Since I last updated, though, I've actually had three appointments. Three days after my last post, I called in to the office to have things checked out. I swore I hadn't felt the baby move. And I couldn't really answer when they asked when the last time I felt movement was. I remember feeling it the night before, but couldn't remember that day. I wasn't going to call, because I just don't want to be this person who is crazy and anxious all the time, but I thought the same thing last time. The only thing that got me to call that time was that we'd had that unsettling ultrasound days before and I had questions I wanted answered. I added "I haven't felt the baby move all day" as an afterthought...and it got treated as one. And then, six hours after that phone call, I was in the hospital, hearing "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat" and fighting for my life. I didn't want that to happen again. So, I called.
I'm fortunate to have a doctor who has evening hours twice a week. This time, when I called, I was scheduled for that evening with a doctor I'd never seen before. In fact, it was the same doctor who told me, "no one's here tonight, come in in the morning" when I called to ask about our girl. The same doctor who made me feel completely blown off and like I wasn't being taken seriously. So, I was skeptical. I wasn't looking forward to meeting him. I wasn't prepared to trust him. And, of course, about two hours before my appointment, baby starting kicking again, fast and furious. I went to the appointment anyway. Because I wanted to see my baby.
They did the usual taking my weight and my blood pressure and a urine sample and then led me to a different room than usual. This one had a little portable ultrasound machine. I'd been in there before, and I was glad for it this time, because I wanted more than to just hear the heartbeat. The doctor showed up and asked me when the last time I felt movement was. I explained timidly, "well, when I called I hadn't felt anything all day. But, about two hours ago, I started feeling it again..." And he said, "you don't have to apologize for not having a tragedy." Well, shit. Okay, I guess I like him. He was lovely and sweet and incredibly kind, and Ben and I both liked him immediately. I am still a little bitter about last time, because I definitely wasn't taken seriously. I had to go through all of that for them to take me seriously this time. If this was my first pregnancy, I bet I wouldn't have gotten in that day. And that frustrates me. Why do we treat all first-time mothers as if they're not high risk? Shouldn't we treat them as if they are? Because, what if they are? We don't know that they're not. And you're treating them as if they're not. And something goes wrong. Like it did with me. If I'd been treated then as I'm being treated now, I might have my girl here with me.
But, anyway, I digress.
So, everything was fine. Because, of course it was. And now...now, it's October. Now, it is 11 days before the year anniversary of losing my baby girl. We gave her a name. When a friend of mine had a baby last year, we discussed the Jewish tradition of naming babies after dead relatives. So, Ben and I playfully discussed what our baby's initials would be if they were named after dead relatives (I wasn't pregnant yet). This discussion led to the realization that our grandmothers had the same initials: M.V. I knew then that I needed to name my child something using those initials. But, when I actually got pregnant, and we actually got into choosing names, we couldn't agree on an M name. For V, he loved Victoria, I loved Violet, which was the only name of mine that he didn't completely squash. So, I kind of gave up on the idea. We discussed other names and were thisclose to deciding on something when everything happened. And, then we just stopped talking about it. We never gave her a name. And I've felt guilty for it ever since. I like the idea of calling her "my girl" or "our girl," but I still wanted to give her a name. So, I threw out the name Violet Mary to Ben a couple weeks ago. It uses the M.V. initials but reversed. I don't love the name Mary, but I remember that I couldn't get that name out of my head the entire time I was pregnant. I don't know why. But, I felt like I needed to use it. So, Violet Mary it is. My Violet Mary.
In any case, this month sucks. I knew that the day of the anniversary would likely be difficult for me (and I haven't even gotten there yet!), but I've come to realize that I actually usually get really, really anxious a week or two before anniversary dates. For some reason, that's always harder for me than the actual date. And so, this past Sunday was that day for me. I had taken a few days off of work, just because I was exhausted and needed some time. I just stayed home, got some things done, spent some time with my mom and my aunt, bought paint for the baby's room, and relaxed. So, Sunday was the night before I was going back to work. I didn't expect to be able to fall asleep quickly, because I had ruined my sleep schedule in just those five days. But, I didn't expect it to be impossible, either. The second I got into bed, I began to feel the anxiety. And as soon as I realized it was coming, I couldn't prevent it. So, it just became worse. I was laying there, trying to breathe, trying to calm myself down from something I didn't even know. I called Ben in to come hold me for a little while and rub my back, hoping that would alleviate some of it. It did while he was there, but as soon as he left, it was back. I tossed and turned for another hour or two, before finally decided to go onto the couch again. Ben was just coming to bed, so we more or less switched places. By this point, I knew what was going on. It was basically PTSD. And I always hesitate to use that term, because I think it's a very serious thing, and mine was not quite so serious. But, that is what it was. I somehow got myself thinking of when I go into labor and what if Ben can't be there? What if he's at an appointment, or a concert, or somewhere else? And I thought to myself that I'd just tell him not to worry about, that he didn't need to be there (which is ridiculous, because of course he does!!). And for some reason, this transported me right back to the hospital last October. He was there. For every minute, except when he was forced by my family to go home and shower and sleep. He didn't leave my side, except to sleep and get some food. And he told me after the fact that when my family made him go home, he cried. Hard. Hard enough that he's sure the neighbors heard. And it just broke my heart. But, I went back there on Sunday night. I pictured that poor man, who was such an incredible rock for me during the worst days of my life, just being completely broken. At that point in the game, he didn't know if I was going to live. I can't imagine the weight he was feeling. I can't imagine how scared he was, how sad he was. It destroys me every time.
When I think back to those days in the hospital, I remember very little of what happened to me. I know that there was a breathing tube in there for a few days and I was horribly uncomfortable and honestly scared to move. But, those aren't the things I remember. I remember Ben being there. I remember him holding my hand, talking to me, letting me type messages into his phone because I couldn't talk. I remember asking for him first thing when I woke up, by pointing to my wedding ring or my heart, because I still had the tube in. I just remember him. And yes, I remember others being there as well - my mom, my dad, my brother. They stuck around until I woke up, and then until Ben came back, and then they went home. And they stopped by the next day. But Ben was there. He left the hospital once. And I don't forget that. So, that is where I went to on Sunday night. That unbearable heartbreak I feel every time I think of how he must have felt. I couldn't get out of that feeling. I was going down that rabbit hole, whether I wanted to or not. And I got roughly 4 hours of sleep. So, Monday was rough. But, I survived it. And now it's Tuesday.
This journey is one day at a time. I look forward to each milestone, but still know that each day is an accomplishment. We had another ultrasound last week, and everything looked great. Baby gained nearly a pound since the last time. We got to see them yawn, but still weren't able to get a clear picture of the face. And we got a great shot of those little feet that are going to have my bite marks all over them!!!
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| Look at those little tootsies!! Gearing up for a swift one right to my gut. |
We had one more appointment yesterday that went great. The doctor is so encouraging. He got the heartbeat on the doppler and said, "music to my ears!" He said I'm crushing this pregnancy. Everything is great. I did have a few questions, just because as we get closer to the due date, I'm getting more nervous about pre-term labor and other things. I'm not able to get the flu shot yet, because they don't have it (he did say I can go somewhere else to get it, so I may do that). The lower abdominal pain I'm feeling is normal and just means things are growing and stretching. The snoring that has suddenly developed is just because of the weight I'm gaining (ten pounds so far!) and not a sign of pre-eclampsia, as I'd read in some of my research. Feeling winded so quickly is normal, again because of the weight and where everything is shifting. Unless I'm getting winded while sitting down, it's nothing to worry about. If I go into labor before they switch me to the blood thinner with a shorter half-life, they'll just make me wait longer for an epidural. It doesn't sound like it will really be a problem, but I'll have to be on top of my contractions, etc. My chances of having a preemie are higher than most, but he sees no reason to think that will happen. I mentioned that my brother was a preemie and he said that my mom may have passed something on to me! I told him I made her get tested and he seemed surprised it was negative. I am too.
Early in the pregnancy, I was told by both Dr. D. and Dr. M. that an induction/cesarean around 37 or 38 weeks was likely. That puts us at Christmas Eve and the week after, so just before the end of the year. Yay tax break and no deductible! But, alas, this time, I was given a different answer. I was told this time, that unless I'm showing signs of pre-eclampsia, elevated blood pressure, etc., there's really no reason why I can't just go into labor on my own. He did say, though, that they are not letting me go past my due date. So, no later than January 14th, 2020, there will be a baby here. Yikes!
I mean, look, I wanted that tax break, sure, but ideally, I do not want a Christmas baby. And we also want what's best for me and baby. So, they'll come when they come. It'll happen when it happens. As we left that appointment, Ben said, "I'm excited for the baby. Terrified but excited." He doesn't say that often, and it was one of the first times I was able to get myself excited too. It was one of the first times I didn't feel alone in this, even though he's with me at every single appointment and gives me my shots every night. I'm definitely not in this alone, by any means, but that comment made my heart happy. We are doing this. Ready or not.
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