Today, I find myself at nine weeks. That is one day longer that my first pregnancy which ended so abruptly and tragically on the table, with my feet in stirrups, and a wand in my vagina. I have my last ultrasound with my RE tomorrow at 3 pm, and I am hoping, praying, wishing, yearning, longing that everything will be okay. That the baby will measure at about an inch or so, the heartbeat will be in the upper 100′s, that the yolk sac will be small, small, small. These are the things I hope for before an ultrasound.
On the other hand, apparently, there is a movement afoot to celebrate the ultrasound. To treat it as a party centerpiece. I can’t even imagine. Have these people never faced tragedy? Grief? Pain? They must think that all pregnancies end in childbirth and a beautiful baby. I suppose that most do, really. Here on the other side of the statistic, where pain and grief are more common than parties and celebration, to think such a thing is outlandish. The hubris. The arrogance. Unbelievable, really.
Going in to this final ultrasound, I’m convinced that it will end poorly. I call this ultrasound PTSD. That damn wand rarely brings good news. Why would I be so lucky this time? The statistics tell me that the there is a good chance that I won’t be lucky. That this won’t be it. I guess I won’t know until tomorrow, and until tomorrow I will wait. I will wait to hear about our future, and about the life path we will be on.
Know this: I am not celebrating. I will not be Skyping the ultrasound with my nearest and dearest. I will not be wearing a party hat and singing with joy and exaltation. Instead, I will be shaking with fear and anxiety. I will be clutching Big Guy’s hand with trepidation and longing. This is the ultrasound of an infertile and a miscarrier. It isn’t a party.
Because I am a masochist, I took another test. The bottom three are from this fateful morning. From top to bottom we have FMU, second pee, and third pee. The bottom test is my favorite. I stared at it as I took a shower to purge myself of all my anxiety and grief.
You guys are amazing. Thanks for your support. I really, really appreciate it, and I love when I can stick to my google ban and still get reliable and reassuring information. I loved reading about the hook effect, and I loved reading all of your reassuring words. I am feeling better albeit a bit emotionally shaky and vulnerable. I love you all.
Also, I am hosting a small giveaway of, you guessed it, 25 Wondflo pregnancy tests. For good measure, I will also throw in two Accuclear pregnancy tests that came with my last batch of OPKs. I’m going to the post office this afternoon so the first person that requests them in the comments gets them. I will contact you via email for your address.
Again, thank you, and my apologies for the terrible, terrible scare. I’m reinstating Operation Distraction.
That’s one of my favorite phrases, because I typically am skeptical. My logical, rational self usually sees the holes, sees the writing on the wall, sees the mistakes in logic, see the weaknesses in the argument.
Right now, I’m skeptical.
At this point in my first, Continue reading
In solidarity and with love,
I was supposed to have a baby today. Instead of feeling a baby shift and move, instead of feeling contractions, I feel my ovaries stretching and yawning. Getting ready to ovulate.
Today was meant to be joyous and remarkable. A day to remember for all of our lives. Instead, it is a day just like all the others filled with jobs applications and empty errands.
Today was supposed to be it. The end of a painful journey. Little did I know that March was just the beginning filled with dark nights and darker days.
It was supposed to be today.