I have some catching up to do here. I am aware. We have spent a month with our specialist and have been given some information about what may be going on with me and I will get to all of that, but I am working in my basement and a song just popped up on shuffle that ripped my heart out and has left me sobbing while my sweet girl sleeps.
You know that Phil Collins' song from Tarzan, "You'll Be in My Heart"?? Yeah that fucking song.
It is December 30, 2011. Tomorrow we will celebrate the end of 2011, not in a nostalgic way, but in a "piss the fuck off" sorta way. 2011 started for us with a cancer diagnosis for my father-in-law, continued on with the loss of an unborn child in April, the sale of our first home which was both a blessing and a stabbing because it left our proverbial wallet bleeding, the wicked death of my father in law, and the loss of a second unborn child in November. 2011 was riddled with loss for my family. We are blessed to have our health, our home and of course, our sweet Eva. We are strong for that.
I look at 2012 as it approaches and whisper to it that I welcome it's arrival and don't request it to bring me riches or spoil me with all that I want. My heart just begs it for mercy.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
To D&C or not to D&C
Ultrasound results just in: nature is as nature does. Looks like our June bug has made a graceful exit from this world and into the next on her own terms (I am convinced it was a girl) and I won't need surgery.
I am glad for that small miracle, but can't help to shed tears over the official end of this pregnancy.
Goodbye my sweet June bug. Your absence is deafening and the promise of you is greatly missed. Mommy loves you, infinity very muches.
Friday, November 11, 2011
The Weight of a Date
November 11, 2011.
This date has been hanging over my head like a bad omen for seven months. Everyday since my first miscarriage, 11/11/11 has seemed to be just days away. Sitting there just around the corner, poised like a wild cat waiting to take me out. I have lived for months in the anxiety of this "due date". I did not get out of bed yesterday in anticipation of its finality.
I was supposed to have a baby today.
Instead, I went to my doctor's office for an ultrasound to confirm the completion of my second miscarriage. I will find out by Monday if I need to have a D&C or if nature took its own course in its own time.
I long for the children I have lost on this day and everyday. I am glad this day has come and gone so I could have an obvious excuse for making the grief of our losses the center of my attention, but I cannot continue to live in this space.
I wholeheartedly wish the outcome was different and I was holding a warm and precious bundle in my arms tonight. I wish it was the tiny cries of a newborn keeping me awake tonight and not the screams of their absence. I cannot change what is. I can only appreciate the tiny blonde ball of energy who has chosen tonight to wage the battle of determination to wear her Halloween cow costume as pajamas. My soul aches with appreciation of the gift we received in Eva. I can only feel luck in the support I have from my husband, who hurts to see me hurt even as he hurts himself. Tonight, our home is warm with the love shared between the Shire Three.
This date has been hanging over my head like a bad omen for seven months. Everyday since my first miscarriage, 11/11/11 has seemed to be just days away. Sitting there just around the corner, poised like a wild cat waiting to take me out. I have lived for months in the anxiety of this "due date". I did not get out of bed yesterday in anticipation of its finality.
I was supposed to have a baby today.
Instead, I went to my doctor's office for an ultrasound to confirm the completion of my second miscarriage. I will find out by Monday if I need to have a D&C or if nature took its own course in its own time.
I long for the children I have lost on this day and everyday. I am glad this day has come and gone so I could have an obvious excuse for making the grief of our losses the center of my attention, but I cannot continue to live in this space.
I wholeheartedly wish the outcome was different and I was holding a warm and precious bundle in my arms tonight. I wish it was the tiny cries of a newborn keeping me awake tonight and not the screams of their absence. I cannot change what is. I can only appreciate the tiny blonde ball of energy who has chosen tonight to wage the battle of determination to wear her Halloween cow costume as pajamas. My soul aches with appreciation of the gift we received in Eva. I can only feel luck in the support I have from my husband, who hurts to see me hurt even as he hurts himself. Tonight, our home is warm with the love shared between the Shire Three.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Seeing red in the search for solutions
So you read my last post, right? About the newest item to find a home in our refrigerator?? Are you ready for the punchline????
It was all for nothing.
I called my OB the next morning, saying, "I got it. Now what?". The nurse called me back about an hour later and said she had been misinformed. She was going by how many technical weeks I had been (half way through the 8th) and not by how far along the baby measured (half way through the 6th). Turns out I wasn't far enough along for them to be able to do the chromosomal testing on the tissue.
I could, however, take my little treasure in its ziploc bag and go to maternity triage at the hospital, wait for hours on end because I am literally of the lowest possible priority because I AM NO LONGER PREGNANT (i write that in red because it makes me see in red) so anytime a pregnant woman signs in with whatever random issue, I get bumped to the bottom of the list. But if I wanted to endure watching woman after woman being admitted to have their precious babies hour after hour, I could do so and I could bring my baggie. I could have them confirm the miscarriage via triage ultrasound, then get wheeled through the entire hospital down to radiology for the thorough ultrasound I had last year (I have walked this course before, remember) to have a THIRD person confirm our loss just over a lab test technicality. Then I could give them my "sample" and they could send it off for special testing from there. So if I want to sit through hours of mind-numbing pointlessness, humiliation, slap in the face after slap in the face to get it tested on the off chance it was a chromosomal anomaly, when it is completely likely that the test will tell us nothing, or what I thought was the embryonic tissue is actually a strange blood clot, or the sample I captured isn't large enough to test, or that it wasn't the result of any genetic misfires at all and all I end up with is anger, lost hours, and seemingly endless depression to go along with a huge insurance bill.......well if I want all that, then yes, I can have it tested.
The anger bubbled up in Matt and I so fast and so fiercely we could have hardly anticipated it. No we do not wish to put ourselves through that, but thanks for the opportunity. We will pass.
When we regained some sanity, we decided the information the test would give us would not provide us with any sense of peace. If these babies were struck with chromosomal bad luck twice, then the absence of a specialist finding anything will tell us that or genetic testing will show us we are both carriers for some whacked out crazy genetic situation. We will get our answers. Even the absence of answers will be answers. And when they come, even that won't give us peace.
Peace is not in the answers, it's in the solutions.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Things you think you'd never do on a Monday night
It's after just after midnight on Tuesday. I was almost asleep about an hour ago for the first time before 3 am in five days when I felt the need to run to the bathroom due to an intense increase in bleeding. Turns out it wasn't blood...it was the baby.
So here's what happens when you're in that situation. You sit on the toilet and sob. Then, you call out to your sleeping husband six times before he stirs and he goes to get your a snack-sized ziploc because your OB wants you to capture it and bring it in for chromosomal testing. You pull up your pants and seal the bag as well as you can through blinding tears. You grab your pillow and a blanket and head downstairs. You put the baggie in the fridge because what the hell else are you supposed to do with it??? (Should I put it under my pillow and hope the fertility fairy comes by morning?) Then you sit on the couch in the fetal position and watch "Julie and Julia" because it's completely pointless and isn't everything?
So that's what I did with my evening. What is left of our June baby dreams is on the shelf on the door in the fridge between the soy sauce and the salad dressing.
Is this for real?
AKA: welcome to the sarcastic anger of a mother scorn....you ain't seen nothing yet.
So here's what happens when you're in that situation. You sit on the toilet and sob. Then, you call out to your sleeping husband six times before he stirs and he goes to get your a snack-sized ziploc because your OB wants you to capture it and bring it in for chromosomal testing. You pull up your pants and seal the bag as well as you can through blinding tears. You grab your pillow and a blanket and head downstairs. You put the baggie in the fridge because what the hell else are you supposed to do with it??? (Should I put it under my pillow and hope the fertility fairy comes by morning?) Then you sit on the couch in the fetal position and watch "Julie and Julia" because it's completely pointless and isn't everything?
So that's what I did with my evening. What is left of our June baby dreams is on the shelf on the door in the fridge between the soy sauce and the salad dressing.
Is this for real?
AKA: welcome to the sarcastic anger of a mother scorn....you ain't seen nothing yet.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Unplanning a Life
When I miscarried in April, the most difficult part for me was unplanning the year that I had unknowingly planned out. I had to unravel thoughts of what the immediate future would be like for Eva as a big sister; what the obstacles would be and the joys; plans to potty train so as not to have two in diapers, double strollers and space for toddler and infant toys and gear. Every day that passed for months turned into another realization of things that wouldn't be the way I had planned. It was devastating.
There is a difference between the experience of that unraveling and this current one. Having one miscarriage is heartbreaking without question, but it is also rationally explained as a glitch; a one-time occurrence probably resulting from a chromosomal anomaly. 1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage. It is common. You have one and you can tell yourself, this was your "one". You can give yourself time to grieve and you will find strength to try again and you will get pregnant and have a healthy baby to hold and raise and love. There is no reason not to believe.
Then you get there. You have grieved the loss and found the strength to try again. You get pregnant and all signs tell you this baby is healthy and your typically spot-on intuition tells you that you will hold and raise and love this baby. But it's all a lie.
I didn't do much to plan for the upcoming year this time, partly out of caution, but mostly because all those obstacles and thoughts from last year no longer apply. We have moved to a bigger home so we have the space for bouncers and swings and bottles and boppys to go right alongside a play kitchen, train set and dollhouse. I have a bigger car to fit two car seats and a golden retriever. Eva has long since refused to sit in a stroller so no doubles would be needed. There were no plans to place in motion. There was only love.
And now I am bleeding. The cramping was so bad last night it woke me up and kept me from sleeping most of the night even after 600mgs of Advil. My love is gone. There is only achingly open space.
So now I am faced with, not unplanning a year, but possibly unplanning a life.
Originally, we wanted three children. Eva was born and we contemplated having four. We had so much love to give and we knew there were children missing. When we lost our 11/11/11 baby, we shifted our reality back to three (if we were lucky), but we had our eye on the prize of even having two. When we conceived in September, we made a decision. If our June bug arrived without issue, then three was still on the table. If we lost it, we would fight like hell for two but could not put ourselves through this again and again.
Now we have lost June bug and although I am still blindingly aware that someone is missing from our family (that it's not meant to be the Shire Three; that Eva must have a sibling to walk with her through life), I am faced with a new reality. This may never happen for us. We may never have another child. It may be just us three. Eva may be alone in this. There may never be a need for these extra bedrooms or the bigger car. The big tub may never hold two splashing little bodies. There may never be another stocking on our mantle, two little bikes in the garage, two birthday parties to plan and make equal. There may never be "big sister" t-shirts to wear proudly or pictures to take of Eva kissing her baby when she meets him/her for the first time. There may be no use of the phrase "my children" in our lives.
We will see a specialist. We will fill out the forms and answer the questions. We will listen to suggestions and follow advice. I will do anything I have to to make this happen for us. But I cannot control it.
The life we had planned may have been unplanned for us. This is the cross I bear.
There is a difference between the experience of that unraveling and this current one. Having one miscarriage is heartbreaking without question, but it is also rationally explained as a glitch; a one-time occurrence probably resulting from a chromosomal anomaly. 1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage. It is common. You have one and you can tell yourself, this was your "one". You can give yourself time to grieve and you will find strength to try again and you will get pregnant and have a healthy baby to hold and raise and love. There is no reason not to believe.
Then you get there. You have grieved the loss and found the strength to try again. You get pregnant and all signs tell you this baby is healthy and your typically spot-on intuition tells you that you will hold and raise and love this baby. But it's all a lie.
I didn't do much to plan for the upcoming year this time, partly out of caution, but mostly because all those obstacles and thoughts from last year no longer apply. We have moved to a bigger home so we have the space for bouncers and swings and bottles and boppys to go right alongside a play kitchen, train set and dollhouse. I have a bigger car to fit two car seats and a golden retriever. Eva has long since refused to sit in a stroller so no doubles would be needed. There were no plans to place in motion. There was only love.
And now I am bleeding. The cramping was so bad last night it woke me up and kept me from sleeping most of the night even after 600mgs of Advil. My love is gone. There is only achingly open space.
So now I am faced with, not unplanning a year, but possibly unplanning a life.
Originally, we wanted three children. Eva was born and we contemplated having four. We had so much love to give and we knew there were children missing. When we lost our 11/11/11 baby, we shifted our reality back to three (if we were lucky), but we had our eye on the prize of even having two. When we conceived in September, we made a decision. If our June bug arrived without issue, then three was still on the table. If we lost it, we would fight like hell for two but could not put ourselves through this again and again.
Now we have lost June bug and although I am still blindingly aware that someone is missing from our family (that it's not meant to be the Shire Three; that Eva must have a sibling to walk with her through life), I am faced with a new reality. This may never happen for us. We may never have another child. It may be just us three. Eva may be alone in this. There may never be a need for these extra bedrooms or the bigger car. The big tub may never hold two splashing little bodies. There may never be another stocking on our mantle, two little bikes in the garage, two birthday parties to plan and make equal. There may never be "big sister" t-shirts to wear proudly or pictures to take of Eva kissing her baby when she meets him/her for the first time. There may be no use of the phrase "my children" in our lives.
We will see a specialist. We will fill out the forms and answer the questions. We will listen to suggestions and follow advice. I will do anything I have to to make this happen for us. But I cannot control it.
The life we had planned may have been unplanned for us. This is the cross I bear.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
A "Missed" Miscarriage
That's what this is. It's a "missed" miscarriage. That term seems ridiculous. How can you miss a miscarriage. I mean, isn't it pretty damn obvious? Not this time.
A week ago, my boobs weren't sore at all, but they are again now. I have fits of nausea and am incredibly bloated. I have no cramping and no spotting.
If I had not had the ultrasound on Thursday as a follow up, I would have no idea that we have lost our baby. I would be carrying on in my euphoric pregnant state dreaming of what is to come as our family expands. I would go to my 12 week ultrasound, probably skipping in the building thinking I was safe because I passed the danger zones. There wouldn't be a heartbeat and I would have then found out I had lost our child SIX weeks before. I can't even imagine that. So, unbelievably, I am actually thankful for knowing our baby is gone.
My doctor told me it can take several months during a missed miscarriage for the body to realize what happened and actually let the tissue go. Last April, I was hell bent on letting the miscarriage happen naturally, but I was already bleeding and cramping like mad at 8 weeks. I am almost 9 weeks now. That's almost 3 full weeks since our baby's heart stopped and I am showing now signs of loss anytime soon. So what happens in the meantime? I'm supposed to go observe my student teachers and give them feedback about their questioning strategies as if I give a shit. I am supposed to hold class and talk passionately about motor development as if that matters to me in the slightest. I am supposed to go to playdates at the park and buy groceries and simply carry on like I am not carrying a child that I hoped and prayed for, that I had a great feeling about, that is now gone. How in the hell is that supposed to happen????
There are risks to the surgery, but I simply cannot make my body continue on a different page than my mind and heart. I have scheduled a D&C for two weeks from now so that it can give my body some time to clue in and see how it responds. Otherwise, it's surgery.
I expected this pregnancy to end in surgery. Only I expected it would be a C-section at 38 weeks. This is not how this was supposed to end.
A week ago, my boobs weren't sore at all, but they are again now. I have fits of nausea and am incredibly bloated. I have no cramping and no spotting.
If I had not had the ultrasound on Thursday as a follow up, I would have no idea that we have lost our baby. I would be carrying on in my euphoric pregnant state dreaming of what is to come as our family expands. I would go to my 12 week ultrasound, probably skipping in the building thinking I was safe because I passed the danger zones. There wouldn't be a heartbeat and I would have then found out I had lost our child SIX weeks before. I can't even imagine that. So, unbelievably, I am actually thankful for knowing our baby is gone.
My doctor told me it can take several months during a missed miscarriage for the body to realize what happened and actually let the tissue go. Last April, I was hell bent on letting the miscarriage happen naturally, but I was already bleeding and cramping like mad at 8 weeks. I am almost 9 weeks now. That's almost 3 full weeks since our baby's heart stopped and I am showing now signs of loss anytime soon. So what happens in the meantime? I'm supposed to go observe my student teachers and give them feedback about their questioning strategies as if I give a shit. I am supposed to hold class and talk passionately about motor development as if that matters to me in the slightest. I am supposed to go to playdates at the park and buy groceries and simply carry on like I am not carrying a child that I hoped and prayed for, that I had a great feeling about, that is now gone. How in the hell is that supposed to happen????
There are risks to the surgery, but I simply cannot make my body continue on a different page than my mind and heart. I have scheduled a D&C for two weeks from now so that it can give my body some time to clue in and see how it responds. Otherwise, it's surgery.
I expected this pregnancy to end in surgery. Only I expected it would be a C-section at 38 weeks. This is not how this was supposed to end.
November 4, 2011: I've been trusting my gut since I was 13 years old
I am a woman that relies on her instincts to navigate her path in life. I use intuition about people, places, decisions, etc in order to feel out risks and rewards. Over the years, listening to my gut has taken me into great relationships and out of dying ones; it has led me to meet some of my very closest friends. My gut has told me what major to choose, what job to take and when to move on to another one. My gut has told me who to trust and who to keep my mouth shut around. It helped me choose my husband. It has told me when something is cosmically wrong, providing me with a warning for the death of my father and the loss of an unborn child. I have always been able to trust my gut.
Now, at 30 years old, it turns out I can't.
We went for our follow up ultrasound yesterday to measure growth from last week. I was 8 1/2 weeks. I ran around all morning because Eva and I woke up late and I had to rush her to school. I did an observation of a field placement student before my appointment to pass the time and keep from worrying. The night before, I spoke to some friends and my mom and told them that I had a good feeling about it, that my gut was telling me things were fine.
I was wrong.
There was no longer a heartbeat.
Last week, our June bug measured 6 weeks, 2 days. Now it's lifeless figure measures 6 weeks, 5 days. Exactly like last spring, just days after we saw that precious heart beat, it stopped.
I was not prepared for that. My gut outright lied to me and if I can't trust my instincts then I can't trust anything.
I don't understand what is going on. Why has my body betrayed me twice? Did I do something? Is it because I had a bad cold and have had thirty minute coughing fits for the last two weeks? Did that hurt the baby? Was it the days I took tylenol for the headaches or the tylenol cold medicine they told me I could take? I didn't even go near caffeine this time because I know that is one of the things that potentially causes miscarriage, but was it splenda? I had candy and cookies around Halloween even though I should have been preparing my body for the gestational diabetes. Should I not have? I carried Eva around a lot. She's only 26 pounds, but maybe that was too heavy? I didn't sleep well, sometimes only a few hours a night. Maybe I didn't get enough rest? Is it scar tissue from my c-section with Eva? Are my hormones running a muck? The list of questions about why is maddening, but I don't know how to silence it.
The only thing getting me through the approaching 11/11/11 due date of our first loss was the knowledge we had someone to look forward to. Now that is in a week and by the time it gets here I may have lost another. How is that fair?
My husband and I picked up Eva from school early and we took her home. I crawled into bed and under a rock and I have barely seen daylight since. I alerted who I needed to and have no plans to pick up the phone anytime soon. I simply wish to disappear.
After a fitful night sleep, I woke to see a new day arrive with the force of the weight that now weighs on my shoulders. For now, I will lie in bed and I will cry until the well runs dry as I wait.
I am not ready to say goodbye to my June bug, but it turns out I do not get much of a say on the matter.
I am crippled with heartache.
Nothing can ever make this right.
No one ever will.
Now, at 30 years old, it turns out I can't.
We went for our follow up ultrasound yesterday to measure growth from last week. I was 8 1/2 weeks. I ran around all morning because Eva and I woke up late and I had to rush her to school. I did an observation of a field placement student before my appointment to pass the time and keep from worrying. The night before, I spoke to some friends and my mom and told them that I had a good feeling about it, that my gut was telling me things were fine.
I was wrong.
There was no longer a heartbeat.
Last week, our June bug measured 6 weeks, 2 days. Now it's lifeless figure measures 6 weeks, 5 days. Exactly like last spring, just days after we saw that precious heart beat, it stopped.
I was not prepared for that. My gut outright lied to me and if I can't trust my instincts then I can't trust anything.
I don't understand what is going on. Why has my body betrayed me twice? Did I do something? Is it because I had a bad cold and have had thirty minute coughing fits for the last two weeks? Did that hurt the baby? Was it the days I took tylenol for the headaches or the tylenol cold medicine they told me I could take? I didn't even go near caffeine this time because I know that is one of the things that potentially causes miscarriage, but was it splenda? I had candy and cookies around Halloween even though I should have been preparing my body for the gestational diabetes. Should I not have? I carried Eva around a lot. She's only 26 pounds, but maybe that was too heavy? I didn't sleep well, sometimes only a few hours a night. Maybe I didn't get enough rest? Is it scar tissue from my c-section with Eva? Are my hormones running a muck? The list of questions about why is maddening, but I don't know how to silence it.
The only thing getting me through the approaching 11/11/11 due date of our first loss was the knowledge we had someone to look forward to. Now that is in a week and by the time it gets here I may have lost another. How is that fair?
My husband and I picked up Eva from school early and we took her home. I crawled into bed and under a rock and I have barely seen daylight since. I alerted who I needed to and have no plans to pick up the phone anytime soon. I simply wish to disappear.
After a fitful night sleep, I woke to see a new day arrive with the force of the weight that now weighs on my shoulders. For now, I will lie in bed and I will cry until the well runs dry as I wait.
I am not ready to say goodbye to my June bug, but it turns out I do not get much of a say on the matter.
I am crippled with heartache.
Nothing can ever make this right.
No one ever will.
October 30, 2011: Sunrise, Sunset??
I awoke at sunrise Friday morning with cramps.
I darted out of bed in the hopes that it was a near exploding bladder that was causing them. 10 minutes after I released that full bladder, the cramps remained.
I crawled back into bed and watched my peacefully dreaming husband as he slept, blissfully unaware of what my body was telling me at that moment. My body was telling me we were losing our June bug.
The tears felt particularly hot on my face at 5:55am on a cold morning. Matt woke slowly listening to my sickening sobs before he completely came to and shot up and said, "What is it? What's wrong?".
He held me and we cried. At some point I shot out of bed and vomited before waking my mother with a phone call to see if she could come down to sit with Eva when we were inevitably sent to the hospital. She was on the road within the hour.
I sent Matt to work to get his ducks in a row because there wasn't anything we could do until my mom arrived anyway.
When the office opened at 8:30, I called my doctor and left her a message. I asked what my sense of urgency was. If I hadn't actually lost the baby yet, was there something they could do for me at the hospital? If so, I would leave in my PJs immediately and take Eva with me.
She called back promptly and asked me about what I was experiencing. I told her honestly that I had cramped from about 5:45 until 7:00 am and that I really wasn't cramping since. There was no blood. She took a deep breath and told me to do so as well. Then she told me to just sit tight at home. There was nothing they could do for me at the hospital. She said some cramping without the presence of blood is normal at this stage of pregnancy, but that she understood my concern. She told me if the cramps returned or I saw blood to go to the hospital but otherwise to just hang tight and rest.
The cramps never came back. Slowly, I began to breathe again, but I still shut all the blinds and turned my phone off. There was no one I wanted to speak to and nothing I wanted to speak about. When my mom arrived, I made a point to not let my feet hit the floor all afternoon and I did not get out of my pajamas all weekend. We cancelled all of our weekend plans in order to give ourselves the time and space to let our heart rates return to normal and see what was in store for us.
I made it through the weekend and so did June bug.
My boobs are slightly more sore than they were days before, but not profoundly so.
My body may be telling me I am going to lose this baby, but if I am honest with myself, my gut is telling me the opposite.
I just hope like hell I can still trust my gut.
I darted out of bed in the hopes that it was a near exploding bladder that was causing them. 10 minutes after I released that full bladder, the cramps remained.
I crawled back into bed and watched my peacefully dreaming husband as he slept, blissfully unaware of what my body was telling me at that moment. My body was telling me we were losing our June bug.
The tears felt particularly hot on my face at 5:55am on a cold morning. Matt woke slowly listening to my sickening sobs before he completely came to and shot up and said, "What is it? What's wrong?".
He held me and we cried. At some point I shot out of bed and vomited before waking my mother with a phone call to see if she could come down to sit with Eva when we were inevitably sent to the hospital. She was on the road within the hour.
I sent Matt to work to get his ducks in a row because there wasn't anything we could do until my mom arrived anyway.
When the office opened at 8:30, I called my doctor and left her a message. I asked what my sense of urgency was. If I hadn't actually lost the baby yet, was there something they could do for me at the hospital? If so, I would leave in my PJs immediately and take Eva with me.
She called back promptly and asked me about what I was experiencing. I told her honestly that I had cramped from about 5:45 until 7:00 am and that I really wasn't cramping since. There was no blood. She took a deep breath and told me to do so as well. Then she told me to just sit tight at home. There was nothing they could do for me at the hospital. She said some cramping without the presence of blood is normal at this stage of pregnancy, but that she understood my concern. She told me if the cramps returned or I saw blood to go to the hospital but otherwise to just hang tight and rest.
The cramps never came back. Slowly, I began to breathe again, but I still shut all the blinds and turned my phone off. There was no one I wanted to speak to and nothing I wanted to speak about. When my mom arrived, I made a point to not let my feet hit the floor all afternoon and I did not get out of my pajamas all weekend. We cancelled all of our weekend plans in order to give ourselves the time and space to let our heart rates return to normal and see what was in store for us.
I made it through the weekend and so did June bug.
My boobs are slightly more sore than they were days before, but not profoundly so.
My body may be telling me I am going to lose this baby, but if I am honest with myself, my gut is telling me the opposite.
I just hope like hell I can still trust my gut.
October 27, 2011: The Waiting Game
The ultrasound yesterday turned out to be a complete deja vu.
Our June baby was there, measuring smaller than expected and although the heart rate was within the normal range, it is very low within that range.
This is EXACTLY what they said last April days before I miscarried.
The only thing I have to hold on to right now is that they found the baby immediately. Last Spring, they did not see it transabdominally and it took them nearly thirty minutes to find it transvaginally. This time, as soon as the warm goo was squished by the wand on my belly the baby was there and the little heart was flicking away.
The ultrasound tech was so compassionate she must have been working that day just for me. When I told her my circumstance, she took her eyes off of her "job" to make eye contact with me and tell me she has been in my shoes and knows just how anxious and lost I am feeling. She told me things during the scan she probably wasn't supposed to tell me. I appreciate her more than I can express.
I feel anxious.
I feel lost.
I feel broken.
I feel angry.
I feel impatient.
I feel confused.
I feel helpless.
I feel utterly alone.
But more than any of that lies the feeling that I refuse to be (pardon my language) dicked around.
I don't want some nurse telling me that they have seen crazier things work out. I don't want someone telling me that they are sure things will work out for me this time. Don't tell me there is probably no reason to be concerned. I don't want someone to say to me that the odds are so unlikely that I will miscarry again.
I want to be positive and enthusiastic, but the fact remains that, right this very moment, we know nothing.
This is why I appreciate this ultrasound tech and my OB nurse telling me, "if this was a random ultrasound we would have zero cause for alarm. However, with your recent history, of course our guards are up and we are on alert." For this reason, they will send me for another ultrasound in a week to measure growth and to find some answers. Thank you for not placating me. I need people to shoot straight at me.
So now we wait. Pregnancy symptoms that have decreased will either resurface or I will start to bleed and cramp.
I don't know what my gut is telling me because it is in too much of a knot to speak clearly to me at the moment.
So, literally....I wait....
Our June baby was there, measuring smaller than expected and although the heart rate was within the normal range, it is very low within that range.
This is EXACTLY what they said last April days before I miscarried.
The only thing I have to hold on to right now is that they found the baby immediately. Last Spring, they did not see it transabdominally and it took them nearly thirty minutes to find it transvaginally. This time, as soon as the warm goo was squished by the wand on my belly the baby was there and the little heart was flicking away.
The ultrasound tech was so compassionate she must have been working that day just for me. When I told her my circumstance, she took her eyes off of her "job" to make eye contact with me and tell me she has been in my shoes and knows just how anxious and lost I am feeling. She told me things during the scan she probably wasn't supposed to tell me. I appreciate her more than I can express.
I feel anxious.
I feel lost.
I feel broken.
I feel angry.
I feel impatient.
I feel confused.
I feel helpless.
I feel utterly alone.
But more than any of that lies the feeling that I refuse to be (pardon my language) dicked around.
I don't want some nurse telling me that they have seen crazier things work out. I don't want someone telling me that they are sure things will work out for me this time. Don't tell me there is probably no reason to be concerned. I don't want someone to say to me that the odds are so unlikely that I will miscarry again.
I want to be positive and enthusiastic, but the fact remains that, right this very moment, we know nothing.
This is why I appreciate this ultrasound tech and my OB nurse telling me, "if this was a random ultrasound we would have zero cause for alarm. However, with your recent history, of course our guards are up and we are on alert." For this reason, they will send me for another ultrasound in a week to measure growth and to find some answers. Thank you for not placating me. I need people to shoot straight at me.
So now we wait. Pregnancy symptoms that have decreased will either resurface or I will start to bleed and cramp.
I don't know what my gut is telling me because it is in too much of a knot to speak clearly to me at the moment.
So, literally....I wait....
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