Happy-Ish

I want to start off by recognizing the fact that I royally SUCKED at blogging Sam's life over the last 2.5 years.  I need to apologize to her for not being better at that.  I have an entire folder on my computer full of her monthly achievements from her first year of life.  Those details will probably never make it into a baby book (I do actually have a baby book - it's empty).  I hope she knows I love her even though I didn't log every minute of her life.  Hopefully the pictures speak for themselves.  Yes, we will go with that.

Next I would like to point out that sometimes life is one big ironic asshole.  Does anyone agree with me?  Listen, by no means am I about to compare what Jake and I went through to get pregnant this time to true infertility issues, but I would like to make the disclaimer that what we went through still sucked.  Big time.  Sam was as close to an accident as an accident can be without actually being an accident.  Does that make sense?  We were playing Russian Roulette.  Never in a million years did I think I'd get pregnant my first month of not trying to not get pregnant.  Maybe that's why I spent the entire first month of my pregnancy crying over how I was ill-prepared to be a mom (to be clear - I still am ill-prepared), and in general shock that there was a real life human growing inside of me.


All that being said, I thought for sure that when I actually tried to get pregnant, that it would happen immediately.  Wasn't I surprised to find out that many couples take 6-8 months to get pregnant?  Or to find out that 60% of infertility cases happen in couples that already have a child?  Or that you have something ridiculous like a 10% chance of getting pregnant each cycle (I would like someone to explain to me how this is possible, by the way)?  None of this information was super encouraging to me.  Damn you, internet.  The simple thought in your head of not ever having another baby when you want one so badly is enough to make you lose your mind.

So here we are, after 8 long months of scheduled "let's get pregnant" sex, a blood test, a *ahem* specimen test, about 30 negative pregnancy tests, and a scheduled (albeit thankfully cancelled) diagnostic laparoscopy, and I finally have a tiny little fetus in my uterus. At this point you might be wondering why is life one big giant ironic asshole.  Unfortunately for us, 10 days after we got the long awaited positive pregnancy test and the joy that comes along with welcoming a new baby to the family, we got the news that we'd probably be losing our sweet Callie girl within a year.

About a month ago, Callie had a lump removed from her chest.  We had it biopsied, and for several weeks we never heard anything from the vet.  Jake and I both assumed that no news was good news and just went about our merry way, quietly celebrating the new pregnancy.  On Tuesday, August 4th, we got a call from our vet.  Callie has cancer.  The biopsy came back indicating that the lump was actually an aggressive form of a mast cell tumor.  While I'm not completely confident in the understanding of the specifics of this type of cancer, what I do know is that her time is probably limited.

Hormones have not been my friend over the last two weeks while dealing with this devastating news.  Yes, I know she is just a dog, but Jake and I barely know a married life without her.  She was my first baby, my first little love that I was responsible for keeping alive, and the thought of life without her makes me indescribably sad.  I can't even bear the thought of having to tell Sam that Callie has gone to doggy heaven.  She was confused enough by my constant crying the first 48 hours after we talked to the vet.  "Mommy, why are you crying?  Mommy, does Callie feel better now?  Mommy, do we need to take Callie back to the doctor?  Mommy, are you still crying?  Mommy, if I give you a hug will you feel better?"

While I don't know what the future holds for her, and while I have a small glimmer of hope that the money we are hemorrhaging toward her chemotherapy treatments will miraculously cure her, even though the vet said it's unlikely, I hope to enjoy the time she has left as much as we can.  I pray daily for this little peanut in my belly, and I also pray for peace for my sweet Callie bear.  I'm preparing my heart for the joy in welcoming, and the sorrow in loss, and fiercely hoping that the two events do not collide.