Obviously it’s been a long time since blogging. After looking back at my last post, I realize I never gave the update to what happened after my surgery. The surgery was successful… The ultrasound showed that my uterine septum went from 12mm to 5.5mm, which was the goal. We waited the obligatory three months before trying to conceive. During that time I saw a new ob/gyn. After going through three losses with the last doctor, I wasn’t impressed with her plan of action and did research into finding a doctor who would support me, support the baby and keep my spirits high. I found the perfect doctor. I met with my new ob/gyn, Dr. C, in November. We made a plan… figured out the course of action and determined what medicines I would be on during ovulation and the medicines I would be on the moment I had a positive pregnancy test. And, well, the plan worked.
December 19th was my last period. Conception would have been January 1st or 2nd… I started taking progesterone suppositories on January 5th (three days after ovulation) and I knew. Whenever I’m not pregnant, the progesterone gives me crazy stomach cramps… they’re unbearable and I immediately stop taking them. When I am pregnant, I don’t have any pain. I started to feel breast pain. My hair and nails were different. I started to feel pregnant. The symptoms were probably all in my head, but I did feel pregnant. The progesterone alone made me realize that I was in fact pregnant. I got scared. I knew what was coming.
On January 12th, approximately at week three, I already had an annual ob visit scheduled. I told the nurse practitioner, who did my exam, that I thought I was pregnant. She told me we could do a beta, and I agreed. It came back negative. Negative. I was devastated. How could that be? I knew I was pregnant. She apologized as she explained on the phone that my beta was negative. Said there’s always next time… I was told to stop taking the progesterone so that my period wouldn’t be delayed. Against my better judgement, I stopped taking the progesterone. On Friday, January 16th, I took a pregnancy test. It was late at night after my husband went to work. The faintest of faintest lines was there… I literally ripped the pregnancy test apart and pulled out the lightly tinted lines. I held it up to the light. It was there.
The next morning, Saturday, I took another test. Another faint line, slightly darker than the first. But it was there. I was not hallucinating. I woke up my husband up and told him. He smiled. I silently panicked. The blood test had shown nothing… and now at week four, only four days after the beta, I was seeing faint lines… I’ve been here before. Flooding emotions paralyzed me.
Que the blood work. Que the panic. Que the checking for blood at every moment. Que the fabulously painful lovenox shots. We did two betas and that was it. Two. They doubled within 48 hours and that was good enough for my new doctor. I pleaded my case to check them every 48 hours… I had been through this before, where the levels doubled in the first few weeks… Then they started to taper off. He said no, we would not be checking the betas every 48 hours. At first, this was Hell. Then, I realized I was actually more relaxed in not having to get my blood drawn one day and wait for the results the next. It calmed me a little. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. Weekly, my doctor followed my progesterone levels, which fluctuated up and down… He increased my progesterone. I was now taking one progesterone suppository morning and night, a progesterone pill morning and night, taking a lovenox shot at night as well as folic acid and a prenatal. I was doing everything I could.
My first ultrasound was scheduled for February 17th… which would have been 8 weeks and 5 days… That was too long. I panicked. I never make it that far. I was never going to see my baby… My other ob/gyn did weekly ultrasounds starting at five weeks. Eight weeks? No way. I bided my time. I begged for beta tests and a sooner ultrasound. It was only matter of time.
The weeks did pass. Each day I waited. And somehow my ultrasound date came. Because I hadn’t been bleeding, I knew that when we saw the baby, the baby would measure a week small. I anticipated every scenario. I anticipated a slow heartbeat like before. I anticipated seeing no heartbeat like before. I anticipated seeing no baby like before. I anticipated seeing a baby that was much too small for where I was gestation-wise. Just. Like. Before. I anticipated everything except for what I saw. The ultrasound tech found the baby immediately. Measuring perfectly at 8 weeks and 4 days, one day off. A perfect heartbeat of 175 beats per minute. A perfect, tiny baby. And I cried. Tears filled my eyes and I could barely look at the screen. Baby was perfect. I was ready for anything BUT that. I did receive a phone call from Dr. C’s office after the ultrasound the there was a small subchorionic hemorrhage near the baby. I was assured this was completely normal and absolutely nothing to worry about. Of course I googled it. And of course I worried. But I was assured everything would be perfect.
On day 73, week 10 day 3, I had bleeding. It was light. I panicked. This was March 1st, and a Sunday. The following day I conveniently had a doctor’s appointment scheduled. The appointment was at 1:30. That morning I had more spotting and when I actually made it to the appointment, at the doctors office, I passed a small clot and had more bleeding. It took every ounce of energy I had to walk into that exam room and tell the nurse. I had captured the clot in a urine cup from the bathroom. I started to cry. And I knew it was over. I knew that I was starting my fifth miscarriage. I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t compose myself very well. We switched exam rooms and the nurse practitioner examined me. My cervix was fully in tact and I was not actively bleeding. The consensus was that I had passed the subchorionic hemorrhage. The ultrasound tech was not there that day and I had to wait and agonizing 24 hours for them to do an ultrasound to confirm that the baby was ok. And it was. We saw the baby, two weeks bigger than before, measuring perfectly with a heartbeat of 170. I could breathe again.
I watched the days go by… the different milestones I crossed. Getting past day 45, day 51, day 70 and day 77… all the dates that I lost the previous babies… Each day was a milestone to cross…
On March 10th, we had a doctor’s appointment with Dr. C. He had a hand held ultrasound machine and we saw the baby again. We saw it jump around on this tiny screen. It was perfect. We talked about doing genetic testing and finding out the sex. Originally, I never wanted to find out the gender because I wanted it to be a surprise. But I told my doctor that I thought it would help me connect with the baby. I told him I was having a very difficult time connecting with the baby and that I felt very little. He told me that what I was experiencing was completely normal; I was in survival mode. So we did the genetic testing. Dr. C said he wanted me in the office every two weeks for my sanity. He said he knew that I wouldn’t be ok going a whole month without knowing how baby was. He was right, and I’m very grateful for that.
March 23rd, the nurse called with the genetic information. She told us the baby was perfect. There were no genetic abnormalities. No Trisomy 13, 18 or 21. No downs syndrome. The baby was perfect. Then she asked me how we would like to find out the sex of the baby… Did we want to pick up an envelope and open it together or take it to a bakery and have them make a cake with blue or pink inside? I asked her to call my husband and tell him first. I always find out all information first, and I wanted him to know before me. She called him and minutes later he called me back to tell me that we are having a girl.
On March 25th, I had another doctor’s appointment with the nurse practitioner. She used a doppler to find the heartbeat… now at 150. I asked if that was normal and she said yes. Now the baby’s heartbeat would be between 120-160 bpm depending on whether or not it was sleeping or moving around.
On March 27th, I was fourteen weeks. Today, I am fourteen weeks and three days. Day 101.
I wish I could say that I’m excited. I wish I could say “her” or “she” instead of “it” or “baby”… but I’m not excited and I can’t say “her” or “she” yet. I find it very sad and I’m getting concerned because I’m not excited. I’ve talked to several people about my feelings and everyone who I’ve talked to says that what I’m feeling and experiencing is completely normal. I get anxiety going into the baby section of a store. We looked at car seats today and I started to panic. We’ve started stock piling diapers, but to me is a practical, necessary thing… it’s also impersonal, where as buying clothes or items that the baby would use are too much for me right now. I hope this passes. I hope that when I start to feel movement, that I start getting excited. I hope there’s some passion and excitement in my voice. But for now, I will take it day by day and I’ll look forward to the next day.