My first OB appointment was a major test of emotional strength...which I failed horribly. But the bottom line is that I'm not as far along as I thought, so that is apparently why my symptoms seemed to disappear last week. It's actually more likely they never fully had developed.
I'm happy to say that I'm good and nauseated now. Sick as ever. Puking my guts up and still wanting to heave again. I never thought I would be happy about that, but I am. As of today I am apparently only 6w4d. We saw an ultrasound of a bean and a pretty steady 119 heartrate on Friday. According to the size of the bean, I apparently ovulated on day 19 of my cycle and had a definitely positive test just 12 days later. That is so incredibly odd, but whatever. I didn't really know it was possible to get a positive reading so early. In fact, I was getting the really faint images of the "line" just 9 days after the alleged conception. My period was due and I thought I was further along than that, otherwise I would have never been testing so early. My cycles are still effed up, but I obviously ovulate (even if on wonky schedules) and I'm still as fertile as ever.
So, I had a breakdown in the exam room (after the first ultrasound with a crappy machine and before being ushered into the Ultrasound Room with the good machine and a tech) and I was just sobbing and telling my husband something to the effect of, "I can't lose this baby; I can't go through this again." It was almost like I was watching myself from a distance in that moment. I want to be positive and say it's all going to be okay. I want to at least give this thing a chance, in my head, to turn out well. I am going to try. I really am.
And my poor new OB. I have been the most low-key, low-maintenance OB patient EVER in the past--even through my missed miscarriage. But now this poor new guy is going to have to endure me in my "new normal" state. But he said all the right things, and took us in his office after the exam, and patiently went over the game plan of how we will attempt to avoid a dead baby this time around. All I can say is, GO TEAM!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
Trusting Myself
I'm fighting the paranoia. I'm approaching 7 weeks pregnant (maybe) and yesterday I had a definite "it's dead" day. I don't see the doctor until Friday, so I have no choice but to wait it out until we can see if there is a living baby in there. And, of course, I'm not so naive to think that seeing a heartbeat this early will equal a living baby in 30-something weeks.
I had a 10-week missed miscarriage before I got pregnant with Addison. From the beginning of that pregnancy I felt that something was wrong. I said out loud, on multiple occasions, "either this is the best pregnancy ever, or I'm going to lose this baby." I had seen and heard the heartbeat at 6 weeks; who knew it was going to disappear over the next month. Well, I kinda did.
And then with Addison, I had a feeling like everything would be okay. As sure as I was that the one before was going to fail, I knew that pregnancy would last. And I was right--for the most part. I mean, she died, of course, but not until much much later.
And now here I am. And I don't know what to think. Because I can't trust myself. I can't trust my intuition. I can't trust my body. I can't trust the natural process of a baby growing and thriving and being born. Part of me says, this is a boy. I can feel it. The other part of me says, this baby will never even live long enough to become a baby. (It would help if I would just puke already!!) And so I wait.
Poor Chris is more paranoid than I am because I'm giving all sorts of crazy signals because I'm so confused. I think he's already emotionally preparing for going in on Friday, finding no heartbeat, and scheduling the D&C. It's not like we haven't been down that road before.
I'm glad I have a very busy job because the days go by quickly and my mind is occupied the whole day. It keeps me from grabbing my boobs constantly to assess tenderness levels, or attempting to determine whether I have any smell aversions developing.
Anyway, blah blah blah. I bore myself to tears. I hate worrying, even though it was in my nature even before losing Addison. And now that trait is set in stone.
I had a 10-week missed miscarriage before I got pregnant with Addison. From the beginning of that pregnancy I felt that something was wrong. I said out loud, on multiple occasions, "either this is the best pregnancy ever, or I'm going to lose this baby." I had seen and heard the heartbeat at 6 weeks; who knew it was going to disappear over the next month. Well, I kinda did.
And then with Addison, I had a feeling like everything would be okay. As sure as I was that the one before was going to fail, I knew that pregnancy would last. And I was right--for the most part. I mean, she died, of course, but not until much much later.
And now here I am. And I don't know what to think. Because I can't trust myself. I can't trust my intuition. I can't trust my body. I can't trust the natural process of a baby growing and thriving and being born. Part of me says, this is a boy. I can feel it. The other part of me says, this baby will never even live long enough to become a baby. (It would help if I would just puke already!!) And so I wait.
Poor Chris is more paranoid than I am because I'm giving all sorts of crazy signals because I'm so confused. I think he's already emotionally preparing for going in on Friday, finding no heartbeat, and scheduling the D&C. It's not like we haven't been down that road before.
I'm glad I have a very busy job because the days go by quickly and my mind is occupied the whole day. It keeps me from grabbing my boobs constantly to assess tenderness levels, or attempting to determine whether I have any smell aversions developing.
Anyway, blah blah blah. I bore myself to tears. I hate worrying, even though it was in my nature even before losing Addison. And now that trait is set in stone.
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