moving on

I've never found the strength to finish my birth story.  I'm not sure I ever will.

My grandmother passed away last Sunday, and in the rush to make the long trip out to her funeral, and the long car ride back, I stopped taking my anti-depressants, and all of the sudden I've been completely taken over by a huge rush of grief.  My baby is on my mind every second of the day, and the tears just won't stop.

I want to finish my story. I want it to be there in detail, so I never forget any of it, but some days it is so, so hard to think about, to try to put into words, that I fear I won't be able to until the details have disappeared.

Stillborn

I guess, in some way, it might have been a blessing that they wouldn't be an open bed for us until 8pm that evening.  It was a horrendous day spent waiting, but I think it gave us at least some chance to try to absorb what we were about to face.

We arrived shortly before 8, and while we had been warned the process might be quite long, I was harboring hope that we would be the lucky ones where it all went very fast.

My first dose was in place by 8:30, and I eagerly awaited something.  Anything.  But it was really just a lot of waiting.  We were incredibly lucky to have a fantastic nurse who was very open with us about how things were likely to happen.  She brought us a memory box, filled with some silly trinkets, and some very useful things.  A thoughtful gift that can't begin to make up for what we were experiencing.

 Sometime around 1, they placed the second dose, and I quickly drifted back to sleep.  Around 3am, I woke up in a fair amount of pain. I sat up, which helped immensely, and soaked in the really quite beautiful view of downtown all lit up.  I cried a fair amount, not from physical pain, but from the horror of knowing that I needed to deliver my child, but that child would never take a breath.

Finally at 4:30, I felt the pain was bad enough that I needed an epidural.  Something that quite honestly terrified me, but that I didn't think I could go through this process without.

I was glad that we had such an early appointent for our ultrasound that Monday.  It was easier for me, work wise, but I was also eager to see my little one moving around, and have my worried thoughts put to rest.

Our ultrasound tech was new to us.  Her name may have been Heather.  She showed us to our room and I eased myself back onto the table (with my feet hanging off, I'm always just a little bit to long for everything.)

The image shown upon the screen.  The baby appeared to be curled into a ball, and I immediately knew.  The tech checked for the heartbeat, then wiped off my belly and said "I'll be right back."

Tears immediately began to slide down my cheeks.  The one thought that kept running through my head over and over was that I was going to have to tell my supervisor that I had been right when I thought something was wrong.

I'm not sure at what point Scott realized something was wrong, but he grabbed my hand well before the ultrasound tech left the room.

Eventually the doctor came in.  She said she was going to repeat the ultrasound, so we got to see largely the exact same thing we had just seen, then she rolled her chair to the light switch, flipped the light on, and said "I have some bad news."

I think I nodded and said "I know."

I think sometimes you try to predict how you would act in a given circumstance, and of course, you can never know until you're in that circumstance.  But sometimes it turns out that even when you're in that circumstance, you don't know how you're reacting.  All I could do was furiously wipe away tears.  I was barely able to spit out the words "what do we do?"  I know she kept asking if we had questions, but my mind was blank.

My belly had grown.  It was cute.  I've always been a little too chubby, and my growing belly made me a heck of a lot cuter.  I was so proud of it.  Wearing shirts that showed it off.  I'd waited so long, and had had such an easy pregnancy, it was so much fun.

And seeing our little one bop around during the ultrasounds.  Trying to make out all the different parts, see who he or she would look like.  All of the ultrasounds were great.  The baby looked great, my cervix looked great.  I started to feel secure, and excited.

I eagerly awaited the moment I'd feel movement.  I waited for it and longed for it and everyone assured me over and over that it would be any day, but I never felt anything.  Except that overwhelming wash of worry.

Settling In

There were a few early scares.  Some bleeding, of course, well timed, during my first month at a new job, and during the one month we were between insurance policies.  But an ultrasound (pricey – uninsured ultrasound) showed a healthy, moving baby.  Relief and joy washed over me.  I allowed myself to start believing in our baby.

A second early ultrasound showed that I may have a heart shaped uterus.  Dangerous words to throw out with little to no explanation.  This of course launched me into full scale panic.

This also led to some frequent, higher level ultrasounds.  After the first, it was decided that my uterus itself would be a-okay.  I may have to have a c-section as the baby would likely not have room to turn, but otherwise all should be well.  There was concern that my cervix may not be stable.  So, frequent ultrasounds were scheduled to make sure it didn’t deteriorate before its time.

A Positive

Book club came along.  I spent the night chatting and polishing off an entire bottle of wine on my own.  The next morning I woke and it occurred to me that while I hadn’t been tracking my cycle, I certainly should have gotten my period by now.  But really, we’d been trying to long, it wasn’t as if there was any chance it was anything other than a screwy cycle.

But the test proved me wrong.

In spite of the reliability of a positive pregnancy test, I was rather disbelieving.  I mentioned it to Scott, and we both went on with our day.

We set up a series of blood tests, my HCG levels rose beautifully through each, and we allowed ourselves to have a bit of hope.