You know it's a really, really bad day when you go to bed crying and you wake up crying--with little periods of wakefulness in between just to make sure you can't get a truly healing rest. I woke up this morning asking M what I can possibly do to feel better. Because the pain is certainly not going away; it's just getting worse.

I guess the only thing I know how to do is write about my pain.

I'm no fool. I can put 2 and 2 together. Thanks, Geohde, for reminding me of the name of the condition the perinatologist thinks our baby has--bilateral renal agenesis. Yes, it's fatal. Dr. Google tells me that it's extremely rare; only 1 in 5000 babies have it. As M and I remember what the tech told us (he said he finally found the bladder, but it was empty, which was why he had trouble finding it in the first place), and then think about the low fluid levels, we realize we know exactly what the doctor will tell us on Monday: This child will not live. There is no hoping left. There is only raw pain.

When I drove home from the hospital yesterday, it fleetingly occurred to me how beautiful of a fall day it was. I always love Friday; it's my favorite day of the week. M and I were going to go shopping for baby furniture, which I was really looking forward to. We were probably even going to start a registry! I was just waiting for the doctor to tell me everything was fine with the baby, and then we would start making the calls to family members to tell them the sex. It's a boy. We even developed a short list of names earlier this week.

I'm a planner. My life revolves around my plans, and when I'm in limbo, as with fertility treatments, I feel incomplete. An even worse feeling, however, is when the plan gets disrupted. The most recent time this occurred was when my college boyfriend of 2 and a half years broke up with me a few months after I graduated. I was going to marry him and follow him to grad school. Instead, I was forced to imagine a life without marriage--at least in the near future.

We were so ready to welcome our little boy on March 25. I was ready to quit my job, quit a bunch of my activities and start scoping out the Mommy groups. I had all my maternity clothes, and I had decided I would start wearing them to work next week. My friend in our Bible study group had just announced her pregnancy and I was looking forward to us sharing this time together, eventually arranging play dates for our children.

Our baby boy fetus is now 20 weeks old.

My mother told me my brother was really broken up about the news. He kept saying, "And after all they've been through." He's right--how much pain is one couple really supposed to take?

Does this sound weird? I want to start treatments again. As soon as possible. I just can't give up on the plan. People always say you need a grieving period, but all I can hear is the clock ticking away.

I just wish this didn't have to get worse before it gets better. As you might have expected, there's no way I can carry this baby to term. I respect the decisions of those who might, but I cannot bear to be pregnant with a child that can't live without me. The only question will be how soon I can be...induced...and how bad the labor is going to be. I have no idea how they even do it. I mean, the baby is alive, so how does this work? Why are M and I forced to make these decisions?

The anxiety never stops

So here I am, waiting on another potentially upsetting call from my doctor.

I thought I was supposed to be finished with all these phone vigils.

We had our big ultrasound yesterday. The good news: All the major body parts appear to be accounted for and on schedule. The tech estimated my due date at five days prior to the date my OB gave me—allowing me to do a little I-told-you-so dance in my head, because I’ve thought my due date was a little late all along, even given my LMP. The bad news (which he was hesitant to tell me): My amniotic fluid appears to be a bit low. As in, it’s just below the lowest acceptable range. So, how much do you know about amniotic fluid? I sure as hell didn’t know much until I started frantically Googling after our appointment. It seems to me the worst case scenario is that there won’t be enough fluid floating around for our baby’s lungs to be able to develop in the next month or so. It also appears that low amniotic fluid could mean bed rest for the next five months.

Or it could not. According to our tech, the baby was lying on its side, which somehow made it difficult for the tech to measure fluid in all the four quadrants. In other words, our fluid level could be fine; the baby might just be coy about letting us see all the right stuff. Of course, being the Henny Penny that I am, I tend to focus on the uterus being half empty rather than half full, so I’m a bit anxious right now. To say the least. It will probably take at least two full days for the report to make its way to my OB, so I just have to sit tight until then. She may look at the report and not be concerned; she may call and want me to come in for an immediate repeat ultrasound; or she may want to check me out, but not until my next appointment in two weeks. I’m not sure which of the two latter options would be worse.

M isn’t as concerned as I am—which is probably good for my sanity. He thinks the uterus is half full. So I’m just trying to live my life and not study every bit of discharge that comes out of my nether regions, wondering if the fluid is slowly coming out of my uterus like air coming out of a tire with a leak in it.

Oh, and the gender? Well, yes, we found out what it is, but we’re keeping mum for now. The only person who knows is a co-worker (ironically, C) who was the first person to ask when I came back. I hadn’t yet decided to keep it a secret. She wanted me to call a stand-up staff meeting and announce the gender, but as I sat there fighting back tears, I realized I can’t handle all the well wishes just now. I would prefer to announce the gender when I’m feeling a bit more comfortable—or at least when I know more about what’s going on. So the gender is a secret between M, C and myself. We’ve got a long time to let other people in on it.