**WARNING: This post is full of the rants of a post-loss pregnant type (me). It's long and includes dialogue that is likely only interesting to me. Attempt to read at your own risk! :-)
Reader's Digest Version: I'm just about 29 weeks, c-section scheduled (after MUCH drama) for 3/9/11. I have an excess of amniotic fluid (28cm), but peri didn't see any digestive blockages in the baby, so we will just "watch it" like we do with everything else. I'm trying to stay sane during my last 8 weeks of pregnancy, and hoping all this time and effort results in a living, healthy little boy.
The Long Version: The good news is that I have a c-section date of March 9th (37 weeks according to them, 37+4 according to my LMP). It seems both just around the corner, and so far away at the same time. I had a traumatic appointment with my OB two days ago. I hadn't had a visit for 5 weeks, and I actually didn't see him the last time I was there. So, to be fair, he hadn't seen me in about 9 weeks. When the nurse took me to the room she said, "Oh, it's so nice to see you. I was thinking about you yesterday and how you were doing." My BP was good, my weight (ugh!) they did not hassle me about although I gained 10 (TEN!!!!) pounds in the past 5 weeks. Damn holidays! Threw on the doppler for a couple of seconds--read in at 130. "Looks great," she said. Dr. M came in and said, "okay, I guess it's time to schedule your c-section." Of course, I was completely excited to set a date. He said, "okay, so what about the 24th?" I must have given him a weird look, because he said, "The 24th of March. You're due March 30th." I was in such shock, my eyes welled up with tears and I said, "but I thought we had discussed 36 or 37 weeks." He said, "not unless you want an amnio." I said, "yes, yes, I thought that was the plan. Remember, my daughter died at 38.5 weeks?" By this time the tears had started squirting out of my eyes. He closed my chart and his calendar, and sheepishly said that he would call the perinatologist and work it out. I told him him, "I'm just caught completely off-guard by this. I really need for us to all be on the same page. I promise that I won't be pregnant at 38 weeks. I will take a knife to my abdomen and land myself in the E.R. by that point." He passed me a tissue and said, "we'll get this worked out." I left the office totally overwhelmed, confused, and frustrated, and completely fell to pieces. I was beyond stunned.
Flashback: When Chris and I met with this OB when I was like 6 weeks pregnant, based on Addison's birth and death, he offered up the care plan for this pregnancy. It looked something like this: More frequent monitoring, being followed closely by the perinatologist, Non-Stress Tests beginning at week 34, Amnio at 36-37 weeks and if all was well with that, delivery shortly thereafter. Now, 29 weeks into the pregnancy, this douchebag starts acting like I made the whole thing up. Trust me--I wish Addison had been a figment of my imagination. I wish I didn't live through that hell. I wish that I didn't question my every move now, and question the very ability of this baby within me to actually SEE the outside of my womb. So, I decided there were two possibilities: 1) He is changing the game plan completely; 2) He has no fucking idea who I am, and didn't even glance at my chart before entering the room to greet me. Wow. Neither option is very patient-friendly.
And after taking about an hour to compose myself (literally), I decided we would see what the perinatologist had to say. Luckily, I had an appointment with him 3 hours later, and Chris was planning to meet me there. Pretty immediately, the peri told me that he had spoken with Dr. M, and they set an amnio date for 36+9 and the c-section for the next day, assuming all looked well. I said, "he totally forgot who I was, didn't he?" He wobbled his head and, although it was evident he didn't want to throw his colleague under the bus, made it wordlessly clear that that was the case. There is more to the peri visit, but I feel a strong need to make a rant about my experiences with the so-called medical professionals I have dealt with over the past years.
My mom was a L&D nurse for about 30 years before deciding to go back to school to get her Masters degree. She is a Certified Nurse Midwife and works within an HMO wherein she does some time in the office for OB- and GYN-type issues (paps, 6 week delivery follow-ups, prenatal care, etc) and also does deliveries in a hospital setting (24 hour shifts). So she kinda knows about the business of babies--both the prenatal care, and actually delivery. She does get disgusted, at times, with how many of the OBs seem to just whip in and out of patient rooms, while the midwives give much more personalized care.
When I became pregnant with Calvin (late 2005) I was referred, by 2 co-workers, to a male OB within my insurance plan. They both loved him; I thought he was okay. At the end of the day, what the hell does an OB do anyway, unless you need a c-section? At 40+6 I cried my way into being admitted into the hospital, after being in prodromal labor for the past 2 days. Calvin wouldn't tolerate pitocin (decels with every "good" contraction), my cervix refused to dilate beyond 3cm, and I ended up with a c-section by an unknown doctor in my OB's practice. It was done under general anesthesia, by the way, because my epidural gave out on my left side, and they couldn't get a spinal in. Good times. Despite going home with a perfect baby, I had a level of mourning due to the type of delivery. I recently ran across some video of my husband, 2 of my sisters, and my mom in the nursey with Calvin during his first bath. That all happened while I was still unconscious in the recovery room. At the time, I thought the whole situation was terribly unfair, but I eventually came to terms with it.
And then I moved across the country to Georgia, and got pregnant in 2008. I was referred to a female OB by Chris' 2 cousins, who both delivered with her--one via c-section and one vaginally. She seemed very sweet, and had good bedside manner, and when the baby had no heartbeat around 10 weeks, she did the D&C. So when I got pregnant with Addison in early 2009, I decided to see her again. The care was fine (I was a very low-maintenance patient, as most of my questions were answered by my mom). All I wanted was a scheduled c-section, and to be awake for the delivery of my daughter. Jokingly, I always said (not directly to my doctor), "Can you cut a straight line? Great--I'm in!" My c-section was scheduled for 38+6. And then, a couple of weeks before the "big day," my OB noticed that I was scheduled for a day under 39 weeks. I was advised they had a new office policy wherein c-sections could not be scheduled earlier than 1 week before their due date without good cause. I was ONE DAY earlier than 39 weeks, but it didn't matter. She changed the c-section to 39+3. I cried (again), but there was nothing I could do. I ended up being a moot point because the night of 38+3 I ended up in the hospital due to decreased fetal movement. Addison was delivered the next morning via c-section, by an unknown doctor in my OB's practice, and taken to NICU. The rest is history.
When I got pregnant this time, I didn't know who to see. I didn't want to see my last female OB again, mostly because of insensitive things that were said by a few of the other OBs who did rounds in the hospital while I was still in-patient after having Addison. I felt like they were not in contact with the Neonatologist at all, and didn't really have a vested interest in what happened to Addison. They were purely concerned with making sure I felt they weren't at "fault" with what happened to her. I felt there was a lot of ass-covering going on, and it made me feel, in a roundabout way, that they would rather have me blame myself for what happened to Addision, than to even think about the POSSIBILITY that their practice was responsible for the outcome. I know there is no blame to be placed with my OB or her practice, but I couldn't tolerate how I was treated after the fact. I knew I couldn't go back there.
The nurse with the peri's office (I was followed closely with Addison because I was of "advanced maternal age"), who is sadly no longer there, referred me to the practice I am currently seeing. Dr. M had been given good reviews by his patients, he delivered at the sister hospital where I had Addison (I don't want to go to the same hospital this time), he was close, affiliated with the same peri practice, and within my insurance coverage. All that sounded good enough to me. And, again, what the hell does an OB do other than cut a straight line at c-section time? All they do is WATCH. I had a subchorionic hemorrhage. We watched. I now have an over-abundance of amniotic fluid. We will watch. The LEAST he could do is fucking glance at my chart before he walks in to see me. The patient. The one who pays his bills. I have lost faith in him, but I feel I have no choice but to continue on because I'm so close. I really hope he CAN cut a straight line.
After a horrific experience at the hospital last time, and then watching Addison die. After hearing everyone involved (and not involved) attempt to cover their ass so they don't get a lawsuit slapped on them. After reading so much about cold cap therapy and wondering, endlessly, if that would have saved her. After suffering through my own slips in referring to this baby as "she" instead of the "he" that he is. After the subchorionic hemorrhage, bleeding so much for so long, almost losing hope. After just wishing for and wanting for this baby. I'm just spent, emotionally. I want to hope, I want to feel peace that he is okay. I don't think I'll be able to feel that until he's here and I can see with my own eyes that he is healthy.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Monday, November 22, 2010
Addison at One Year Old
First of all, thank you so much for your messages letting me know that you care about me and how things are going. It just means so so much to have you girls out there thinking about me and shooting your good thoughts into the universe.
Addison's first birthday was October 28th. I geared up for the day, knowing it might be tough. I went to work and had a therapy appointment scheduled for that evening. I decided that I would honor Addison by having a good day, and I actually did. I feel like I've done a lot of work in the past several months to become more emotionally healthy. As much as I want to hold on to Addison, and perhaps even linger in her space, I have realized that I have to let go--just a little bit--in order to keep on living. My therapist does sand tray therapy (go ahead and Google it--I know you want to). When I first started seeing her, just a couple of months after Addison died, she wanted me to do a sand tray to honor her. I wasn't ready by any stretch of the imagination to do one. I felt I would be saying a permanent goodbye if I did one. But as Addison's birthday approached, I felt like I was ready to honor her, not as "closure," but simply as a way to remember her in a positive way. After therapy, I picked up a little birthday cake, and after dinner we lit her candle and ate her cake. Calvin is still terribly confused by why Addison had to die. He says he used to love her THIIIIIIIIS much, but now he loves her just a little bit, because she left us. I think none of us understand why she had to leave so soon.
And about 2 days after her birthday came my semi-breakdown. I became temporarily obsessed with researching cool cap therapy in full-term infants. I still have so much anger and frustration about how the doctors dealt with Addison before and after she was born. When I went to the hospital because she wasn't moving, they never did an ultrasound. They didn't push for an emergency c-section. When she was born, they told us she simply lacked surfactant. Twenty-four hours later we found out the wretched truth--that she had pretty much choked herself out in utero but didn't finish the job. Part of me feels that had they immediately taken her that night via c-section and started cool cap therapy, she might have had a chance at life. But then my brain takes over and considers the possibility that even if they COULD have gotten her from "brain dead" to simply "severely cognitively handicapped," that would have been no good. But sometimes my heart doesn't want to listen to my brain. I just have so many questions that will never be--can never be--answered. The "what ifs" do the worst damage. And I think that's what I'm trying hard to work on--moving past the coulda shoulda wouldas and into reality. What happened to Addison, happened, and as terrible as it is, nothing can be done to change her fate. And life marches on with or without me. Painful as it is, I must continue to choose to keep moving on with life. Not only for me, but also for my husband, my living child, and my unborn child.
I'm 22 weeks pregnant with a little boy. Calvin is beside himself with excitement, although he does ask from time to time if this baby will live or die. He wonders the same about himself, and I try to reassure him that he has MANY years left on this planet. Oh how I hope I'm right. This pregnancy has been physically easy, but mentally tough. I have struggled with a subchorionic hemorrhage that initially caused me to gush blood while we were on vacation in Florida during Labor Day weekend. And after that, the SCH continued to grow, and even very-temporarily forced me on bedrest. After a short reprieve, I bled horrendous amounts for 2 straight weeks and thought for sure I was losing the baby. But at my perinatologist appointment last Friday, the hemorrhage was no longer identifiable on the ultrasound. For the first time, I had a glimmer of hope that this pregnancy would actually result in a living, healthy baby. I can't picture holding him or bringing him home (that seems WAY too optimistic), but cerebrally, I imagine that he might live.
It's nice to feel the baby kick, but in a way it is terrifying, because now I've assigned myself the full and total responsibility to keep him safe. I will need to do my kick counts and be aware if he stops moving for too long, and act accordingly. As diligent as I could possibly be, I know I can only do so much to keep him safe, but the pressure we put on ourselves can be tremendous, can't it?
And so is my constant internal battle between holding onto Addison and living in the empty space she left that I fill with tears and sadness--and living in the here and now. The reality that my future does not include Addison breaks my heart. The reality that I can't picture her as the toddler she should be, because she will forever be trapped as a one-to-seven-day-old infant, is enough to cause me to be institutionalized if I dwelled on it long enough. There is no reason that this terrible thing happened, no silver lining in the cloud of despair, but even so, I am trying to accept her life and death as part of my own life story. She will always have her place in our family and in my life, but it can no longer be center stage.
Addison's first birthday was October 28th. I geared up for the day, knowing it might be tough. I went to work and had a therapy appointment scheduled for that evening. I decided that I would honor Addison by having a good day, and I actually did. I feel like I've done a lot of work in the past several months to become more emotionally healthy. As much as I want to hold on to Addison, and perhaps even linger in her space, I have realized that I have to let go--just a little bit--in order to keep on living. My therapist does sand tray therapy (go ahead and Google it--I know you want to). When I first started seeing her, just a couple of months after Addison died, she wanted me to do a sand tray to honor her. I wasn't ready by any stretch of the imagination to do one. I felt I would be saying a permanent goodbye if I did one. But as Addison's birthday approached, I felt like I was ready to honor her, not as "closure," but simply as a way to remember her in a positive way. After therapy, I picked up a little birthday cake, and after dinner we lit her candle and ate her cake. Calvin is still terribly confused by why Addison had to die. He says he used to love her THIIIIIIIIS much, but now he loves her just a little bit, because she left us. I think none of us understand why she had to leave so soon.
And about 2 days after her birthday came my semi-breakdown. I became temporarily obsessed with researching cool cap therapy in full-term infants. I still have so much anger and frustration about how the doctors dealt with Addison before and after she was born. When I went to the hospital because she wasn't moving, they never did an ultrasound. They didn't push for an emergency c-section. When she was born, they told us she simply lacked surfactant. Twenty-four hours later we found out the wretched truth--that she had pretty much choked herself out in utero but didn't finish the job. Part of me feels that had they immediately taken her that night via c-section and started cool cap therapy, she might have had a chance at life. But then my brain takes over and considers the possibility that even if they COULD have gotten her from "brain dead" to simply "severely cognitively handicapped," that would have been no good. But sometimes my heart doesn't want to listen to my brain. I just have so many questions that will never be--can never be--answered. The "what ifs" do the worst damage. And I think that's what I'm trying hard to work on--moving past the coulda shoulda wouldas and into reality. What happened to Addison, happened, and as terrible as it is, nothing can be done to change her fate. And life marches on with or without me. Painful as it is, I must continue to choose to keep moving on with life. Not only for me, but also for my husband, my living child, and my unborn child.
I'm 22 weeks pregnant with a little boy. Calvin is beside himself with excitement, although he does ask from time to time if this baby will live or die. He wonders the same about himself, and I try to reassure him that he has MANY years left on this planet. Oh how I hope I'm right. This pregnancy has been physically easy, but mentally tough. I have struggled with a subchorionic hemorrhage that initially caused me to gush blood while we were on vacation in Florida during Labor Day weekend. And after that, the SCH continued to grow, and even very-temporarily forced me on bedrest. After a short reprieve, I bled horrendous amounts for 2 straight weeks and thought for sure I was losing the baby. But at my perinatologist appointment last Friday, the hemorrhage was no longer identifiable on the ultrasound. For the first time, I had a glimmer of hope that this pregnancy would actually result in a living, healthy baby. I can't picture holding him or bringing him home (that seems WAY too optimistic), but cerebrally, I imagine that he might live.
It's nice to feel the baby kick, but in a way it is terrifying, because now I've assigned myself the full and total responsibility to keep him safe. I will need to do my kick counts and be aware if he stops moving for too long, and act accordingly. As diligent as I could possibly be, I know I can only do so much to keep him safe, but the pressure we put on ourselves can be tremendous, can't it?
And so is my constant internal battle between holding onto Addison and living in the empty space she left that I fill with tears and sadness--and living in the here and now. The reality that my future does not include Addison breaks my heart. The reality that I can't picture her as the toddler she should be, because she will forever be trapped as a one-to-seven-day-old infant, is enough to cause me to be institutionalized if I dwelled on it long enough. There is no reason that this terrible thing happened, no silver lining in the cloud of despair, but even so, I am trying to accept her life and death as part of my own life story. She will always have her place in our family and in my life, but it can no longer be center stage.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Giving hope a chance
Chris and I met at the perinatologist's office yesterday. I was terrified; he looked pale and frightened. We compared stories of our drives over--we both felt like we could pass out at any moment. The anxiety level was sky high. It didn't help that the perinatologist's office is INSIDE the hospital where Addison was born.
After a 45-minute wait, it was our turn. I recognized the tech from our appointments when I was pregnant with Addison and we started chatting. She started to remember us as well. The doctor certainly acted as if he knew who we were. He was kind, compassionate, and at the end of the appointment told me to call him anytime. And I believed he meant it.
But what I really want to write about is the total and utter RELIEF that I now feel. What an emotionally exhausting visit! The nuchal translucency result looked good--likely no Down's. Anatomically, the doctor said everything looked normal. The blood results for other issues will be back in a week or so. The subchorionic hemorrhage was obviously still there, big, looming, scary...but he seemed certain it would resolve with time. And he got the money shot. He thinks we're having a boy. We are thrilled. We know that nothing is 100%, nothing is totally certain, I will never feel completely confident that we're brining home a healthy child in March. But I am ready to feel cautiously optimistic. I'm ready to HOPE. And for me, that's a really big deal.
PS: Thank you all for your loving, supportive comments. It really touches me to know that you are there are rooting for me.
After a 45-minute wait, it was our turn. I recognized the tech from our appointments when I was pregnant with Addison and we started chatting. She started to remember us as well. The doctor certainly acted as if he knew who we were. He was kind, compassionate, and at the end of the appointment told me to call him anytime. And I believed he meant it.
But what I really want to write about is the total and utter RELIEF that I now feel. What an emotionally exhausting visit! The nuchal translucency result looked good--likely no Down's. Anatomically, the doctor said everything looked normal. The blood results for other issues will be back in a week or so. The subchorionic hemorrhage was obviously still there, big, looming, scary...but he seemed certain it would resolve with time. And he got the money shot. He thinks we're having a boy. We are thrilled. We know that nothing is 100%, nothing is totally certain, I will never feel completely confident that we're brining home a healthy child in March. But I am ready to feel cautiously optimistic. I'm ready to HOPE. And for me, that's a really big deal.
PS: Thank you all for your loving, supportive comments. It really touches me to know that you are there are rooting for me.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
White Knuckling
I feel like I'm hanging on by a thread. I don't know exactly how far along I am (about 12 1/2 weeks) probably because I'm too scared to get attached to this baby. Frankly, I don't know if it's alive or dead right now. But I'll find out in just about exactly 12 hours. I will see the perinatologist tomorrow. Finally. And then I will see if there is still a heartbeat. I will also see if one of my scariest thoughts has become reality (some terrible genetic fuckup with the baby). VERY secondarily, we may find out if this is a girl or a boy. But, really, I can't even get that far in my head because I don't know if we will even see a live fetus. I have absolutely no instinct about this baby; my instinct has failed me in the past, anyway, so why would I trust anything I feel? I had another pretty decent bleed a few days ago, and I've been spotting very dark blood nearly every day for a week. I just don't feel good about it. I'm nervous. Okay, I'm downright terrified. And so I wait, but not much longer. I hope I can sleep tonight.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Life or Death? Please let it live.
We were at Disney World in Florida for Labor Day weekend. Calvin is 4, and just barely over 40 inches tall, so he was able to ride a lot of the fun rides.
Sunday morning when I wiped there was a tinge of brownish blood. I thought...well, here we go. Either I'm going to lose this baby or not. No more blood the whole day. We enjoyed ourselves at Magic Kingdom and tried not to think about what might happen.
I've actually never had bleeding or spotting during a pregnancy. None with Calvin or Addison; none when I had a missed miscarriage in 2008 at about week 10. They just found there was no heartbeat during a routine check-up. But I know it's not a great sign, even if it's not always prelude to disaster.
Today we were scheduled to fly back home to Georgia at 6:30pm. I woke up around 8am and felt a small gush; I thought maybe I had peed myself. In the bathroom I ended up bleeding quite a bit of red blood. I inspected it and saw a few small clots. It's pretty much the last thing I wanted to see. My intuition failing me, all I could rely on was my instinct to get home so I could get to a hospital. Unfortunately, Labor Day is not the day to get a flight easily changed. So we were stuck.
We decided to go to a hospital to get checked. After nearly 4 hours, we got an answer. It's a subchorionic hemorrhage measuring 4.2 x 3.7 x 2.5cm. The good news is that the baby is alive and measuring right on target - 10 wks 6 days. I was told I could travel home (and we just made it back) but was instructed not to carry anything heavier than my purse. Of course I had been schlepping Calvin around all weekend when he got tired of walking.
The bad news is the unknown. At this point, it can go either way. Either this baby will make it, or it won't. And even within that simplistic-sounding statement, there are so many either/or scenarios. My big fear is the genetic fuckup. Either there will be one or there won't. I'm not "allowed" to talk about fear and anxiety to many people in my real world. They don't want to hear it, and make me feel as if I am creating my own destiny by fearing the worst. If I had that much control over my world, Addison would be alive and healthy and I wouldn't have to be going through another fucking pregnancy right now.
So I'll see my doctor tomorrow. I'll call when his crappy-office-hours office opens at 9am. I literally have 3 days available to take off from work for the rest of the year. I don't even care. Sometimes life takes a priority to work. And this is one of those times.
It's hard to let myself feel all these feelings, so I'm not. Not yet. I fear I will have a literal nervous breakdown if I lose this baby. I just don't want to lose it. I just can't go through it. I don't want to have to explain to Calvin why another baby died, when we just had the guts to tell him there is another baby in my tummy. I don't want to waste more time on pregnancies that don't equal babies. Damnit, I want this baby to live and thrive and grow and be born healthy. Hey, Universe, is that too much to ask for?
Perhaps.
Sunday morning when I wiped there was a tinge of brownish blood. I thought...well, here we go. Either I'm going to lose this baby or not. No more blood the whole day. We enjoyed ourselves at Magic Kingdom and tried not to think about what might happen.
I've actually never had bleeding or spotting during a pregnancy. None with Calvin or Addison; none when I had a missed miscarriage in 2008 at about week 10. They just found there was no heartbeat during a routine check-up. But I know it's not a great sign, even if it's not always prelude to disaster.
Today we were scheduled to fly back home to Georgia at 6:30pm. I woke up around 8am and felt a small gush; I thought maybe I had peed myself. In the bathroom I ended up bleeding quite a bit of red blood. I inspected it and saw a few small clots. It's pretty much the last thing I wanted to see. My intuition failing me, all I could rely on was my instinct to get home so I could get to a hospital. Unfortunately, Labor Day is not the day to get a flight easily changed. So we were stuck.
We decided to go to a hospital to get checked. After nearly 4 hours, we got an answer. It's a subchorionic hemorrhage measuring 4.2 x 3.7 x 2.5cm. The good news is that the baby is alive and measuring right on target - 10 wks 6 days. I was told I could travel home (and we just made it back) but was instructed not to carry anything heavier than my purse. Of course I had been schlepping Calvin around all weekend when he got tired of walking.
The bad news is the unknown. At this point, it can go either way. Either this baby will make it, or it won't. And even within that simplistic-sounding statement, there are so many either/or scenarios. My big fear is the genetic fuckup. Either there will be one or there won't. I'm not "allowed" to talk about fear and anxiety to many people in my real world. They don't want to hear it, and make me feel as if I am creating my own destiny by fearing the worst. If I had that much control over my world, Addison would be alive and healthy and I wouldn't have to be going through another fucking pregnancy right now.
So I'll see my doctor tomorrow. I'll call when his crappy-office-hours office opens at 9am. I literally have 3 days available to take off from work for the rest of the year. I don't even care. Sometimes life takes a priority to work. And this is one of those times.
It's hard to let myself feel all these feelings, so I'm not. Not yet. I fear I will have a literal nervous breakdown if I lose this baby. I just don't want to lose it. I just can't go through it. I don't want to have to explain to Calvin why another baby died, when we just had the guts to tell him there is another baby in my tummy. I don't want to waste more time on pregnancies that don't equal babies. Damnit, I want this baby to live and thrive and grow and be born healthy. Hey, Universe, is that too much to ask for?
Perhaps.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
It Lives
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!
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!
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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