Friday, February 29, 2008
Note
For those having trouble keeping up with the abbreviations, I've added a glossary on the side bar. I hand picked terms from the glossary on the Nest that I have used and/or may use in the future.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
The Odds
This whole experience has changed the way I view statistics as they apply to me.
The chances of a healthy, fertile couple conceiving in any given month is 1 in 4. I got pregnant on my second cycle. I beat the odds by a slim margin. How joyous!
The chances of having a miscarriage are thought to be up to 30%. Certainly, the odds of miscarriage in clinically recognized pregnancies is a full 20%. So, I beat the odds again.
The chances of miscarriage after a heartbeat is detected is 10%. Really beat the odds there.
The chances of miscarriage after 12 weeks is less than 2%. I'm one "lucky" gal.
About 4% of women have a Müllerian anomaly (MA). I'm not sure if I can count myself as beating the odds on that one. Really, there's nothing else wrong with me. Sure, I'm a little overweight, I have acne, tendonitis, TMJ, and I'm kind of hypersensitive about certain things. But, I suppose I was bound to have some wacko problem that no one else I know has. The average woman does not have a weird uterus. Hmmph.
Of women who have an MA, most have a septate uterus (SU). Miscarriage rates with SU approach 90%, depending on the size of the septum. The next most common is a bicornuate uterus (BU). Miscarriage rates are lower for BU, more like 40%, but there is an increased risk of preterm labor, and breech positioning.
Will I actually win out and get diagnosed with an SU? Will I, for once, be grouped with a majority for something? That would be nice. 90% miscarriage rate sounds scary, right? But the good news is, most septi can be resected with a simple surgery, bringing the chance of miscarriage back to normal (15-20%). A BU cannot be treated with surgery. Well, it can, but the surgery is very invasive and carries a good chance of leaving the patient infertile anyway due to scarring and all that fun stuff. Do NOT want.
[Of course, if I do have a BU and end up having to get a c-section at 35 weeks in order to have a healthy baby, I will deal with that. I don't feel hopeless, like I'll never have a baby. Several professionals will have to tell me I can't until I'd be ready to give up. ]
It was hard to keep my head about all this for a while. I've sure beat the odds on a lot of things pregnancy-related! Who's to say I won't keep having rare diagnoses, rare problems, and unlikely, sad outcomes?
Despite what's happened to me, I still can't live my life in fear that way. I used to proclaim rather adamantly that it was silly to waste energy worrying about miscarriage since the chances of my baby dying were about the same as ME dying. It doesn't seem nearly so silly now. But that doesn't justify spending all my energy now, worrying about what kind of MA I have. It's out of my hands, and all I have is faith and hope. It will have to work out. And at the tender age of 24, I am blessed with time. Thank you, God!
The chances of a healthy, fertile couple conceiving in any given month is 1 in 4. I got pregnant on my second cycle. I beat the odds by a slim margin. How joyous!
The chances of having a miscarriage are thought to be up to 30%. Certainly, the odds of miscarriage in clinically recognized pregnancies is a full 20%. So, I beat the odds again.
The chances of miscarriage after a heartbeat is detected is 10%. Really beat the odds there.
The chances of miscarriage after 12 weeks is less than 2%. I'm one "lucky" gal.
About 4% of women have a Müllerian anomaly (MA). I'm not sure if I can count myself as beating the odds on that one. Really, there's nothing else wrong with me. Sure, I'm a little overweight, I have acne, tendonitis, TMJ, and I'm kind of hypersensitive about certain things. But, I suppose I was bound to have some wacko problem that no one else I know has. The average woman does not have a weird uterus. Hmmph.
Of women who have an MA, most have a septate uterus (SU). Miscarriage rates with SU approach 90%, depending on the size of the septum. The next most common is a bicornuate uterus (BU). Miscarriage rates are lower for BU, more like 40%, but there is an increased risk of preterm labor, and breech positioning.
Will I actually win out and get diagnosed with an SU? Will I, for once, be grouped with a majority for something? That would be nice. 90% miscarriage rate sounds scary, right? But the good news is, most septi can be resected with a simple surgery, bringing the chance of miscarriage back to normal (15-20%). A BU cannot be treated with surgery. Well, it can, but the surgery is very invasive and carries a good chance of leaving the patient infertile anyway due to scarring and all that fun stuff. Do NOT want.
[Of course, if I do have a BU and end up having to get a c-section at 35 weeks in order to have a healthy baby, I will deal with that. I don't feel hopeless, like I'll never have a baby. Several professionals will have to tell me I can't until I'd be ready to give up. ]
It was hard to keep my head about all this for a while. I've sure beat the odds on a lot of things pregnancy-related! Who's to say I won't keep having rare diagnoses, rare problems, and unlikely, sad outcomes?
Despite what's happened to me, I still can't live my life in fear that way. I used to proclaim rather adamantly that it was silly to waste energy worrying about miscarriage since the chances of my baby dying were about the same as ME dying. It doesn't seem nearly so silly now. But that doesn't justify spending all my energy now, worrying about what kind of MA I have. It's out of my hands, and all I have is faith and hope. It will have to work out. And at the tender age of 24, I am blessed with time. Thank you, God!
The Very End
So many things have come to an end, all signifying the end of the pregnancy. First, the baby died. Then, I found out about it. Then I started bleeding--the beginning of the end. Then the D&C removed the products of conception. I continued to bleed after the procedure.
But today I believe I can officially say the bleeding is done. There is no more physical evidence that I was ever pregnant. My belly and breasts have returned to their normal sizes. I don't know how much hCG is in my system--enough that I can feel hormonal fluctuations. But I don't really care; the levels are on their way down and will soon be zero. Now I wait for AF and hope it doesn't take forever.
It's over.
But today I believe I can officially say the bleeding is done. There is no more physical evidence that I was ever pregnant. My belly and breasts have returned to their normal sizes. I don't know how much hCG is in my system--enough that I can feel hormonal fluctuations. But I don't really care; the levels are on their way down and will soon be zero. Now I wait for AF and hope it doesn't take forever.
It's over.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Therapeutic Distractions
Everyone grieves differently. I have been grieving in unexpected ways. Other girls on the Nest had the most emotional trouble before their D&Cs. I found the most difficult time to be the 3-4 days after D&C. I have learned that the key to healthy mourning is to have a proper outlet. I have several.
One is obvious: this blog. However, I went through a little journey before deciding to start a new blog. I thought about it right away, but didn't think I would start one. But if you refer to my first post, the impetus was finding out about the uterine anomaly. A lovely side-effect was feeling compelled to tell the entire story from the beginning, which has been cathartic beyond words.
My first outlet I have also mentioned before: the Nest. It's been the best grief-support group I could hope for. I was on the Pregnancy Loss community almost nonstop for the first two days. I don't spend quite as much time on it now. For one, a lot of the ladies there are in the "trying again" phase (predicting ovulation, figuring out their fertility charts, waiting to POAS), and I'm not there yet. Also, it gets to be depressing after several weeks, seeing all the new people posting about their recent miscarriages. It starts to feel like everyone has a miscarriage/stillbirth, when really it's just everyone on this particular message board.
The Friday after the bad news, I went out to breakfast with my mom. We went to Barnes & Noble afterward. I scoured the store for any books on miscarriage and found NONE. That was surprising and disappointing. No worries though; I had already ordered one from Amazon. My main goal was to get a new journal. I had actually just been looking for a journal the week before to document the pregnancy (ooh, I should add that to the list), but I didn't really like any of them. But as the goal was different this time, I thought I might have some luck. Indeed, I did. It was a very nice little journal that I never would have considered before, but it just grabbed me when I spotted it.
The artist is Laurel Burch and it's her "1999 Self Portrait." On the spine it reads, "The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears." Again, not something that would normally appeal to me, but I'm a different person now. And I had to have this journal. I've already filled up about a fifth of the pages. It remains a good complement to this blog, as I can pour my unrefined thoughts into it. No worrying about grammar and comprehensibility!
That Friday night, Erich and I knew we were going to want to get out of the house again. Wednesday and Thursday we had gone to my parents' house. Friday we went out. We had dinner at Stir Crazy and were going to see a late showing of Juno. ("A movie about a pregnant girl right after having a miscarriage? What were you thinking??" I don't know.) But during dinner the bleeding ramped up, and we were both kind of tired anyway. We stopped at Target on the way home so I could get some big ugly maxi pads, and I decided I wanted some crayons and a fun coloring book. I splurged on the box of 120. I thought about 64 or 96, but really, when it comes to getting a ton of crayons, why not just go for 120?
(The surprise inside is a crayon sharpener.) And there are crayon colors I'd never seen before. Wonderful, beautiful colors with great names like "fuzzy wuzzy" and "purple mountain's majesty." When we got to the coloring books, the announcement came that the store was closing in 15 minutes, so I settled on this one:
I think it was a good choice. And with 120 crayons, I can be really true to color. Very fun.
The next night, Erich and I went out again to a very nice Argentinean restaurant in downtown Naperville. We got a fruit/ice cream/champagne drink concoction for dessert, which was delicious and fun, but it was deflating at the same time. Alcohol is one thing I can enjoy at most times, but it's harder to enjoy now--I would gladly keep giving it up entirely. But I digress. After dinner, we headed to Barnes & Noble and I checked out the coloring book selection and came across this gem:
I've since learned that a "mandala" is a repetitive design within a circle. It's very fun and relaxing to color these. The intro to the book begins: "We often forget that children need a way to relieve stress, too. Coloring mandalas is perfect way to help them to relax and focus, while also fostering a love of art." And I'm here to attest that they also work for 24-year-olds. I've filled the majority of the book. I may soon have to get Kid's Flower Mandalas!
In addition to coloring and journaling, I've also been reading. Sunday, the day before D&C, I picked up a book from the library, Miscarriage: Why It Happens and How Best to Reduce Your Risk. It was one of only two books on miscarriage the library had. It felt good at first to just read a book. Something in-depth, written by a doctor, with no distracting animated ads all around it and no scrolling, unlike many Google search results. But as a book, it was pretty dry and merely listed all the reasons that people have miscarriages. The best thing that came out of skimming the whole thing was a basic knowledge of Müllerian anomalies, which I was very glad to know when the doctor said "septum" and "bicornuate" without further explanation.
The book I had already ordered on Amazon and received last Tuesday was recommended by someone on the Nest. It's called Avoiding Miscarriage: Everything You Need to Know to Feel More Confident in Pregnancy. It's good. It goes through all the reasons that miscarriages happen like the other book, but it goes a step further by helping the reader discern what may have caused her own miscarriage(s) and whether/when to pursue treatment as well as what treatment entails. It also touches upon emotional aspects, includes true stories/testimonials, and is very sympathetic, as the author wrote and published the book herself after four miscarriages of her own. I read a lot of it in the few days after I got it (which was my worst time, emotionally), but have put it down for the time being. Since the book is about miscarriage, most of the real pregnancies mentioned in the book end in miscarriage. And 100% of my pregnancies have ended in miscarriage! (Yes, it's only one, but still.) So I started taking a break from this book and vowed not to ever read it at bedtime--one night I woke Erich up because I couldn't stop crying! I felt so helpless and hopeless. But do I recommend this book to anyone who's experienced a miscarriage? Yes, I do. Just don't read it within a week of a first miscarriage, and don't read it at bedtime, when you might spend too much time reflecting on sad stories and all the things that could possibly go wrong.
My latest distraction is getting back into normal life. I'm teaching my choir and piano lessons again. And it's easier than I thought it would be. Next week, I'm going to start exercising with Erich again like I did before I got pregnant, and I'm really looking forward to it. Life will never be the same, but I will heal.
One is obvious: this blog. However, I went through a little journey before deciding to start a new blog. I thought about it right away, but didn't think I would start one. But if you refer to my first post, the impetus was finding out about the uterine anomaly. A lovely side-effect was feeling compelled to tell the entire story from the beginning, which has been cathartic beyond words.
My first outlet I have also mentioned before: the Nest. It's been the best grief-support group I could hope for. I was on the Pregnancy Loss community almost nonstop for the first two days. I don't spend quite as much time on it now. For one, a lot of the ladies there are in the "trying again" phase (predicting ovulation, figuring out their fertility charts, waiting to POAS), and I'm not there yet. Also, it gets to be depressing after several weeks, seeing all the new people posting about their recent miscarriages. It starts to feel like everyone has a miscarriage/stillbirth, when really it's just everyone on this particular message board.
The Friday after the bad news, I went out to breakfast with my mom. We went to Barnes & Noble afterward. I scoured the store for any books on miscarriage and found NONE. That was surprising and disappointing. No worries though; I had already ordered one from Amazon. My main goal was to get a new journal. I had actually just been looking for a journal the week before to document the pregnancy (ooh, I should add that to the list), but I didn't really like any of them. But as the goal was different this time, I thought I might have some luck. Indeed, I did. It was a very nice little journal that I never would have considered before, but it just grabbed me when I spotted it.
The artist is Laurel Burch and it's her "1999 Self Portrait." On the spine it reads, "The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears." Again, not something that would normally appeal to me, but I'm a different person now. And I had to have this journal. I've already filled up about a fifth of the pages. It remains a good complement to this blog, as I can pour my unrefined thoughts into it. No worrying about grammar and comprehensibility!That Friday night, Erich and I knew we were going to want to get out of the house again. Wednesday and Thursday we had gone to my parents' house. Friday we went out. We had dinner at Stir Crazy and were going to see a late showing of Juno. ("A movie about a pregnant girl right after having a miscarriage? What were you thinking??" I don't know.) But during dinner the bleeding ramped up, and we were both kind of tired anyway. We stopped at Target on the way home so I could get some big ugly maxi pads, and I decided I wanted some crayons and a fun coloring book. I splurged on the box of 120. I thought about 64 or 96, but really, when it comes to getting a ton of crayons, why not just go for 120?
(The surprise inside is a crayon sharpener.) And there are crayon colors I'd never seen before. Wonderful, beautiful colors with great names like "fuzzy wuzzy" and "purple mountain's majesty." When we got to the coloring books, the announcement came that the store was closing in 15 minutes, so I settled on this one:
I think it was a good choice. And with 120 crayons, I can be really true to color. Very fun.The next night, Erich and I went out again to a very nice Argentinean restaurant in downtown Naperville. We got a fruit/ice cream/champagne drink concoction for dessert, which was delicious and fun, but it was deflating at the same time. Alcohol is one thing I can enjoy at most times, but it's harder to enjoy now--I would gladly keep giving it up entirely. But I digress. After dinner, we headed to Barnes & Noble and I checked out the coloring book selection and came across this gem:
I've since learned that a "mandala" is a repetitive design within a circle. It's very fun and relaxing to color these. The intro to the book begins: "We often forget that children need a way to relieve stress, too. Coloring mandalas is perfect way to help them to relax and focus, while also fostering a love of art." And I'm here to attest that they also work for 24-year-olds. I've filled the majority of the book. I may soon have to get Kid's Flower Mandalas!In addition to coloring and journaling, I've also been reading. Sunday, the day before D&C, I picked up a book from the library, Miscarriage: Why It Happens and How Best to Reduce Your Risk. It was one of only two books on miscarriage the library had. It felt good at first to just read a book. Something in-depth, written by a doctor, with no distracting animated ads all around it and no scrolling, unlike many Google search results. But as a book, it was pretty dry and merely listed all the reasons that people have miscarriages. The best thing that came out of skimming the whole thing was a basic knowledge of Müllerian anomalies, which I was very glad to know when the doctor said "septum" and "bicornuate" without further explanation.
The book I had already ordered on Amazon and received last Tuesday was recommended by someone on the Nest. It's called Avoiding Miscarriage: Everything You Need to Know to Feel More Confident in Pregnancy. It's good. It goes through all the reasons that miscarriages happen like the other book, but it goes a step further by helping the reader discern what may have caused her own miscarriage(s) and whether/when to pursue treatment as well as what treatment entails. It also touches upon emotional aspects, includes true stories/testimonials, and is very sympathetic, as the author wrote and published the book herself after four miscarriages of her own. I read a lot of it in the few days after I got it (which was my worst time, emotionally), but have put it down for the time being. Since the book is about miscarriage, most of the real pregnancies mentioned in the book end in miscarriage. And 100% of my pregnancies have ended in miscarriage! (Yes, it's only one, but still.) So I started taking a break from this book and vowed not to ever read it at bedtime--one night I woke Erich up because I couldn't stop crying! I felt so helpless and hopeless. But do I recommend this book to anyone who's experienced a miscarriage? Yes, I do. Just don't read it within a week of a first miscarriage, and don't read it at bedtime, when you might spend too much time reflecting on sad stories and all the things that could possibly go wrong.
My latest distraction is getting back into normal life. I'm teaching my choir and piano lessons again. And it's easier than I thought it would be. Next week, I'm going to start exercising with Erich again like I did before I got pregnant, and I'm really looking forward to it. Life will never be the same, but I will heal.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Things I'm Glad I Hadn't Done Yet
This list goes hand-in-hand with "The Silver Lining," in that I was very glad there are certain things I hadn't done yet. Things that may have served as very painful reminders later on.
I did not:
One thing's certain, I'm definitely a procrastinator. And, kids, let me tell you, sometimes it pays to be a procrastinator!
I did not:
- Buy any baby clothes.
- Take pictures of my belly. I had intended to start this pretty soon. My belly had already grown, but it was almost completely bloat--gross!
- Buy any maternity clothes. Again, something I was going to start shortly.
- Tell any of my piano students/parents about the pregnancy. (One knew because they're members at our church and heard us in the prayers.) That's at least one sector of people I didn't have to tell the bad news to.
- Actually get around to moving things around for the nursery. It's still a fresh slate of horrible, disgusting mess we still have to sift through after moving in late August.
- Sign up for classes at the hospital--birthing, newborn care, breastfeeding, etc. I had looked at the schedule the week before the m/c and had already decided on some dates in June, and we had already been told to sign up soon as classes fill up quickly. I thought it couldn't hurt to wait till after our next prenatal checkup (which never happened). I was right!
- Buy or order extra fabric for my bridesmaid dress mentioned in the previous post. In fact, I still haven't picked up the dress!
- Sign up on too many websites/mailing lists that may send me coupons/whatever around late August, expecting me to be a new mother requiring their services. At least I hope I'm not on any mailing lists.
- Start any baby registries in anticipation of baby showers later on.
- Buy any baby furniture or supplies, even though Target and other places had it all on sale a few weeks ago.
One thing's certain, I'm definitely a procrastinator. And, kids, let me tell you, sometimes it pays to be a procrastinator!
The Silver Lining
No longer being pregnant can simplify life in many ways. And there are some things I can be happy about:
- I can drink beer again.
- I will be able to fully enjoy the local culture (a.k.a. drink wine, etc.) when we travel to Spain this spring.
- I won't have to spend beaucoup bucks getting my bridesmaid dress augmented for my good friend's wedding in late May.
- I don't have to worry about my large girth and advanced pregnancy affecting summer travels.
- We can take much more time to save money for a baby (assuming insurance covers the vast majority of all the impending medical expenses).
- We don't have to worry about traveling with a newborn for the holidays.
- I can refocus on exercise and diet to get down to a decent weight, as I intended to do before I got pregnant.
- I can eat sushi.
Monday, February 25, 2008
The D&C
One week ago, Monday, February 18, Erich and I got up before dawn and drove to the hospital. I wasn't really nervous about the procedure; I was more worried about the emotional upheaval associated with the absolute end of the pregnancy. We were going to the hospital, six months too soon, and we weren't going to get to take a baby back home with us.
There's something so peaceful about being awake when the sun comes up. It always makes me wish that I were an early riser, but I value my morning sleep too much to ever actually consider it.
We got to the surgical waiting room at 6:30 exactly--right on time! We signed in and were taken to a room where I changed into a hospital gown, got a bracelet and an IV. I signed forms and answered a bunch of questions. (I should have tallied the number of times I was asked if I was allergic to any medications because it felt like a thousand.) Then I had my first wheelchair ride ever to another room with curtains, where I waited on a bed and met more nurses, the anesthesiologist, and another doctor from the ob/gyn practice, Dr. P, who performed the procedure. She told me that she wouldn't see me after the procedure unless there was something to tell me. I thought it made sense that she wouldn't wait around for me to wake up if everything was normal. Everyone was nice and I felt well taken care of. Edward is a great hospital. My mom arrived around 8:00 and waited with me and Erich. We got to watch TV. And I got to experience the wonderful sensation of having to go to the bathroom without having had anything to drink, thanks to the wonders of IV.
Just a little after 8:30, my bed was wheeled to the operating room. It's odd to be wheeled around on a bed--it makes me feel pretty helpless, but there's something luxurious about it as well. The OR was overwhelming. It was a big room with a high ceiling and just lots of medical stuff all around. I hoisted myself onto the operating table, which came equipped with the most monstrous stirrups I've ever seen. They looked like bisected ski boots. Nurses were flurrying around, moving me every which way and preparing equipment. They stuck a big sticker on my back to monitor my heart. The anesthesiologist described everything he was doing. First he gave me some drugs to help ease the discomfort of what was going to go in next. The main drugs did hurt. It felt like my arm was being squeezed and twisted. I writhed in pain a little, and that's the last thing I remember.
As I woke up in the curtained waiting area, there was a nurse or two on my left attending to me. I think they asked me if I remembered getting a shot in my arm. I did not. Then there was one nurse and she told me I could keep dozing as there was nothing going on. But she told me what to expect (the shot was for making my uterus contract, yay!) and then informed me Dr. P would be there to talk to me. I turned my head to the right, and there was the face I did not expect to see! In my drugged state, I didn't have a chance to get worried, but I was very curious as to why I got to see the doctor a full hour after the short procedure began. She smiled and told me that when she was doing the procedure she saw a septum and I may have a bicornuate uterus--this may have caused my miscarriage. My absolute first gut reaction was to be glad there was a possible reason for the miscarriage. Everyone wants an explanation, and I didn't expect to get one, but here was a possibility presented to me. But my mind automatically leaped to the implications: what is my prognosis? I asked if it can be fixed and she said it could, and that we'd talk more about it in my follow-up appointment. Then she was gone.
My mind was reeling. It was hard to know what to think or feel. In fact, it was hard to even think or feel much at all due to the effects of the anesthesia. I thought about septate and bicornuate uteri. I had actually read about these things in a book on miscarriage I had gotten at the library. I remembered that a septate uterus is normal on the outside but has a septum on the inside. A bicornuate uterus is essentially heart-shaped. I didn't know what either of these meant as far as treatment and chances of success. I was so relieved and so scared at the same time. Obviously, we weren't dealing with a fertility problem (unless getting pregnant so easily the first time was a fluke), but if my anatomical problem will prevent me from staying pregnant, we weren't going to be able to abide by our original goal of getting pregnant again before my birthday (May 21). At the very least, I would have to get my problem fixed with surgery before we could have a baby.
I pondered these things as I was taken to a recovery room, cramping and bleeding. I sat in a big chair and a nurse covered me in warm blankets and then brought Erich and my mom to me. I tried to explain to them what Dr. P had told me. I tried to remember the look on her face and the tone of her voice when she talked to me. Her calm demeanor and pleasant European accent made her a little inscrutable, but I knew that nothing she did or said was alarming in nature. She had made it seem like this was something she had seen before. But it was impossible to know, and still is, until I can meet with her to gather more information.
I started to slowly feel more normal and the nurse came in to remove my IV. Erich helped me walk to the bathroom where I put my clothes back on. Not much time passed before Erich went to get the car and I was wheeled outside into the cold wind, on my way home. We were home by 11:30.
I spent way too much time the rest of the day and the next day, perched on my hard chair at my computer, looking for all the information I could find. There were almost no girls on the Nest who had been told they had a septum. But then one came through and pointed me to a good online resource for people with Müllerian Anomalies, which is what I apparently have. I read and Googled, took breaks, then Googled some more. But, sadly, Google could not tell me what my uterus looks like. (Sensing a theme here?)
By Wednesday I had had it. There was no sense in researching when I didn't have enough information about myself. I am glad I know what I know now, and I'll share my information in subsequent posts, but there had to be an end. I had learned my lesson of patience and I lost all desire to keep scouring the internet for answers. The answers will come, and it will start a week from tomorrow, when I have my follow-up appointment with Dr. P. In the grand scheme of things, two weeks is not too long to wait. And very hopefully, in the big picture, it won't even be too long before we have our first of several babies.
It was time to stop speculating and worrying about the future and start facing what had happened to me. I needed to acknowledge the baby we lost and mourn properly. I started this blog and forced myself to remember what it was like when we were expecting a baby. It was painful to draw it all out, but it needed to be done, and I'm so glad I did it. This hurts so much, but it is better than being numb. The future will take care of itself. We are letting go of what was never in our hands to begin with and taking charge of our healing.
There's something so peaceful about being awake when the sun comes up. It always makes me wish that I were an early riser, but I value my morning sleep too much to ever actually consider it.
We got to the surgical waiting room at 6:30 exactly--right on time! We signed in and were taken to a room where I changed into a hospital gown, got a bracelet and an IV. I signed forms and answered a bunch of questions. (I should have tallied the number of times I was asked if I was allergic to any medications because it felt like a thousand.) Then I had my first wheelchair ride ever to another room with curtains, where I waited on a bed and met more nurses, the anesthesiologist, and another doctor from the ob/gyn practice, Dr. P, who performed the procedure. She told me that she wouldn't see me after the procedure unless there was something to tell me. I thought it made sense that she wouldn't wait around for me to wake up if everything was normal. Everyone was nice and I felt well taken care of. Edward is a great hospital. My mom arrived around 8:00 and waited with me and Erich. We got to watch TV. And I got to experience the wonderful sensation of having to go to the bathroom without having had anything to drink, thanks to the wonders of IV.
Just a little after 8:30, my bed was wheeled to the operating room. It's odd to be wheeled around on a bed--it makes me feel pretty helpless, but there's something luxurious about it as well. The OR was overwhelming. It was a big room with a high ceiling and just lots of medical stuff all around. I hoisted myself onto the operating table, which came equipped with the most monstrous stirrups I've ever seen. They looked like bisected ski boots. Nurses were flurrying around, moving me every which way and preparing equipment. They stuck a big sticker on my back to monitor my heart. The anesthesiologist described everything he was doing. First he gave me some drugs to help ease the discomfort of what was going to go in next. The main drugs did hurt. It felt like my arm was being squeezed and twisted. I writhed in pain a little, and that's the last thing I remember.
As I woke up in the curtained waiting area, there was a nurse or two on my left attending to me. I think they asked me if I remembered getting a shot in my arm. I did not. Then there was one nurse and she told me I could keep dozing as there was nothing going on. But she told me what to expect (the shot was for making my uterus contract, yay!) and then informed me Dr. P would be there to talk to me. I turned my head to the right, and there was the face I did not expect to see! In my drugged state, I didn't have a chance to get worried, but I was very curious as to why I got to see the doctor a full hour after the short procedure began. She smiled and told me that when she was doing the procedure she saw a septum and I may have a bicornuate uterus--this may have caused my miscarriage. My absolute first gut reaction was to be glad there was a possible reason for the miscarriage. Everyone wants an explanation, and I didn't expect to get one, but here was a possibility presented to me. But my mind automatically leaped to the implications: what is my prognosis? I asked if it can be fixed and she said it could, and that we'd talk more about it in my follow-up appointment. Then she was gone.
My mind was reeling. It was hard to know what to think or feel. In fact, it was hard to even think or feel much at all due to the effects of the anesthesia. I thought about septate and bicornuate uteri. I had actually read about these things in a book on miscarriage I had gotten at the library. I remembered that a septate uterus is normal on the outside but has a septum on the inside. A bicornuate uterus is essentially heart-shaped. I didn't know what either of these meant as far as treatment and chances of success. I was so relieved and so scared at the same time. Obviously, we weren't dealing with a fertility problem (unless getting pregnant so easily the first time was a fluke), but if my anatomical problem will prevent me from staying pregnant, we weren't going to be able to abide by our original goal of getting pregnant again before my birthday (May 21). At the very least, I would have to get my problem fixed with surgery before we could have a baby.
I pondered these things as I was taken to a recovery room, cramping and bleeding. I sat in a big chair and a nurse covered me in warm blankets and then brought Erich and my mom to me. I tried to explain to them what Dr. P had told me. I tried to remember the look on her face and the tone of her voice when she talked to me. Her calm demeanor and pleasant European accent made her a little inscrutable, but I knew that nothing she did or said was alarming in nature. She had made it seem like this was something she had seen before. But it was impossible to know, and still is, until I can meet with her to gather more information.
I started to slowly feel more normal and the nurse came in to remove my IV. Erich helped me walk to the bathroom where I put my clothes back on. Not much time passed before Erich went to get the car and I was wheeled outside into the cold wind, on my way home. We were home by 11:30.
I spent way too much time the rest of the day and the next day, perched on my hard chair at my computer, looking for all the information I could find. There were almost no girls on the Nest who had been told they had a septum. But then one came through and pointed me to a good online resource for people with Müllerian Anomalies, which is what I apparently have. I read and Googled, took breaks, then Googled some more. But, sadly, Google could not tell me what my uterus looks like. (Sensing a theme here?)
By Wednesday I had had it. There was no sense in researching when I didn't have enough information about myself. I am glad I know what I know now, and I'll share my information in subsequent posts, but there had to be an end. I had learned my lesson of patience and I lost all desire to keep scouring the internet for answers. The answers will come, and it will start a week from tomorrow, when I have my follow-up appointment with Dr. P. In the grand scheme of things, two weeks is not too long to wait. And very hopefully, in the big picture, it won't even be too long before we have our first of several babies.
It was time to stop speculating and worrying about the future and start facing what had happened to me. I needed to acknowledge the baby we lost and mourn properly. I started this blog and forced myself to remember what it was like when we were expecting a baby. It was painful to draw it all out, but it needed to be done, and I'm so glad I did it. This hurts so much, but it is better than being numb. The future will take care of itself. We are letting go of what was never in our hands to begin with and taking charge of our healing.
Friday, February 22, 2008
The Aftermath
First reaction: anger. I was so angry that we had just told everyone, and now we'd have to immediately deliver the news of our loss. I was angry at myself for thinking I was still pregnant for three weeks after the baby had died. Just as I had failed to recognize my pregnancy when it began, I completely missed any signs that it was over.
The news of the miscarriage had a memory-altering effect. Though I now realize that my body had continued to believe it was pregnant because the baby was still inside, for the first few days, I could not remember consciously believing I was pregnant in the preceding weeks. I knew that I had thought I was pregnant; but because the cold, hard facts confirmed that our baby was dead and had been for at least a few weeks, I could not remember honestly believing in my heart that I was pregnant. It's very difficult to describe that sensation. It creeped me out.
I now recognize my altered memory as a psychological defense mechanism. I was protecting myself from feeling a strong sense of injustice. I kept myself from asking "why?"--at least of God (sure, I wanted a doctor to tell me why)--and thus protected myself from strong, uncontrollable emotions. Within two days, I was saying to myself and others: "Bad things happen to good people. There's no sense in asking why. It's not about what is deserved because we all deserve death. Our baby died and it's very sad. The end." But I knew this was not to be the conclusion of my grief. I felt eerily well-adjusted, so much so that I found myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. I wasn't letting myself miss being pregnant. I wasn't allowing myself to feel robbed of having that "baby belly," of giving birth in August, bringing home a newborn, or experiencing all the joys of parenthood. I couldn't think about these things yet.
I focused solely on starting again, on conceiving another baby soon. I thought, if we could just get pregnant again before this first baby was due, then I could see this as two children who could not have lived at the same time. A modification of "it's all for the best." I don't believe it's all for the best, but good things can happen after bad. I knew it wouldn't be good to think about replacing our lost baby. Sooner or later the grief would surface and I would have to face it. I didn't think I was keeping it buried, but I was. I was thinking about "replacement." I had my eyes on the future because it was too painful to consider the present.
I spent a lot of time on thenestbaby.com, on the Miscarriage/Pregnancy Loss community message board. It helped me feel like one of many. Miscarriage is extremely painful, but it's a common, almost normal, end to pregnancy. The ladies on that message board know what to say and are happy to give support. There I found much comfort as well as information. I asked the others about the D&C, and the responses helped me to realize I needed to have it done. I had started to bleed much more, but it would be impossible to tell how long it would take to "pass" everything. It finally dawned on me that I had already been carrying a dead baby for weeks--perhaps it would be easier to heal emotionally if I didn't have to go through the potentially drawn-out physical pain of a natural miscarriage. I called my doctor's office and scheduled the procedure for the following Monday morning.
Throughout the weekend, I continued to have cramps and bleeding, like a bad period. I continued to (unwittingly) suppress my grief. All I could do was move forward, and the only person I know how to be is myself, so I laughed; I talked about things other than our loss. Erich and I spent a lot of time with my family--it was easier to be away from home and with other people. I started keeping a journal and poured my thoughts into it daily. I heard of other women (my grandmother, a friend of my mom's) who had had miscarriages many years before and now couldn't much recall the details. I hoped and believed that would be me one day. We'll have our four kids in our lives filled with love and joy and I might have to be reminded of the one we didn't get to keep. I still hope that is the case, but I can't imagine forgetting.
The D&C was the turning point, mentally and emotionally. But I shall save that for another day.
The news of the miscarriage had a memory-altering effect. Though I now realize that my body had continued to believe it was pregnant because the baby was still inside, for the first few days, I could not remember consciously believing I was pregnant in the preceding weeks. I knew that I had thought I was pregnant; but because the cold, hard facts confirmed that our baby was dead and had been for at least a few weeks, I could not remember honestly believing in my heart that I was pregnant. It's very difficult to describe that sensation. It creeped me out.
I now recognize my altered memory as a psychological defense mechanism. I was protecting myself from feeling a strong sense of injustice. I kept myself from asking "why?"--at least of God (sure, I wanted a doctor to tell me why)--and thus protected myself from strong, uncontrollable emotions. Within two days, I was saying to myself and others: "Bad things happen to good people. There's no sense in asking why. It's not about what is deserved because we all deserve death. Our baby died and it's very sad. The end." But I knew this was not to be the conclusion of my grief. I felt eerily well-adjusted, so much so that I found myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. I wasn't letting myself miss being pregnant. I wasn't allowing myself to feel robbed of having that "baby belly," of giving birth in August, bringing home a newborn, or experiencing all the joys of parenthood. I couldn't think about these things yet.
I focused solely on starting again, on conceiving another baby soon. I thought, if we could just get pregnant again before this first baby was due, then I could see this as two children who could not have lived at the same time. A modification of "it's all for the best." I don't believe it's all for the best, but good things can happen after bad. I knew it wouldn't be good to think about replacing our lost baby. Sooner or later the grief would surface and I would have to face it. I didn't think I was keeping it buried, but I was. I was thinking about "replacement." I had my eyes on the future because it was too painful to consider the present.
I spent a lot of time on thenestbaby.com, on the Miscarriage/Pregnancy Loss community message board. It helped me feel like one of many. Miscarriage is extremely painful, but it's a common, almost normal, end to pregnancy. The ladies on that message board know what to say and are happy to give support. There I found much comfort as well as information. I asked the others about the D&C, and the responses helped me to realize I needed to have it done. I had started to bleed much more, but it would be impossible to tell how long it would take to "pass" everything. It finally dawned on me that I had already been carrying a dead baby for weeks--perhaps it would be easier to heal emotionally if I didn't have to go through the potentially drawn-out physical pain of a natural miscarriage. I called my doctor's office and scheduled the procedure for the following Monday morning.
Throughout the weekend, I continued to have cramps and bleeding, like a bad period. I continued to (unwittingly) suppress my grief. All I could do was move forward, and the only person I know how to be is myself, so I laughed; I talked about things other than our loss. Erich and I spent a lot of time with my family--it was easier to be away from home and with other people. I started keeping a journal and poured my thoughts into it daily. I heard of other women (my grandmother, a friend of my mom's) who had had miscarriages many years before and now couldn't much recall the details. I hoped and believed that would be me one day. We'll have our four kids in our lives filled with love and joy and I might have to be reminded of the one we didn't get to keep. I still hope that is the case, but I can't imagine forgetting.
The D&C was the turning point, mentally and emotionally. But I shall save that for another day.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Thank you
I just want to take a break from the story to thank those who are reading. And I especially thank elephantschild and pianomomsicle for your very nice comments. I feel very gratified to know that so many people are thinking about us and praying for us and that my story is appreciated.
I feel a particular drive to tell the story for several reasons. First of all, our baby was a person who existed, even though no one ever got to meet him or her. This loss is real and will never go away. But the real itch to write came after I was told there may be an anatomical reason for the miscarriage. While I'm relieved to have a possible reason, I feel the injustice even more acutely: there may have been nothing wrong with our baby. This may not have been a chromosomal abnormality, incompatible with life. Don't get me wrong, the loss would still be very real. But I feel now that the story has changed and we are truly on a journey now. At the point of my story where I've left off, I focused on "trying again." I wanted to move on, to make another baby who wouldn't die. Now I see there are a few steps to take before we get to that point.
In the world of fertility, everything requires patience. Waiting to start to try, waiting for peak fertility, waiting to see if it worked, then waiting to see if the baby survives the first trimester, the rest of pregnancy, birth... (SIDS, illness, accidents, childhood; it really doesn't end). The main theme of our story was always going to involve a lot of patience. But it is not as simple any more. We have to wait for our follow-up appointment, further diagnosis, weighing treatment options, treatment itself, waiting again to TTC, waiting to see if it works, and then we're "back on track" with the original list of worries.
I'll continue to tell the story. We've had "The Beginning," "The Middle," and "The End." I anticipate "The Aftermath" and "The D&C." After that, I'll supply updates. And again, I want to thank those of you who are reading, even if you don't leave comments, for thinking our story is worth telling. (But comments make me feel even better. ;)
I feel a particular drive to tell the story for several reasons. First of all, our baby was a person who existed, even though no one ever got to meet him or her. This loss is real and will never go away. But the real itch to write came after I was told there may be an anatomical reason for the miscarriage. While I'm relieved to have a possible reason, I feel the injustice even more acutely: there may have been nothing wrong with our baby. This may not have been a chromosomal abnormality, incompatible with life. Don't get me wrong, the loss would still be very real. But I feel now that the story has changed and we are truly on a journey now. At the point of my story where I've left off, I focused on "trying again." I wanted to move on, to make another baby who wouldn't die. Now I see there are a few steps to take before we get to that point.
In the world of fertility, everything requires patience. Waiting to start to try, waiting for peak fertility, waiting to see if it worked, then waiting to see if the baby survives the first trimester, the rest of pregnancy, birth... (SIDS, illness, accidents, childhood; it really doesn't end). The main theme of our story was always going to involve a lot of patience. But it is not as simple any more. We have to wait for our follow-up appointment, further diagnosis, weighing treatment options, treatment itself, waiting again to TTC, waiting to see if it works, and then we're "back on track" with the original list of worries.
I'll continue to tell the story. We've had "The Beginning," "The Middle," and "The End." I anticipate "The Aftermath" and "The D&C." After that, I'll supply updates. And again, I want to thank those of you who are reading, even if you don't leave comments, for thinking our story is worth telling. (But comments make me feel even better. ;)
The End
Even as the pregnancy didn't feel "real," I knew that it was normal, because nothing had given me a reason to believe it wasn't. Simply put, the pregnant woman cannot feel the baby. Many women have some spotting or bleeding in the first trimester--I had none. I couldn't yet feel my uterus emerging from my pelvic region at almost twelve weeks, but that too was not enough of a problem to make me worry seriously. I had been told I have a "tipped" uterus at my ultrasound. My reaction was, "Oh really? So does my mom!" Not worried; my mom had four healthy, full-term pregnancies. So maybe my uterus was still righting itself before becoming noticeable from the outside.
But my fatigue did lessen noticeably, well before the end of the first trimester. How could I have known that was the only clue that anything was wrong? Why shouldn't I have been glad that I didn't have to spend most of my days sleeping?
[TMI alert!] Two weeks ago, I started to have yucky trouble with hemorrhoids. It was scary to see blood at first, but as soon as I confirmed the source (NOT the baby), I was relieved. I had constipation problems throughout the following weekend. Monday evening, there was something new on the toilet paper when I wiped (I always checked the toilet paper). A very, very small amount of brown mucous. I thought it was hemorrhoid-related and tried to put it out of my mind. But on Tuesday, this problem continued. I consulted my Mayo Clinic book, which is very comprehensive, but I couldn't find anything specifically about brown spotting at 12 weeks. The best I could come up with was that brown means old blood, so maybe this was leftover from my pap smear or intercourse or something. But I couldn't stop the bad thoughts from rushing in all around me. I felt numb as I considered the possibility that the baby was in danger. I started to cry, knowing I would call the doctor the next day and there was a strong possibility I would be told that everything was NOT okay and nothing could be done. Erich comforted me and resisted thinking the worst, but I know he was very worried as well.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008. The Cantor was out of town, so I played organ for school chapel in the morning, followed closely by midweek Lenten Matins. After matins, I had about two hours until I had to teach choir. I called my doctor's office. On hold as usual. I didn't know whether to talk to a nurse or schedule an appointment, so I stayed on the line and got to the office staff. They couldn't tell me what to do, so transferred me to a triage nurse. More sitting on hold. They play Enya on their hold music. The nurse finally picked up.
Me: "Hi, I'm scheduled to come in for my next prenatal appointment next week, but I don't know if I should come in sooner because I've had a small amount of brown spotting and--"
Nurse: "UH OH! Did you have intercourse recently?"
Me: (thinking) "Um, no, not really recently."
Nurse: [asks my name, what kind of insurance I have, puts me on hold] "Where are you right now?
Me: "I'm at my workplace, my church."
Nurse: "Are you close by, can you come in now?"
Me: "Yeah, I'm about ten minutes away..."
Nurse: "Start drinking water, don't empty your bladder until you've had an ultrasound. Come now!"
I hung up and barely kept myself from dissolving. I had my almost-full one-liter bottle of water that I started drinking as I picked up my phone again to call Erich. I barely squeaked out the words, "They're having me come in for an ultrasound! I'M SCARED!" I couldn't stay on the phone long because I had to drink water while I drove to the office. I got there in less than ten minutes, and the water was almost gone. I went in, told them I was there for an ultrasound; they knew who I was without me having to say my name. I had to wait a few minutes in the waiting area. My heart was pounding in my ears. I thought to myself, "It's not good for the baby to be so stressed out!" A darker, strengthening voice interceded, "If the baby's even alive." I waited as a very pregnant lady walked in, also for an ultrasound. She looked full-term. The dark voice in my head told me that wouldn't be me. This was the end of the road. But I couldn't yet believe it was over until a doctor told me so.
The ultrasound technician escorted me back to the room and asked how I was doing. "A little nervous!" I said. "Of course, stupid question!" she replied sympathetically. I got up on the table, she squirted the gel on my abdomen and started the ultrasound. I watched the screen. The technician remained silent. I saw the baby; it looked like the last ultrasound, but more opaque. And I knew deep down that it wasn't moving. But I wouldn't let myself think. "I think I'll do an internal.... Yes, an internal will get me a closer look. Go empty your bladder and come back in." I didn't need an internal ultrasound at 9 weeks. If I were going to be reassured, it would have happened by now. When I came back in the room, she had changed the angle of the screen so that it would be difficult for me to see it; I no longer wanted to look anyway. The internal seemed to last forever as she tried different angles. At one point, she turned on the sound, and I knew that's where a heartbeat should be--but there was only silence. All I could do was tremble. "Is it bad?" I asked. "Dr. D will talk to you. I'm sorry, but I'm not really allowed to say anything," and she patted me on the arm. The only reason I could hold myself together is that no one had actually told me it didn't look good. But I saw the screen just as she flipped it off: "9w0d."
I was escorted to Dr. D's office and left in there alone for what felt like forever but was probably only about three minutes. As I wept, I played over and over in my head the doctor coming in and saying, "It doesn't look good." I thought there still might be hope that things were okay, but really, I already knew. "It doesn't look good." "It doesn't look good."
Soon enough, the door opened, and the doctor walked in and sat on the edge of her desk, close to me. I could barely make eye contact as I heard her say, "It doesn't look good." And I finally fell apart. She told me 15% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage, and it doesn't increase my risk of having another one. But that couldn't bring my baby back. I said we had heard the heartbeat, and she said it's very rare to lose a baby after hearing the heartbeat. I asked what happens next, and she told me I'd schedule a D&C. I didn't know if I'd want to do that. It's hard to go from thinking you're pregnant to talking about having the "products of conception" scraped out of you within half an hour. She told me it's up to me. I asked how soon we could try again, she said one month after D&C. I whined that we had just told all our friends. She tried to comfort me. But she had to go. She handed me a brochure for a grief support group and the calling card of their office manager who schedules surgical procedures. She told me I could stay as long as I liked and didn't have to stop at the desk on my way out.
I couldn't move. I was paralyzed and numb. I sobbed. But I had to call Erich, and I had left my phone in my car. And there was nothing else I could do. I collected myself as well as I could, silently escaped to my car, and picked up my phone.
"Erich? We lost the baby. Can you come home?"
But my fatigue did lessen noticeably, well before the end of the first trimester. How could I have known that was the only clue that anything was wrong? Why shouldn't I have been glad that I didn't have to spend most of my days sleeping?
[TMI alert!] Two weeks ago, I started to have yucky trouble with hemorrhoids. It was scary to see blood at first, but as soon as I confirmed the source (NOT the baby), I was relieved. I had constipation problems throughout the following weekend. Monday evening, there was something new on the toilet paper when I wiped (I always checked the toilet paper). A very, very small amount of brown mucous. I thought it was hemorrhoid-related and tried to put it out of my mind. But on Tuesday, this problem continued. I consulted my Mayo Clinic book, which is very comprehensive, but I couldn't find anything specifically about brown spotting at 12 weeks. The best I could come up with was that brown means old blood, so maybe this was leftover from my pap smear or intercourse or something. But I couldn't stop the bad thoughts from rushing in all around me. I felt numb as I considered the possibility that the baby was in danger. I started to cry, knowing I would call the doctor the next day and there was a strong possibility I would be told that everything was NOT okay and nothing could be done. Erich comforted me and resisted thinking the worst, but I know he was very worried as well.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008. The Cantor was out of town, so I played organ for school chapel in the morning, followed closely by midweek Lenten Matins. After matins, I had about two hours until I had to teach choir. I called my doctor's office. On hold as usual. I didn't know whether to talk to a nurse or schedule an appointment, so I stayed on the line and got to the office staff. They couldn't tell me what to do, so transferred me to a triage nurse. More sitting on hold. They play Enya on their hold music. The nurse finally picked up.
Me: "Hi, I'm scheduled to come in for my next prenatal appointment next week, but I don't know if I should come in sooner because I've had a small amount of brown spotting and--"
Nurse: "UH OH! Did you have intercourse recently?"
Me: (thinking) "Um, no, not really recently."
Nurse: [asks my name, what kind of insurance I have, puts me on hold] "Where are you right now?
Me: "I'm at my workplace, my church."
Nurse: "Are you close by, can you come in now?"
Me: "Yeah, I'm about ten minutes away..."
Nurse: "Start drinking water, don't empty your bladder until you've had an ultrasound. Come now!"
I hung up and barely kept myself from dissolving. I had my almost-full one-liter bottle of water that I started drinking as I picked up my phone again to call Erich. I barely squeaked out the words, "They're having me come in for an ultrasound! I'M SCARED!" I couldn't stay on the phone long because I had to drink water while I drove to the office. I got there in less than ten minutes, and the water was almost gone. I went in, told them I was there for an ultrasound; they knew who I was without me having to say my name. I had to wait a few minutes in the waiting area. My heart was pounding in my ears. I thought to myself, "It's not good for the baby to be so stressed out!" A darker, strengthening voice interceded, "If the baby's even alive." I waited as a very pregnant lady walked in, also for an ultrasound. She looked full-term. The dark voice in my head told me that wouldn't be me. This was the end of the road. But I couldn't yet believe it was over until a doctor told me so.
The ultrasound technician escorted me back to the room and asked how I was doing. "A little nervous!" I said. "Of course, stupid question!" she replied sympathetically. I got up on the table, she squirted the gel on my abdomen and started the ultrasound. I watched the screen. The technician remained silent. I saw the baby; it looked like the last ultrasound, but more opaque. And I knew deep down that it wasn't moving. But I wouldn't let myself think. "I think I'll do an internal.... Yes, an internal will get me a closer look. Go empty your bladder and come back in." I didn't need an internal ultrasound at 9 weeks. If I were going to be reassured, it would have happened by now. When I came back in the room, she had changed the angle of the screen so that it would be difficult for me to see it; I no longer wanted to look anyway. The internal seemed to last forever as she tried different angles. At one point, she turned on the sound, and I knew that's where a heartbeat should be--but there was only silence. All I could do was tremble. "Is it bad?" I asked. "Dr. D will talk to you. I'm sorry, but I'm not really allowed to say anything," and she patted me on the arm. The only reason I could hold myself together is that no one had actually told me it didn't look good. But I saw the screen just as she flipped it off: "9w0d."
I was escorted to Dr. D's office and left in there alone for what felt like forever but was probably only about three minutes. As I wept, I played over and over in my head the doctor coming in and saying, "It doesn't look good." I thought there still might be hope that things were okay, but really, I already knew. "It doesn't look good." "It doesn't look good."
Soon enough, the door opened, and the doctor walked in and sat on the edge of her desk, close to me. I could barely make eye contact as I heard her say, "It doesn't look good." And I finally fell apart. She told me 15% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage, and it doesn't increase my risk of having another one. But that couldn't bring my baby back. I said we had heard the heartbeat, and she said it's very rare to lose a baby after hearing the heartbeat. I asked what happens next, and she told me I'd schedule a D&C. I didn't know if I'd want to do that. It's hard to go from thinking you're pregnant to talking about having the "products of conception" scraped out of you within half an hour. She told me it's up to me. I asked how soon we could try again, she said one month after D&C. I whined that we had just told all our friends. She tried to comfort me. But she had to go. She handed me a brochure for a grief support group and the calling card of their office manager who schedules surgical procedures. She told me I could stay as long as I liked and didn't have to stop at the desk on my way out.
I couldn't move. I was paralyzed and numb. I sobbed. But I had to call Erich, and I had left my phone in my car. And there was nothing else I could do. I collected myself as well as I could, silently escaped to my car, and picked up my phone.
"Erich? We lost the baby. Can you come home?"
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The Middle
Continued from "The Beginning"...
Sunday morning, sure enough, the two pink lines were almost equal in darkness and opacity. We were definitely pregnant.
I set about trying to figure out just how long I had been pregnant. Doctors usually count from the last menstrual period (LMP), and mine was October 29. But since I was decidedly NOT pregnant as late as December 3, that method was already out the window. I pretended that I got a period on November 29, even though I didn't, and figured I was probably only about 5 weeks along. I called my doctor, got a recommendation for an ob/gyn, sat on hold for the longest time, and finally got an appointment. They told me they don't usually see pregnant women until they're about six weeks along, so I figured I was safe with an appointment for January 22.
Erich and I decided not to tell anyone until after the first doctor appointment. That's just smart, right? And anyway, we were still very much getting used to the idea. Couples who TTC for months or even years before that positive result are probably generally elated when it finally happens. We were extremely happy and excited, but we were also caught off-guard. Naturally, we needed some time to get used to the idea before excitedly calling all our family and closest friends. But I soon realized that my mom might ask about my cycle directly, in which case I'd have to tell her. We just share everything like that. Sure enough, she asked only a few days later if AF had been to visit and I told her "the situation has rectified itself" and "we're not announcing anything yet ;)" She was very excited, and I was glad that someone else knew, but a big part of me still held back.
I still just couldn't believe it! But I had no choice but to accept what was going on. I share the wish of many pregnant women that there were some way to actually feel the baby growing inside, even when it's still very small. I had to find other ways to make it real. I bought new books: the Mayo Clinic Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy and In the Womb, which is based on a National Geographic TV special. Even reading about the pregnancy was difficult because I still didn't know how far along I was. Between weeks 6 and 8 the embryo goes from looking like a grotesque tadpole to a pudgy little humanoid alien. Reading books, like Google, couldn't actually tell me what was going on in my own body.
Meanwhile, the questions continued to swirl. If I was going to be due in early September, this was going to affect my work as a church musician, as I was going to be expected to fill in for a coworker's sabbatical in September. I fretted over this matter for several weeks, even though I knew no one would be mad at me for having a baby and it wasn't my job to figure it out. I also fretted about all the drinking I had done over the holidays. Granted, it was almost all in moderation--not more than one or two drinks a day and not even every day, but I still worried I had done something to permanently damage my baby's development. I felt guilty that I had had no idea I was pregnant and failed to see any signs.
It was hard to wait those two weeks for the first doctor appointment, but we made it. We told our families, I had an exam, and everything seemed normal. I was lucky enough to have an ultrasound only two days later to determine a due date. We were then shocked to find out the baby already measured 9 weeks and 1 day! That sure beat my estimate of 7 weeks. We saw the little baby bouncing around on the screen, and we heard the heartbeat! Erich and I told ourselves that this ultrasound experience should make it real for us, and we chose to believe ourselves. I was carrying a new life, our son or daughter, due on August 27th.
Not too long after that first appointment, my crushing fatigue seemed to lift gradually. I was relieved--I finally felt like I could be useful again! My belly also grew. I knew it was mostly bloat due to slowed digestion and all that wonderful stuff, but it was exciting. I ordered a Bella Band and started thinking about maternity clothes. I started telling people at church so that alternate plans could be made for my maternity leave. Soon, most people at church knew. I decided to keep waiting before telling my piano students. There was no need to tell everyone in the world until they could tell by looking at me, or at least until I was safely into the second trimester.
Erich and I started thinking about all the ways our lives would change by the end of the summer. Travel plans, finances, we discussed and planned away. We wondered whether our baby was a boy or girl (I thought maybe boy) and decided that we would like to find out at the next ultrasound. I thought about all the things I would do when I got bigger, like start knitting booties, take pictures of my belly, shop for maternity clothes, start a registry for showers. But I stopped short of actually doing any of these things. I didn't want to get ahead of myself.
We eventually felt that the time had come to tell our news to our wider circle of friends, even though we were just over a week shy of our 13-week doctor appointment. I announced it in my other blog. I put "pregnant" as my status on facebook. We emailed people. I told my closest friends either in person or in personal emails. We received many congratulations, and I felt I had finally gotten used to this pregnancy idea. It was finally really really REALLY real.
To be continued...
Sunday morning, sure enough, the two pink lines were almost equal in darkness and opacity. We were definitely pregnant.
I set about trying to figure out just how long I had been pregnant. Doctors usually count from the last menstrual period (LMP), and mine was October 29. But since I was decidedly NOT pregnant as late as December 3, that method was already out the window. I pretended that I got a period on November 29, even though I didn't, and figured I was probably only about 5 weeks along. I called my doctor, got a recommendation for an ob/gyn, sat on hold for the longest time, and finally got an appointment. They told me they don't usually see pregnant women until they're about six weeks along, so I figured I was safe with an appointment for January 22.
Erich and I decided not to tell anyone until after the first doctor appointment. That's just smart, right? And anyway, we were still very much getting used to the idea. Couples who TTC for months or even years before that positive result are probably generally elated when it finally happens. We were extremely happy and excited, but we were also caught off-guard. Naturally, we needed some time to get used to the idea before excitedly calling all our family and closest friends. But I soon realized that my mom might ask about my cycle directly, in which case I'd have to tell her. We just share everything like that. Sure enough, she asked only a few days later if AF had been to visit and I told her "the situation has rectified itself" and "we're not announcing anything yet ;)" She was very excited, and I was glad that someone else knew, but a big part of me still held back.
I still just couldn't believe it! But I had no choice but to accept what was going on. I share the wish of many pregnant women that there were some way to actually feel the baby growing inside, even when it's still very small. I had to find other ways to make it real. I bought new books: the Mayo Clinic Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy and In the Womb, which is based on a National Geographic TV special. Even reading about the pregnancy was difficult because I still didn't know how far along I was. Between weeks 6 and 8 the embryo goes from looking like a grotesque tadpole to a pudgy little humanoid alien. Reading books, like Google, couldn't actually tell me what was going on in my own body.
Meanwhile, the questions continued to swirl. If I was going to be due in early September, this was going to affect my work as a church musician, as I was going to be expected to fill in for a coworker's sabbatical in September. I fretted over this matter for several weeks, even though I knew no one would be mad at me for having a baby and it wasn't my job to figure it out. I also fretted about all the drinking I had done over the holidays. Granted, it was almost all in moderation--not more than one or two drinks a day and not even every day, but I still worried I had done something to permanently damage my baby's development. I felt guilty that I had had no idea I was pregnant and failed to see any signs.
It was hard to wait those two weeks for the first doctor appointment, but we made it. We told our families, I had an exam, and everything seemed normal. I was lucky enough to have an ultrasound only two days later to determine a due date. We were then shocked to find out the baby already measured 9 weeks and 1 day! That sure beat my estimate of 7 weeks. We saw the little baby bouncing around on the screen, and we heard the heartbeat! Erich and I told ourselves that this ultrasound experience should make it real for us, and we chose to believe ourselves. I was carrying a new life, our son or daughter, due on August 27th.
Not too long after that first appointment, my crushing fatigue seemed to lift gradually. I was relieved--I finally felt like I could be useful again! My belly also grew. I knew it was mostly bloat due to slowed digestion and all that wonderful stuff, but it was exciting. I ordered a Bella Band and started thinking about maternity clothes. I started telling people at church so that alternate plans could be made for my maternity leave. Soon, most people at church knew. I decided to keep waiting before telling my piano students. There was no need to tell everyone in the world until they could tell by looking at me, or at least until I was safely into the second trimester.
Erich and I started thinking about all the ways our lives would change by the end of the summer. Travel plans, finances, we discussed and planned away. We wondered whether our baby was a boy or girl (I thought maybe boy) and decided that we would like to find out at the next ultrasound. I thought about all the things I would do when I got bigger, like start knitting booties, take pictures of my belly, shop for maternity clothes, start a registry for showers. But I stopped short of actually doing any of these things. I didn't want to get ahead of myself.
We eventually felt that the time had come to tell our news to our wider circle of friends, even though we were just over a week shy of our 13-week doctor appointment. I announced it in my other blog. I put "pregnant" as my status on facebook. We emailed people. I told my closest friends either in person or in personal emails. We received many congratulations, and I felt I had finally gotten used to this pregnancy idea. It was finally really really REALLY real.
To be continued...
The Beginning
My husband, Erich, and I have been talking about having kids since our relationship became serious, over two years ago. We both knew we wanted to get married and have kids relatively soon, rather than me pursuing a career and putting off kids until we had a house. Actually, we arrived at these decisions after several series of discussions. We don't overplan--but we like to plan, and we really liked knowing we were on the same page throughout our relationship. The fact that we agreed on almost everything seemed like an excellent reason to get married!
Several months before our wedding last September, we decided that we "wouldn't prevent" for any amount of time after we were married. I had been on birth control pills (BCP) for about five years for various reasons and had no idea how my body would react when I stopped taking them. I wouldn't have been surprised or disappointed if it took six months to get pregnant. So I stopped taking BCP shortly after our wedding and never looked back. The first cycle off the pill was weird. My emotions were all over the place (so much so that my mom accused me more than once of being pregnant because I would tear up at the slightest provocation) and odd things happened throughout my body. Surprisingly, my skin did not get noticeably worse, and acne was the main reason I went on the pill in the first place.
With my emotions in the air due to hormonal adjustments and a big life change--hey, I finally got to live with my husband!--I got a little bit obsessed about my cycle. It was irregular before I went on BCP; now I was wondering how long it would be. I wondered when I would ovulate. I counted days, and when 28 passed, I started Googling pregnancy symptoms like crazy. Shockingly, Google could not tell me if I was pregnant yet. Finally, on October 29 after 31 days, I got my period, and it seemed normal. I was relieved that my body seemed to know what to do on its own.
In the following weeks, I stayed a little bit obsessed about my cycle, the fertile window, and when or whether I would get another period. I plugged my cycle length into ovulation predictor websites which give ovulation dates based on averages. But I really was trying not to obsess. (Really.) Cycle day 29 came and went but I was feeling a few symptoms that may be described as early pregnancy, so I took a home pregnancy test. Negative. Day 31 and no period. Test: negative. Two days later, no sign of Aunt Flow (AF), negative test result. I was angry at my body for being irregular and unpredictable, and while I still counted my cycle days, I refused to do anything else to make me think too much about cycles, fertility, pregnancy. There were better things to focus on as a married woman of less than three months.
As Christmas approached, I really did keep my mind off childbearing and found it to be much healthier. I was actually glad not to be pregnant yet, as Erich was still working to get me on his company's health insurance plan. Plus, there is much to be said about being a family of two for a while. There's no going back once the kids start showing up. I drank beer occasionally, I lived my life as I normally do, not seeing myself as someone who was "Trying to Conceive." I fooled myself into thinking it was highly unlikely I would get pregnant for a while since my cycle was irregular. I counted off the days with no period...40...50...60. I thought maybe my previous cycle was actually normal but simply lacked a period. One of my sessions with Mr. Google told me that was possible. I decided to be prepared for AF when we went to visit the in-laws for Christmas. I was feeling pretty sure of my intuition, especially since I was starting to feel some PMS symptoms.
Christmas came and went, New Year's came and went (with a few associated parties involving some immoderate drinking) and in the few days after New Year's, I was utterly exhausted. I mean, it's like me to feel some holiday let-down, but I spent two full days sitting and doing nothing but watching TV and sleeping in our La-Z-Boy love seat and I truly felt like I could not drag myself up. And I was nearing 70 days without a period. This was getting ridiculous. And this is when I finally allowed myself to consider the possibility that I was pregnant. I kept my suspicions to myself, as I didn't want Erich to think I was getting obsessed again.
That Saturday, January 5, Erich and I ran a few errands and stopped last at Jewell, where we picked up some ingredients to make homemade spaghetti sauce and have a nice dinner at home (including a bottle of wine). I walked over to the home pregnancy tests with Erich and shared my suspicions. First Response two-packs were on sale. "Let's just rule it out," I said in a blasé fashion. I really didn't think I was pregnant. "Okay," said Erich, in a tone that plainly said, "You can go ahead and waste $10 if you really need to for your own peace of mind."
We took our groceries home, I took the pregnancy test into the bathroom, did my thing. I didn't even wait a minute before I called out to Erich, "Told you! Negative." But I picked it up and brought it out to him and right before our eyes, the second line darkened just a teeny bit. My first reaction was denial, but I know that even a very faint line is a positive (thanks again, Google). Our eyes grew wide as we stared at each other, mouths agape. "We'll test again in the morning," we kept saying, knowing that "first morning urine" has more of the hormone in it.
We couldn't sit still the rest of the evening. The overriding emotion was disbelief. That was easy! Almost TOO easy! How long have I been pregnant? Oh no, I've been drinking for weeks! And I have to find an ob/gyn! I have to call my doctor right away!...on Monday! I tried to quiet my mind, but it didn't work too well. Erich and I had a brand new secret that only we knew, and we wanted to both shout it to the world and keep it to ourselves forever....
More to come.
Several months before our wedding last September, we decided that we "wouldn't prevent" for any amount of time after we were married. I had been on birth control pills (BCP) for about five years for various reasons and had no idea how my body would react when I stopped taking them. I wouldn't have been surprised or disappointed if it took six months to get pregnant. So I stopped taking BCP shortly after our wedding and never looked back. The first cycle off the pill was weird. My emotions were all over the place (so much so that my mom accused me more than once of being pregnant because I would tear up at the slightest provocation) and odd things happened throughout my body. Surprisingly, my skin did not get noticeably worse, and acne was the main reason I went on the pill in the first place.
With my emotions in the air due to hormonal adjustments and a big life change--hey, I finally got to live with my husband!--I got a little bit obsessed about my cycle. It was irregular before I went on BCP; now I was wondering how long it would be. I wondered when I would ovulate. I counted days, and when 28 passed, I started Googling pregnancy symptoms like crazy. Shockingly, Google could not tell me if I was pregnant yet. Finally, on October 29 after 31 days, I got my period, and it seemed normal. I was relieved that my body seemed to know what to do on its own.
In the following weeks, I stayed a little bit obsessed about my cycle, the fertile window, and when or whether I would get another period. I plugged my cycle length into ovulation predictor websites which give ovulation dates based on averages. But I really was trying not to obsess. (Really.) Cycle day 29 came and went but I was feeling a few symptoms that may be described as early pregnancy, so I took a home pregnancy test. Negative. Day 31 and no period. Test: negative. Two days later, no sign of Aunt Flow (AF), negative test result. I was angry at my body for being irregular and unpredictable, and while I still counted my cycle days, I refused to do anything else to make me think too much about cycles, fertility, pregnancy. There were better things to focus on as a married woman of less than three months.
As Christmas approached, I really did keep my mind off childbearing and found it to be much healthier. I was actually glad not to be pregnant yet, as Erich was still working to get me on his company's health insurance plan. Plus, there is much to be said about being a family of two for a while. There's no going back once the kids start showing up. I drank beer occasionally, I lived my life as I normally do, not seeing myself as someone who was "Trying to Conceive." I fooled myself into thinking it was highly unlikely I would get pregnant for a while since my cycle was irregular. I counted off the days with no period...40...50...60. I thought maybe my previous cycle was actually normal but simply lacked a period. One of my sessions with Mr. Google told me that was possible. I decided to be prepared for AF when we went to visit the in-laws for Christmas. I was feeling pretty sure of my intuition, especially since I was starting to feel some PMS symptoms.
Christmas came and went, New Year's came and went (with a few associated parties involving some immoderate drinking) and in the few days after New Year's, I was utterly exhausted. I mean, it's like me to feel some holiday let-down, but I spent two full days sitting and doing nothing but watching TV and sleeping in our La-Z-Boy love seat and I truly felt like I could not drag myself up. And I was nearing 70 days without a period. This was getting ridiculous. And this is when I finally allowed myself to consider the possibility that I was pregnant. I kept my suspicions to myself, as I didn't want Erich to think I was getting obsessed again.
That Saturday, January 5, Erich and I ran a few errands and stopped last at Jewell, where we picked up some ingredients to make homemade spaghetti sauce and have a nice dinner at home (including a bottle of wine). I walked over to the home pregnancy tests with Erich and shared my suspicions. First Response two-packs were on sale. "Let's just rule it out," I said in a blasé fashion. I really didn't think I was pregnant. "Okay," said Erich, in a tone that plainly said, "You can go ahead and waste $10 if you really need to for your own peace of mind."
We took our groceries home, I took the pregnancy test into the bathroom, did my thing. I didn't even wait a minute before I called out to Erich, "Told you! Negative." But I picked it up and brought it out to him and right before our eyes, the second line darkened just a teeny bit. My first reaction was denial, but I know that even a very faint line is a positive (thanks again, Google). Our eyes grew wide as we stared at each other, mouths agape. "We'll test again in the morning," we kept saying, knowing that "first morning urine" has more of the hormone in it.
We couldn't sit still the rest of the evening. The overriding emotion was disbelief. That was easy! Almost TOO easy! How long have I been pregnant? Oh no, I've been drinking for weeks! And I have to find an ob/gyn! I have to call my doctor right away!...on Monday! I tried to quiet my mind, but it didn't work too well. Erich and I had a brand new secret that only we knew, and we wanted to both shout it to the world and keep it to ourselves forever....
More to come.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
The First Post
I didn't think I'd ever have a blog like this, but most people don't expect to have a miscarriage, and fewer still expect to be told they have an abnormal uterus! Both of these things have happened to me in the past week.
The purpose of this blog will be to document the various processes my husband and I will go through as we face the challenge of conceiving and delivering a healthy child (and hopefully many more!). The focus will be on our medical and physical as well as our emotional journey.
I have so much information to process that it's hard to keep it all straight, but I hope this blog will help me. Check in soon for more information.
The purpose of this blog will be to document the various processes my husband and I will go through as we face the challenge of conceiving and delivering a healthy child (and hopefully many more!). The focus will be on our medical and physical as well as our emotional journey.
I have so much information to process that it's hard to keep it all straight, but I hope this blog will help me. Check in soon for more information.
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