Right now, I feel very...normal. And happy.
Strange words for an IF and pregnancy loss blogger to write, huh?
When I head to the bathroom to pee (which I do about every hour or so), I no longer dread what I might see in my underwear. While I still am anxious to find out about the health of my baby’s heart and assorted other body parts, I am no longer glass-is-half-empty with regards to my baby’s insides. While I don’t want to put anything on my calendar, I feel comfortable discussing (and lamenting) with my mother the lack of available dates for a baby shower.
And because I have finally gotten back to that comfortable, pregnant state of being that I enjoyed for so few weeks last time, I can focus on other parts of my life. Normal, everyday parts:
--Because we leave on vacation Friday (we’ll be in England and Scotland), I’m incredibly busy at work trying to wrap up unfinished business. It seems like every time I cross something off my list, two more things get added. But I’m busy! At work! A year ago, this wouldn’t have seemed possible.
--M has been on a business trip since Saturday, so the dog is alone much of the time. Today, he will be alone for 11 hours before I get home. I am overwhelmed by guilt.
--One of the guys in my Bible study failed to ask if I have been to the UK, or even anywhere in Europe, before. As a result, he started “helpfully” informing me that, actually, it’s better not to get a car when you’re traveling in Europe. When HE went to London, they got a car and didn’t even need it! I (not-so-politely) told him that I had been to the UK eight years ago, and yes, while you didn’t need cars in cities, we would be spending hardly any time in the cities. We preferred to drive along the beautiful roads in the rural Scottish Highlands, stopping every once in a while to take in the sights. You can’t do that very well when you’re taking a bus from city to city. He still wasn’t convinced. BUDDY, I KNOW WHAT I WANT! At that, his wife (snidely, I think) said, “As long as it’s also what M wants.” Don’t tell me how to handle my marriage, bitch. (No, the above exchange was not influenced by hormones. Not at all.)
Ah, it feels nice to focus on the minutiae.
Oh, and for those of you who were wondering...it’s a boy.
I’ll see you at the end of April!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
The baby with two kidneys
There may be bad news yet to come in this pregnancy, but it won’t be today.
Remember when I posted about boring, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am ultrasounds? Well, this was one of them. Moments after he started probing, the peri asked me if we wanted to know the sex. Through a sob, I told him I didn’t want to know anything until I saw kidneys. Less than a minute later: “Amniotic fluid looks normal. OK, there’s a kidney. And there’s another kidney. Oh, and there’s the bladder.” Five minutes later: “See, the bladder is bigger than it was before.” Ten minutes later: “Oh, the bladder is really big now!”
That means my baby is making urine.
I am so overwhelmed with gratitude, I can’t even write anything else right now. Except—thanks for all your support. It means the world to me.
(Yes, we found out the sex, but we’re letting the kidneys have their time in the spotlight before we’re telling anyone.)
Remember when I posted about boring, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am ultrasounds? Well, this was one of them. Moments after he started probing, the peri asked me if we wanted to know the sex. Through a sob, I told him I didn’t want to know anything until I saw kidneys. Less than a minute later: “Amniotic fluid looks normal. OK, there’s a kidney. And there’s another kidney. Oh, and there’s the bladder.” Five minutes later: “See, the bladder is bigger than it was before.” Ten minutes later: “Oh, the bladder is really big now!”
That means my baby is making urine.
I am so overwhelmed with gratitude, I can’t even write anything else right now. Except—thanks for all your support. It means the world to me.
(Yes, we found out the sex, but we’re letting the kidneys have their time in the spotlight before we’re telling anyone.)
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Bad memories
Part of me feels self-indulgent—I’ve been writing about tomorrow for weeks and weeks, when of course I can’t share any more information until I actually go through with the appointment. The comments I get from all of you lovely readers make me feel even more like a broken record—“Praying you have a good ultrasound;” “Continuing to keep you in my thoughts;” etc.
It has seemed to me like others who have been in a similar situation haven’t dwelt on their trepidation nearly as much. But, here I am—barely able to work, counting down the hours until my ultrasound (I’m currently at 23).
In a conversation with M last night, I realized that my feelings contradict each other. I’ve pictured the hours after the ultrasound so many times--I will come back down to my office, close my door and greet my mother with these words: “The baby has kidneys.” I will then send an announcement e-mail to my co-workers (all of whom know about our loss, but very few of whom know I’m currently knocked up—although they’ve probably guessed). And then I’ll update my blog.
I can picture sharing the happy news. I just can’t picture getting it.
You see, I’ve been in that room before, on another Friday, five months ago. I was all ready to hear happy news then. Instead I sat on the table, my stomach growling angrily (I’d skipped lunch because I was so nervous), hardly able to believe the doctor as he grimly told me he couldn’t find a bladder or kidneys.
I’d had plans for sharing the good news then, too. We were supposed to start a registry that night.
It’s hard for me to imagine sitting on that table and receiving good news. As M said, “It’s perfectly natural, because all you’ve ever gotten in that room is bad news.” I can’t get that memory out of my head. Even as I sit here typing, I can’t help shedding tears as I picture that room.
22 ½ hours.
It has seemed to me like others who have been in a similar situation haven’t dwelt on their trepidation nearly as much. But, here I am—barely able to work, counting down the hours until my ultrasound (I’m currently at 23).
In a conversation with M last night, I realized that my feelings contradict each other. I’ve pictured the hours after the ultrasound so many times--I will come back down to my office, close my door and greet my mother with these words: “The baby has kidneys.” I will then send an announcement e-mail to my co-workers (all of whom know about our loss, but very few of whom know I’m currently knocked up—although they’ve probably guessed). And then I’ll update my blog.
I can picture sharing the happy news. I just can’t picture getting it.
You see, I’ve been in that room before, on another Friday, five months ago. I was all ready to hear happy news then. Instead I sat on the table, my stomach growling angrily (I’d skipped lunch because I was so nervous), hardly able to believe the doctor as he grimly told me he couldn’t find a bladder or kidneys.
I’d had plans for sharing the good news then, too. We were supposed to start a registry that night.
It’s hard for me to imagine sitting on that table and receiving good news. As M said, “It’s perfectly natural, because all you’ve ever gotten in that room is bad news.” I can’t get that memory out of my head. Even as I sit here typing, I can’t help shedding tears as I picture that room.
22 ½ hours.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Healing
I had originally resolved not to blog at all for most of this week—to wait until our April 11 ultrasound before I communicated with all of you again. After all, I thought, I have nothing new to say: Still waiting, still nervous, still hopeful.
But now I have something I want to say. And I want to get it out into the world before I find out whether this pregnancy actually has a chance of producing a live baby.
My second pregnancy has helped me to navigate my grief just a little bit better. After reading Mrs. Spit’s moving post yesterday, I realized that I am in a different place than many other women who have recently had devastating losses. I think that it’s God working in my life—through the vehicle of another pregnancy.
I am still heartbroken at losing Zach. The sight of pregnant women still makes me cringe. I still harbor an insane jealousy of women who have never experienced infertility or pregnancy loss. I am still incredulous of people who ask me, “You’re having a hard time? But hasn’t it already been several months?”
I still cry—but not every day.
Instead, I—almost daily—ask M if he notices that I’m starting to look more pregnant. I beam with pride when he tells me it’s going to be hard to keep this a secret for much longer. Both my mother and MIL have expressed interest in throwing baby showers, and I look at the calendar to calculate when the best time would be.
I do not feel paralyzed by my sorrow anymore. It is a regular part of my life, but it’s more like background rather than foreground.
God does provide healing. I just hope this scab doesn’t get cruelly torn off.
But now I have something I want to say. And I want to get it out into the world before I find out whether this pregnancy actually has a chance of producing a live baby.
My second pregnancy has helped me to navigate my grief just a little bit better. After reading Mrs. Spit’s moving post yesterday, I realized that I am in a different place than many other women who have recently had devastating losses. I think that it’s God working in my life—through the vehicle of another pregnancy.
I am still heartbroken at losing Zach. The sight of pregnant women still makes me cringe. I still harbor an insane jealousy of women who have never experienced infertility or pregnancy loss. I am still incredulous of people who ask me, “You’re having a hard time? But hasn’t it already been several months?”
I still cry—but not every day.
Instead, I—almost daily—ask M if he notices that I’m starting to look more pregnant. I beam with pride when he tells me it’s going to be hard to keep this a secret for much longer. Both my mother and MIL have expressed interest in throwing baby showers, and I look at the calendar to calculate when the best time would be.
I do not feel paralyzed by my sorrow anymore. It is a regular part of my life, but it’s more like background rather than foreground.
God does provide healing. I just hope this scab doesn’t get cruelly torn off.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Grey
Sometimes, I hate that we live in a world so full of shades of grey.
Through my referrals, I discovered my blog had been mentioned on a random baby message board in which the participants were talking about whether they would want to be screened for malformations. A thoughtful poster (and apparently, one of my readers) mentioned both my blog and another written by a mom who has chosen to carry her “not compatible with life” baby to term. The poster/reader hit it right on the money when she said that nobody can know what they will do until they are put in that situation.
As my longtime readers (well, at least those who have been around for about six months) know, I have not been able to completely put our decision to terminate behind me. While I would not wish to make a different decision, I have struggled with feelings of guilt. Did the mom who chose to carry her baby to term (Angie) make a better choice than we did? No, it was just different. We are both strong Christians (yes, I read her blog) and while she felt called to carry her baby until “God took her,” I knew immediately that that wasn’t something I was cut out to do.
I’ll have to admit—when I read her blog, which is filled with pictures of her other three daughters, one part of me whispered, “It’s because she already has other children that she was able to carry to term. She hasn’t been waiting for so long to be a mother like I have.” But from reading her words, I’m pretty sure that she would have made the same choice had her first child been given a lethal diagnosis.
She was called to do something different than I was. Period.
The funny thing is, I have never felt judgment from anyone else regarding the choice we made. The only judgment has come from myself. Sometimes, I think that I just wasn’t brave enough to go through with the rest of the pregnancy. Other times, I think that I was just wanting to get started on another pregnancy sooner (which is true).
Oh, how I wish that human beings were able to make decisions and never look back. Black or white—that’s it.
Instead, I’m left with a grey mess.
Through my referrals, I discovered my blog had been mentioned on a random baby message board in which the participants were talking about whether they would want to be screened for malformations. A thoughtful poster (and apparently, one of my readers) mentioned both my blog and another written by a mom who has chosen to carry her “not compatible with life” baby to term. The poster/reader hit it right on the money when she said that nobody can know what they will do until they are put in that situation.
As my longtime readers (well, at least those who have been around for about six months) know, I have not been able to completely put our decision to terminate behind me. While I would not wish to make a different decision, I have struggled with feelings of guilt. Did the mom who chose to carry her baby to term (Angie) make a better choice than we did? No, it was just different. We are both strong Christians (yes, I read her blog) and while she felt called to carry her baby until “God took her,” I knew immediately that that wasn’t something I was cut out to do.
I’ll have to admit—when I read her blog, which is filled with pictures of her other three daughters, one part of me whispered, “It’s because she already has other children that she was able to carry to term. She hasn’t been waiting for so long to be a mother like I have.” But from reading her words, I’m pretty sure that she would have made the same choice had her first child been given a lethal diagnosis.
She was called to do something different than I was. Period.
The funny thing is, I have never felt judgment from anyone else regarding the choice we made. The only judgment has come from myself. Sometimes, I think that I just wasn’t brave enough to go through with the rest of the pregnancy. Other times, I think that I was just wanting to get started on another pregnancy sooner (which is true).
Oh, how I wish that human beings were able to make decisions and never look back. Black or white—that’s it.
Instead, I’m left with a grey mess.
Monday, March 31, 2008
P is for Paranoid
Clueless Ann: I should probably write another blog post. But what should I write about? My maternity clothes shopping expedition with my mom on Friday was fun, but hardly interesting for anyone other than the two of us. What to write about, what to write about…
Wry Ann: Well, you could write about your emergency room visit on Saturday.
Clueless Ann: Oh. Oh yeah…
I was feeling pretty darned proud of myself. Thirteen weeks, and no problems in sight! Saturday morning dawned and I stumbled to the bathroom for a pee break. Right before I pressed flush, I noticed there was something…solid-looking…in the toilet, and it definitely wasn’t poo. Before my brain had a chance to register that I had passed Something, I had flushed and the evidence was gone. Oh well, I thought—I’m still tired and I’ll think about it when I wake up.
I woke up, played with the dog for a while then went to the bathroom for a shower. I took my underwear off and saw it was filled with brownish-red discharge. Alarms blared in my head. I called M in, frantically asking him to examine the discharge to see if he would call it “red.”
I’ve had spotting before, but never that much. Not nearly that much. That, coupled with the “something” I had passed a few hours ago, was enough to send me into a frenzy.
We decided to go to the ER because, as M said to me, “from the look on your face, we need some reassurance.”
Long story short, everything’s fine. It was weird, because I knew the ER doctor (he’s one of the docs I’ve worked with on media stories). He was very, very nice, and proclaimed my problem a subchorionic hemorrhage. Heartbeat is fine, and the baby was even moving a little on the ultrasound.
Now I sheepishly sit here, wondering, Was that really necessary? Am I still a nervous wreck about this pregnancy? Would most people have just waited it out? Am I foolishly wasting medical equipment and time? When I get the bill for the ER visit, will I be able to write out the check without berating myself for worrying over nothing?
Wry Ann: Well, you could write about your emergency room visit on Saturday.
Clueless Ann: Oh. Oh yeah…
I was feeling pretty darned proud of myself. Thirteen weeks, and no problems in sight! Saturday morning dawned and I stumbled to the bathroom for a pee break. Right before I pressed flush, I noticed there was something…solid-looking…in the toilet, and it definitely wasn’t poo. Before my brain had a chance to register that I had passed Something, I had flushed and the evidence was gone. Oh well, I thought—I’m still tired and I’ll think about it when I wake up.
I woke up, played with the dog for a while then went to the bathroom for a shower. I took my underwear off and saw it was filled with brownish-red discharge. Alarms blared in my head. I called M in, frantically asking him to examine the discharge to see if he would call it “red.”
I’ve had spotting before, but never that much. Not nearly that much. That, coupled with the “something” I had passed a few hours ago, was enough to send me into a frenzy.
We decided to go to the ER because, as M said to me, “from the look on your face, we need some reassurance.”
Long story short, everything’s fine. It was weird, because I knew the ER doctor (he’s one of the docs I’ve worked with on media stories). He was very, very nice, and proclaimed my problem a subchorionic hemorrhage. Heartbeat is fine, and the baby was even moving a little on the ultrasound.
Now I sheepishly sit here, wondering, Was that really necessary? Am I still a nervous wreck about this pregnancy? Would most people have just waited it out? Am I foolishly wasting medical equipment and time? When I get the bill for the ER visit, will I be able to write out the check without berating myself for worrying over nothing?
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
12w6d **UPDATE BELOW**
Yesterday was Zach’s estimated due date. I didn’t post because, frankly, the date didn’t mean nearly as much to me as I thought it would. I seem to have “let go” of what was supposed to be. I can’t imagine being on maternity leave right now; waiting at nine months pregnant; being in labor; having my new baby in my arms. That life isn’t mine anymore. And so the only thing I did yesterday to mark the date was to go through the dozens of sympathy cards stowed away in Zach’s memory box.
No, my thoughts are more focused on the future. I can’t seem to find peace in these couple of weeks left before the kidney scan. People who know about the pregnancy smile sympathetically and say, Well of course you’re nervous, because you’ve already lost a baby in the second trimester. Actually, it’s more than that—my baby has a statistically higher chance of being diagnosed with bilateral renal agenesis than other people’s babies. I have broken down on a promise I made to myself and am working to get M in for an abdominal scan before our ultrasound. I want to know for sure how many kidneys he has. Because if he only has one, there is a 15 percent chance of recurrence. No, I can’t do anything about it now, but I want to go into that scan with a good idea of my chances for tragedy.
Even if M does have two kidneys, we still have a 1 to 3 percent chance of recurrence. Those odds are still not very comforting to me.
I had my 12-week appointment a couple of days ago. It’s very strange not to be comforted by the sound of the heartbeat. Well, yes, but what’s going on inside the baby? I find myself grasping at straws. The heartbeat was in the 150s, and that could mean the baby is a girl, and girls have a smaller chance of having bilateral renal agenesis.
It has occurred to me that even if this baby is healthy, I will still have all the same worries in a future pregnancy. Because what’s to say that a random genetic mutation won’t skip a gestation and show up in the next child?
I’m trying to remain distant from this pregnancy, referring to it as a “medical condition.” But how can I keep from getting excited when every week, ever so slowly, my belly is starting to expand?
UPDATE: M called me at work this morning with this greeting: "Well, it would appear that I have a left kidney.....and a right kidney." Jerk. He made my heart drop with the first part of his sentence. :)
So no unilateral renal agenesis in our family. Our risk of recurrence is 1 to 3 percent, not 15.
No, my thoughts are more focused on the future. I can’t seem to find peace in these couple of weeks left before the kidney scan. People who know about the pregnancy smile sympathetically and say, Well of course you’re nervous, because you’ve already lost a baby in the second trimester. Actually, it’s more than that—my baby has a statistically higher chance of being diagnosed with bilateral renal agenesis than other people’s babies. I have broken down on a promise I made to myself and am working to get M in for an abdominal scan before our ultrasound. I want to know for sure how many kidneys he has. Because if he only has one, there is a 15 percent chance of recurrence. No, I can’t do anything about it now, but I want to go into that scan with a good idea of my chances for tragedy.
Even if M does have two kidneys, we still have a 1 to 3 percent chance of recurrence. Those odds are still not very comforting to me.
I had my 12-week appointment a couple of days ago. It’s very strange not to be comforted by the sound of the heartbeat. Well, yes, but what’s going on inside the baby? I find myself grasping at straws. The heartbeat was in the 150s, and that could mean the baby is a girl, and girls have a smaller chance of having bilateral renal agenesis.
It has occurred to me that even if this baby is healthy, I will still have all the same worries in a future pregnancy. Because what’s to say that a random genetic mutation won’t skip a gestation and show up in the next child?
I’m trying to remain distant from this pregnancy, referring to it as a “medical condition.” But how can I keep from getting excited when every week, ever so slowly, my belly is starting to expand?
UPDATE: M called me at work this morning with this greeting: "Well, it would appear that I have a left kidney.....and a right kidney." Jerk. He made my heart drop with the first part of his sentence. :)
So no unilateral renal agenesis in our family. Our risk of recurrence is 1 to 3 percent, not 15.
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