they’ll consider a needle aspiration biopsy, but for now it’s too small to be of medical concern.

Speaking of which, I saw my hematologist this morning (another day, another doctor’s appointment).  Good news here, folks.  My platelets have stabilized so I can wait four months until they draw blood again and reminded me that my body chemistry is a little bit crazy…just like me.  We talked briefly about my thyroid situation and then about my recent colonoscopy.  I told him the one I had in October was clean.  “But there was a polyp the first time, right?” he asked.  “Yes,” I said.  “And colon cancer runs in your family?” he asked.  “Yes, on both sides,” I said.  “You really need to stay on top of that,” he said.  “I know,” I said.  “Once your body makes a polyp, you become a polyp-maker,” he said.

I am, indeed, a polyp-maker, and a nodule-maker, too.  In five years, I’ll have another colonoscopy.  In four months, I’ll head back to the hematologist.  In three months, I’ll have an ultrasound of my thyroid.  In five days, I’ll set sail on a cruise, and if I’m lucky fortunate, all I’ll worry about is how much I miss my boys.

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Filed under anxiety, Grateful Mama, guilt, health, molar pregnancy, packing