Tomorrow, I am officially considered "term." This means they can induce me or schedule a c-section any time in the next three weeks without there being a concern. At my last appointment, last week, the doctor very briefly mentioned inducing at 38 weeks, but it was no elaborated on and he's on vacation this week, so who knows?
The non-stress tests have been going beautifully; baby is perfectly healthy - and apparently big. 😨 Our final growth scan was last Thursday. As the tech was measuring the baby, I asked if that measurement showed that baby was measuring at 38 weeks (two weeks ahead). She said, "I didn't look at it, but I can tell you from eye-balling, the baby is big." Long arms, long legs, big head, apparently. Measuring 6 1/2 pounds at 36 weeks, which means we're looking at an 8-pounder by week 40. Inducing at 38 weeks sounds lovely. Save me a pound.
At my appointment today, I was told that I tested positive for Strep B. I'm not entirely sure what that is other than an infection. The doctor reassured me that it is no danger to me, but that it could pass onto baby during delivery and result in severe pneumonia. As long as I am given antibiotics during delivery, all should be well. Still makes me anxious.
I very much want this pregnancy to be over. It's been one headache after another; one person not respecting my wishes or stress after another; one appointment after another. I'm exhausted. I'm stressed. I'm overwhelmed. I'm in enormous pain almost all the time. And I'm terrified. I'm no longer as confident about this whole motherhood thing as I used to be. When I became pregnant with our first, I remember telling my friend that I was nervous about being pregnant, but that I knew I'd be an awesome mom, so I wasn't worried about that. I no longer feel that way. And I have felt this way the entire pregnancy. I will say, however, that I'm more confident than I was in the beginning. Therapy has been helping, and seeing things come together has been helping. But, I still feel like there's so much to do. And goodness, if they really do induce me at 38 weeks, that means I have barely a week to do it all.
Besides the usual pregnancy stress, if you've been following along, you know I've been on daily blood thinner injections since week 6. Starting tonight, they will increase to twice daily until delivery. Aside from that, I've had an ultrasound every 4 weeks, and now the non-stress tests twice a week. So, I've been overwhelmed with that. On top of that, just weeks after I told my employer that I was pregnant, they put me on a performance plan. I remained on it until just last month. So, I spent the majority of my pregnancy not knowing if I'd have a job when the baby comes.
Ben has been beside himself freaked out. Part of it is him feeling the need to sow his wild oats before he becomes a father, without realizing the toll it's taking on me and the worry it's been adding to my daily life. I also know that part of it is just the fear and the anxiety that goes with a pregnancy after loss. And ours wasn't just your "run-of-the-mill" loss (for lack of a better term). I almost died. It was perhaps more traumatic for him than it was for me, because he remembers it all. He remembers them saying that I might not make it. He remembers standing by my bedside waiting for me to wake up. He remembers seeing me hooked up to all the tubes and wires and not breathing on my own. I remain blissfully unaware of most of it. So, yes, I know that part of his freaking out is because of that as well. Despite the care I've been given and how closely monitored I've been, the fear does not go away. I've found myself having some flashbacks to being in the hospital. I find myself wondering how much of that will come back to me when I go to deliver this baby. It's a unique experience and not one that many people get. So, yeah, that part has been difficult and scary.
And to top it off even more, I'm barely speaking to my father. I have alluded to this throughout the blog several times, but have not gone into detail about why. When I was pregnant with our first baby, my father asked me repeatedly if we had names picked out, and I told him repeatedly that we did not (because we didn't). We had a boy's name solid, but not a girl's name. And right before we lost her, we found out it was a girl. So, by the time I ended up in the hospital, she still didn't have a name. The first question my father asked me when I was finally coherent after three days was if we were going to try again. Not an okay question by any stretch, but whatever. The next question was, again, about the name. I told him that we didn't have a name, but we had been floating one around; Lillian Ryleigh (or Riley), and we were going to call her Lily. He didn't make much comment on it. He then asked about the boy's name. And I should have simply said, "well, it wasn't a boy." Instead, I told him the name that we had chosen, which paid homage to my late stepfather (I am not sharing it here, because it is still on the table for any future children). He said he liked the first name, but wanted to know where the middle name came from. I told him. I saw that he was upset, but to his credit, he said nothing. I heard nothing else about it until three months later.
In January, my mom let me know that my father had called her to tell her how upset he was about the name we had picked out for a boy. Despite the fact that the baby was not a boy, therefore that name was not used and was not going to be used, since the baby had died. He went on and on bashing my stepfather, which he has done for the last 30 years, and burying my mother in his self-pity. From what I understand, they rehashed their 20-year relationship and then some. In short, he treated her terribly while they were dating and while they were married, and he knows it. But, for some reason, he still seems to blame my stepfather for their divorce and can't get over my mother moving on with him.
In any case, after hearing about this conversation, I was livid. My child died and all my father seemed to care about was what the name would have been if that dead baby had been the opposite gender. The fact that this conversation happened three months after the fact made it that much more unbelievable. He couldn't get over it. He'd been sitting with it for months and couldn't let it go, despite the fact that that baby was gone. It was the final straw in an already strained relationship. For my whole life, I have given my dad the benefit of the doubt. I've been told, "but he's your father," and "he can't help it" and "he doesn't know any better," and I held onto those excuses as reasons to let his behavior slide. Not anymore. And once I got over the guilt of missing an important doctor appointment (he thought he had melanoma, but he's fine), and an important surgery (shoulder surgery), and missing his birthday, I couldn't go back to where I had been before. I was done.
BUT, because I am who I am and he is who he is, I invited him to lunch for father's day to let him know I was pregnant again. I was nearly 10 weeks and didn't know the gender yet. I told him I was pregnant and let him know that the same names were on the table (the girl's name has since changed). He let me know that he's engaged now (though, it turns out that's not entirely true; he just doesn't like to be the only one without news). He said he didn't think I'd try again after everything that happened last time, and then commented that he couldn't say anything about the names. I told him no he could not and that he absolutely could not stress me out during this pregnancy, because I needed to remain calm - literally a matter of life and death (an exaggeration, but only slightly). He made a random comment a little later in the meal about how he's surprised I don't like to wear jewelry because most women do, and this set me off. It was one too many sexist comments on top of all of his other ridiculous views and opinions. This naturally snowballed into another fight about the baby, to which he said "you tell me to forget about Sonny (stepdad), but do you know how hard it's going to be to look at my first grandchild and know that he has his name?" Now, 1) not his first grandchild - that one died; 2) I never told him to forget Sonny - I told him to let it go; 3) remember, at this point I didn't know the gender, so he was already getting himself upset again about something he had no confirmation on. My response was "that's your problem." To which he responded "I didn't say it was a problem." Right.
So, I left that lunch livid (again). Thankfully, I had kept my expectations low, so I wasn't upset. I figured in a best-case scenario he'd keep his mouth shut and we'd just pretend it hadn't happened before. The worst-case scenario was that we'd remain where we were with our relationship. And that's the one that happened, and I was okay with it. If he thought it would be so difficult to look at my child simply because of the name we chose, then he didn't need to look at him/her. That simple. At this point, it made no difference to me what the actual gender of the child was. His views repulsed me and I saw clearly how conditional his love would be.
In any case, that was a surprisingly short version of things, because this has suddenly turned into a bitch post about my dad. He has not left me alone. He will not accept me not speaking to him. At one point, I wrote him a 3-page letter letting him know what he did and why I didn't want to speak to him. He never issued an apology, and at this point, is back to blaming me for "hearing what I wanted to hear." So, on top of the pregnancy anxiety, Ben's anxiety (and frankly poor behavior), my mom trying to cram everything into the final three weeks, nearly losing my job, and being a general emotional wreck, I've also been trying to figure out how to maneuver this relationship with my father. To say that I am done with being pregnant and with everything in general is a massive understatement. I would very much like everyone to leave me alone and let me live these last three weeks (or less!) in peace. I have been slowly able to get more excited about the baby coming. The more the room comes together and I unwrap gifts and put things together, the more excited I get. But, inevitably, something or someone pulls me back to reality and reminds me that just about everything else is still shitty. I am trying not to lose it. I am trying not to scream at everyone. I am trying not to punch holes in walls and give this baby my anxiety in the final days. I am trying. And I suppose that's the best I can do.
Monday, December 23, 2019
Thursday, November 28, 2019
33 Weeks, 2 Days -- Happy Thanksgiving!
I've been slacking on my posts, because, truthfully, this pregnancy is hard to keep up with now. I had to look to see what week I was in in order to write the title. I'm not sure exactly how many appointments I've had since the last time I posted something, but I know I've had two non-stress tests (NSTs) and an ultrasound.
At this point, I'm supposed to be having two NSTs a week, but because of the holiday, I've had one each of the last two weeks. Next week, I'll begin with two. The first one I had, we went to the appointment in West Chester, which is about 15-20 minutes from where we live; it took us 30 to get there. My mom came with me, because Ben couldn't get off of work. They told me there, which I was not told before, that if something is wrong they will have to send me to the nearest hospital, which is NOT the one I plan on delivering at and does not have my medical team. So, now that I know this, I'll have to change all the other appointments I made there. I chose this location because it's much closer to our house than the hospital, but I don't want to risk delivery at that hospital. I don't want to risk my team not being there if something goes wrong.
In any case, we passed the NST with flying colors. Before the nurse even left the room after explaining everything, she told us she could tell we passed. But, I guess she had to let the test run its course. I was in a super comfy recliner with two monitors hooked to my belly; one measuring baby's heart rate and one measuring baby's movement. Baby did not like those monitors. Kicked up a storm the whole time. Which only proved that everything was going as it should. Thank goodness.
From there, I went directly to my ultrasound down the hall. They let me stay in the comfy chair instead of making me go back to the waiting room. Hooray for small victories. Everything went smoothly there, too. Baby was measuring at 4 lb., 11 oz., which is apparently the 76th percentile. This means that if the baby gains 1/2 lb. a week (which they are supposed to) from now until the end of the pregnancy, they will weigh 8+ lbs. Heaven help me! I hate to hope for a preemie, but...
In any case, I went in to work after that. My next NST was this past Tuesday. This one was done at the office where I get my regular OB appointments done, so it was combined with my regular checkup, which is now every two weeks instead of every four. *sigh* It was with a different doctor than I usually see, because he wasn't available. This one was the doctor I saw when I went in for decreased movement several weeks ago. The same one that blew me off during my last pregnancy. Now, whereas last time I loved him and thought he was very nice, this time I felt completely blown off again and not taken seriously at all. But, I guess to be fair, the entire ordeal was a nightmare up to that point.
It took me nearly an hour and a half to get there from work. I was a minute or two late, which isn't a big deal, but usually I'm made to wait. Even if I'm ten minutes late for an appointment, I still usually wait 20-30 minutes to be seen. That was not the case this time. I went to check in and the receptionist told me that I had a balance of $352. WHAT?! I asked her what that was for. She printed me out a running total. This is the same damn money that was paid to the hospital a month or two ago by my mother, who generously paid off all of my ultrasound bills. Literally, the exact same tracker sheet. Why on Earth are they trying to charge me for this shit again? So, I was already flustered from the drive and from getting there a little bit late. Then, I was thrown that loop, which just made me angry on top of my anxiety.
I immediately went to do my sample, and literally as I'm walking out of the bathroom with the cup, the nurse says "Kim? We're ready for you now." I hadn't even put the cup down yet. Hadn't sat down yet. Hadn't greeted Ben yet, who was waiting in the waiting room before I even got there. I went out and got him and we were taken back to an exam room. They took my weight (165...yikes!) and then brought me back to the exam room. Oh, this nurse...I had this same nurse several appointments ago and it was obvious she was new. I was convinced it had to be her first day that time. She barely knew how to put on a blood pressure cuff, and kept getting everything tangled. So, I had her again this time. And again, I could tell she was new. She dropped the mouse from her laptop on the way to the exam room and the batteries went flying in the opposite direction. Then, I could tell that she wasn't at all confident on how to put the monitors on for the NST. She asked me where they usually found the heartbeat, but then adjusted and readjusted numerous times. She kept checking on it, unsurely, to make sure it was secure. It made me nervous and put me more on edge. She then took my blood pressure, which has been one of the most important things to monitor during this pregnancy. She let me keep my sleeve rolled down, and, while I know this is generally acceptable, I don't like it. I don't think it's as accurate as a bare arm, and I was certain my blood pressure would be high after the last hour I'd just had. But, no, it was perfect...of course. Because the only time in my entire life that my blood pressure wasn't perfect was when I lost my baby and it was too late.
I thought this appointment was going to work like the last one. After the NST, I'd see the doctor for my regular checkup. But no. He came in DURING the test. This time, as I mentioned, I didn't like him as much as the last time. I asked him when he came if he could take my blood pressure again, because I wasn't comfortable with the reading. He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "why, don't you believe it?" I said I was really anxious and on-edge and the number seemed on the lower side for me as it was. He read off the numbers from the last several appointments and told me it was right in line with what it usually is. I just said "okay," because I just wasn't in the mood. He confirmed that everything looked fine on the test. He asked if I had any questions. I told him I'd been feeling more nervous as we got closer to the end of the pregnancy and he said "right, because of everything that happened before" and then more or less told me there's nothing we can do about that. I told him I didn't feel like I'd been peeing as much as I should have been, which I know was a sign of pre-eclampsia. He said by that point, it's already too late, and I told him that was one of the signs I had last time and by that time I didn't even know I had it yet. He confirmed again that everything was fine. He said, "you're not there." Fine. I don't know. Maybe my hormones and my nerves were just on overdrive, but I felt brushed off again, and honestly at that point, just wanted to go home and cry.
The days leading up to that appointment, I'd started to get an awful nagging feeling, much like I had last time. From almost day one of my first pregnancy, I just felt an overwhelming sense of dread. Like something was going to happen. I would be driving to or from work and I'd have visions of a horrific car accident where I was either seriously injured or killed, and the baby was gone too. And last pregnancy, I did actually get in a (minor) car accident, so that seemed so odd to me. The baby and I were both fine after that, but I still ended up losing her weeks later. Driving to that appointment that day, I started having those same visions. Just of something absolutely awful happening. And I kept thinking "I couldn't deal with it if I made it this far this time and something happened again." But, thankfully, all is good. I don't know why I was so on edge on that particular day.
Now, since then, I've been oddly triggered. Naturally, I still think about the baby we lost all the time. Every day. In fact, Ben bought me a necklace for my birthday with her birthstone in it and it's the first thing I put on every morning. But, lately I've been triggered by the rest of the events of that day and the days after. Not necessarily by the loss itself, but by being in the hospital. I've been having flashbacks to seeing Ben's face when we heard the words "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat." I can vividly remember him sleeping in L&D while I was being pumped full of drugs and stabilized. I remember seeing how scared he was when I was having a fit over the breathing tube they'd be putting in. I keep remember him saying, just the day before (or maybe even the night of), "Kim, we're having a daughter," and he was so excited. I remember him telling me that, when I woke up and was told that he went home to sleep, he was actually at home crying harder than he'd ever cried in his life, and it just rips me apart. I can't handle it. I can't bear that thought or that image, and it just adds to the grief and the fear. He was such a rock for me those three days and hearing him tell me how broken he really was just destroyed me. I also remember asking the nurses for him repeatedly (as best I could with a breathing tube in), and holding his hand so tightly whenever he was in the room. I remember, the minute I was out of the bed and dressed, we hugged each other so tight before being taken to the car and going home to a world that didn't feel real anymore. I was not triggered by the loss of my baby this time. I was triggered by the incredible vulnerability of my husband.
Honestly, I've been giving him a hard time lately. And he's been having a hard time lately, so I think I sort of needed that. It reminded me of who he really is. It reminded me that he can and will be there for me when I need him. He's had his moments lately where he's been selfish and lazy and downright uncaring, but I've also been emotional and standoffish. It's been a ride for sure. But, he's a good man, and I know that, and those flashbacks reminded me.
Today was a different kind of trigger, though. I wondered why I wasn't as sad about the baby last Thanksgiving as I was today. One could argue that it was still so fresh last year that I hadn't even registered yet what had happened, but I don't think that's the case. I think the reason is because last year at this time, that baby still would not have been born yet. She wasn't due until February. So, either way, we would not have had a baby to celebrate the holidays with. This year, she should be here. She should be celebrating her first Thanksgiving today, and her first Christmas next month. So, the loss feels much more evident this year, if that makes sense. And to top it off, people just say stupid shit that they don't even realize is really insensitive. I'll get to that in a minute. But, first I also want to mention that I hate being asked if I'm excited. And I know that's stupid, but the reason is because, truthfully, I'm not excited. And that devastates me. I can't get excited. I haven't been excited. I don't know the reason. I don't know if I've desensitized myself to the whole experience because of everything that happened last time. I don't know if I'm still in disbelief that I've made it this far. I don't know if it's because of the drama I've had going on with Ben and my dad and work. But, I was asked by my aunt today if I was excited and I didn't know how to answer it. I think I said something stupid like, "I'm excited not to be pregnant anymore." My mom keeps yelling at me to stop stalking my baby registry, but I can't get her to understand it's the only thing that gets me excited. Seeing what people have bought for me and what I'm going to be able to take home with me soon is the only thing that makes it seem even remotely like this is really happening. Yes, that means there will be little to no surprises at my shower, but I have to do this for my own mental health at this point. I'm sorry.
After that, we went to Ben's mom's for a second dinner. And I'm not telling this story to make anyone look bad or to complain about anyone. I love Ben's mom. She is a wonderful, caring woman who would truthfully be crushed if she knew this comment upset me so much. I'm saying it to bring awareness to people when talking to loss moms (or dads). During my last pregnancy, a week or so before we lost the baby, she made the comment "where is your baby?" because my bump was so small and if I'd wanted to, I could still easily hide the fact that I was pregnant. By that point, I was more than halfway through. So, when I walked in today, with my 33+-week belly, she commented that now you could tell I was pregnant. That I was much bigger this time. And then continued to say that if we have another one, you'll be able to tell sooner, because it takes longer to pop with the first one. I will say this slowly for all of those who keep forgetting: This. Is not. My first. Pregnancy. And I say this next part, not to downplay early losses or to make anyone feel like their own miscarriage is not as important as my loss, but to point out how confusing that statement was. I was visibly pregnant last time. It was not an early loss. I was not five days pregnant, or five weeks, or five minutes. I was five months pregnant. My body had adjusted to the hormones. My organs had shifted. The baby was moving. We knew it was a girl. We saw her fingers and her toes and eyes, etc. In two more weeks, she would have had a chance at survival if I'd delivered her. I was significantly pregnant. How could she forget that? How could she just act like those five months never happened? Like that baby never existed? Like that pregnancy somehow wasn't real? This is my second pregnancy. My second baby. And on most days, it feels like no one understands that but me. That baby was only real to me. And it just makes this whole experience so much more isolating.
Like I said, I know it wasn't meant to hurt me. But, it was a careless comment to make, and I was thankfully able to ignore it and not let it ruin the rest of the night. Pregnancy after loss is a tricky road to travel for everyone involved, and as much as I want to try to force people to remember my daughter, I don't want to do that. It's enough for me that Ben and I remember her. It's enough that we loved her and we still miss her, that we still talk about her. No one else matters much in the end.
This is ending up to be a long entry, which I didn't expect. So, all of that being said, I will finish with some exciting things. The baby's room is nearly finished being painted. The baby shower is next weekend. We've already got the bassinet and the breast pump, so if this baby decides to make their appearance before the shower, at least they'll have somewhere to sleep and something to eat. I am exhausted by all of the appointments and my emotions are all over the place, but I'm somehow still getting things done and putting one foot in front of the other. My mental state is better than it was months ago. I'm feeling stronger than I have been, and I know things will work out. Just one day at a time.
At this point, I'm supposed to be having two NSTs a week, but because of the holiday, I've had one each of the last two weeks. Next week, I'll begin with two. The first one I had, we went to the appointment in West Chester, which is about 15-20 minutes from where we live; it took us 30 to get there. My mom came with me, because Ben couldn't get off of work. They told me there, which I was not told before, that if something is wrong they will have to send me to the nearest hospital, which is NOT the one I plan on delivering at and does not have my medical team. So, now that I know this, I'll have to change all the other appointments I made there. I chose this location because it's much closer to our house than the hospital, but I don't want to risk delivery at that hospital. I don't want to risk my team not being there if something goes wrong.
In any case, we passed the NST with flying colors. Before the nurse even left the room after explaining everything, she told us she could tell we passed. But, I guess she had to let the test run its course. I was in a super comfy recliner with two monitors hooked to my belly; one measuring baby's heart rate and one measuring baby's movement. Baby did not like those monitors. Kicked up a storm the whole time. Which only proved that everything was going as it should. Thank goodness.
From there, I went directly to my ultrasound down the hall. They let me stay in the comfy chair instead of making me go back to the waiting room. Hooray for small victories. Everything went smoothly there, too. Baby was measuring at 4 lb., 11 oz., which is apparently the 76th percentile. This means that if the baby gains 1/2 lb. a week (which they are supposed to) from now until the end of the pregnancy, they will weigh 8+ lbs. Heaven help me! I hate to hope for a preemie, but...
In any case, I went in to work after that. My next NST was this past Tuesday. This one was done at the office where I get my regular OB appointments done, so it was combined with my regular checkup, which is now every two weeks instead of every four. *sigh* It was with a different doctor than I usually see, because he wasn't available. This one was the doctor I saw when I went in for decreased movement several weeks ago. The same one that blew me off during my last pregnancy. Now, whereas last time I loved him and thought he was very nice, this time I felt completely blown off again and not taken seriously at all. But, I guess to be fair, the entire ordeal was a nightmare up to that point.
It took me nearly an hour and a half to get there from work. I was a minute or two late, which isn't a big deal, but usually I'm made to wait. Even if I'm ten minutes late for an appointment, I still usually wait 20-30 minutes to be seen. That was not the case this time. I went to check in and the receptionist told me that I had a balance of $352. WHAT?! I asked her what that was for. She printed me out a running total. This is the same damn money that was paid to the hospital a month or two ago by my mother, who generously paid off all of my ultrasound bills. Literally, the exact same tracker sheet. Why on Earth are they trying to charge me for this shit again? So, I was already flustered from the drive and from getting there a little bit late. Then, I was thrown that loop, which just made me angry on top of my anxiety.
I immediately went to do my sample, and literally as I'm walking out of the bathroom with the cup, the nurse says "Kim? We're ready for you now." I hadn't even put the cup down yet. Hadn't sat down yet. Hadn't greeted Ben yet, who was waiting in the waiting room before I even got there. I went out and got him and we were taken back to an exam room. They took my weight (165...yikes!) and then brought me back to the exam room. Oh, this nurse...I had this same nurse several appointments ago and it was obvious she was new. I was convinced it had to be her first day that time. She barely knew how to put on a blood pressure cuff, and kept getting everything tangled. So, I had her again this time. And again, I could tell she was new. She dropped the mouse from her laptop on the way to the exam room and the batteries went flying in the opposite direction. Then, I could tell that she wasn't at all confident on how to put the monitors on for the NST. She asked me where they usually found the heartbeat, but then adjusted and readjusted numerous times. She kept checking on it, unsurely, to make sure it was secure. It made me nervous and put me more on edge. She then took my blood pressure, which has been one of the most important things to monitor during this pregnancy. She let me keep my sleeve rolled down, and, while I know this is generally acceptable, I don't like it. I don't think it's as accurate as a bare arm, and I was certain my blood pressure would be high after the last hour I'd just had. But, no, it was perfect...of course. Because the only time in my entire life that my blood pressure wasn't perfect was when I lost my baby and it was too late.
I thought this appointment was going to work like the last one. After the NST, I'd see the doctor for my regular checkup. But no. He came in DURING the test. This time, as I mentioned, I didn't like him as much as the last time. I asked him when he came if he could take my blood pressure again, because I wasn't comfortable with the reading. He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "why, don't you believe it?" I said I was really anxious and on-edge and the number seemed on the lower side for me as it was. He read off the numbers from the last several appointments and told me it was right in line with what it usually is. I just said "okay," because I just wasn't in the mood. He confirmed that everything looked fine on the test. He asked if I had any questions. I told him I'd been feeling more nervous as we got closer to the end of the pregnancy and he said "right, because of everything that happened before" and then more or less told me there's nothing we can do about that. I told him I didn't feel like I'd been peeing as much as I should have been, which I know was a sign of pre-eclampsia. He said by that point, it's already too late, and I told him that was one of the signs I had last time and by that time I didn't even know I had it yet. He confirmed again that everything was fine. He said, "you're not there." Fine. I don't know. Maybe my hormones and my nerves were just on overdrive, but I felt brushed off again, and honestly at that point, just wanted to go home and cry.
The days leading up to that appointment, I'd started to get an awful nagging feeling, much like I had last time. From almost day one of my first pregnancy, I just felt an overwhelming sense of dread. Like something was going to happen. I would be driving to or from work and I'd have visions of a horrific car accident where I was either seriously injured or killed, and the baby was gone too. And last pregnancy, I did actually get in a (minor) car accident, so that seemed so odd to me. The baby and I were both fine after that, but I still ended up losing her weeks later. Driving to that appointment that day, I started having those same visions. Just of something absolutely awful happening. And I kept thinking "I couldn't deal with it if I made it this far this time and something happened again." But, thankfully, all is good. I don't know why I was so on edge on that particular day.
Now, since then, I've been oddly triggered. Naturally, I still think about the baby we lost all the time. Every day. In fact, Ben bought me a necklace for my birthday with her birthstone in it and it's the first thing I put on every morning. But, lately I've been triggered by the rest of the events of that day and the days after. Not necessarily by the loss itself, but by being in the hospital. I've been having flashbacks to seeing Ben's face when we heard the words "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat." I can vividly remember him sleeping in L&D while I was being pumped full of drugs and stabilized. I remember seeing how scared he was when I was having a fit over the breathing tube they'd be putting in. I keep remember him saying, just the day before (or maybe even the night of), "Kim, we're having a daughter," and he was so excited. I remember him telling me that, when I woke up and was told that he went home to sleep, he was actually at home crying harder than he'd ever cried in his life, and it just rips me apart. I can't handle it. I can't bear that thought or that image, and it just adds to the grief and the fear. He was such a rock for me those three days and hearing him tell me how broken he really was just destroyed me. I also remember asking the nurses for him repeatedly (as best I could with a breathing tube in), and holding his hand so tightly whenever he was in the room. I remember, the minute I was out of the bed and dressed, we hugged each other so tight before being taken to the car and going home to a world that didn't feel real anymore. I was not triggered by the loss of my baby this time. I was triggered by the incredible vulnerability of my husband.
Honestly, I've been giving him a hard time lately. And he's been having a hard time lately, so I think I sort of needed that. It reminded me of who he really is. It reminded me that he can and will be there for me when I need him. He's had his moments lately where he's been selfish and lazy and downright uncaring, but I've also been emotional and standoffish. It's been a ride for sure. But, he's a good man, and I know that, and those flashbacks reminded me.
Today was a different kind of trigger, though. I wondered why I wasn't as sad about the baby last Thanksgiving as I was today. One could argue that it was still so fresh last year that I hadn't even registered yet what had happened, but I don't think that's the case. I think the reason is because last year at this time, that baby still would not have been born yet. She wasn't due until February. So, either way, we would not have had a baby to celebrate the holidays with. This year, she should be here. She should be celebrating her first Thanksgiving today, and her first Christmas next month. So, the loss feels much more evident this year, if that makes sense. And to top it off, people just say stupid shit that they don't even realize is really insensitive. I'll get to that in a minute. But, first I also want to mention that I hate being asked if I'm excited. And I know that's stupid, but the reason is because, truthfully, I'm not excited. And that devastates me. I can't get excited. I haven't been excited. I don't know the reason. I don't know if I've desensitized myself to the whole experience because of everything that happened last time. I don't know if I'm still in disbelief that I've made it this far. I don't know if it's because of the drama I've had going on with Ben and my dad and work. But, I was asked by my aunt today if I was excited and I didn't know how to answer it. I think I said something stupid like, "I'm excited not to be pregnant anymore." My mom keeps yelling at me to stop stalking my baby registry, but I can't get her to understand it's the only thing that gets me excited. Seeing what people have bought for me and what I'm going to be able to take home with me soon is the only thing that makes it seem even remotely like this is really happening. Yes, that means there will be little to no surprises at my shower, but I have to do this for my own mental health at this point. I'm sorry.
After that, we went to Ben's mom's for a second dinner. And I'm not telling this story to make anyone look bad or to complain about anyone. I love Ben's mom. She is a wonderful, caring woman who would truthfully be crushed if she knew this comment upset me so much. I'm saying it to bring awareness to people when talking to loss moms (or dads). During my last pregnancy, a week or so before we lost the baby, she made the comment "where is your baby?" because my bump was so small and if I'd wanted to, I could still easily hide the fact that I was pregnant. By that point, I was more than halfway through. So, when I walked in today, with my 33+-week belly, she commented that now you could tell I was pregnant. That I was much bigger this time. And then continued to say that if we have another one, you'll be able to tell sooner, because it takes longer to pop with the first one. I will say this slowly for all of those who keep forgetting: This. Is not. My first. Pregnancy. And I say this next part, not to downplay early losses or to make anyone feel like their own miscarriage is not as important as my loss, but to point out how confusing that statement was. I was visibly pregnant last time. It was not an early loss. I was not five days pregnant, or five weeks, or five minutes. I was five months pregnant. My body had adjusted to the hormones. My organs had shifted. The baby was moving. We knew it was a girl. We saw her fingers and her toes and eyes, etc. In two more weeks, she would have had a chance at survival if I'd delivered her. I was significantly pregnant. How could she forget that? How could she just act like those five months never happened? Like that baby never existed? Like that pregnancy somehow wasn't real? This is my second pregnancy. My second baby. And on most days, it feels like no one understands that but me. That baby was only real to me. And it just makes this whole experience so much more isolating.
Like I said, I know it wasn't meant to hurt me. But, it was a careless comment to make, and I was thankfully able to ignore it and not let it ruin the rest of the night. Pregnancy after loss is a tricky road to travel for everyone involved, and as much as I want to try to force people to remember my daughter, I don't want to do that. It's enough for me that Ben and I remember her. It's enough that we loved her and we still miss her, that we still talk about her. No one else matters much in the end.
This is ending up to be a long entry, which I didn't expect. So, all of that being said, I will finish with some exciting things. The baby's room is nearly finished being painted. The baby shower is next weekend. We've already got the bassinet and the breast pump, so if this baby decides to make their appearance before the shower, at least they'll have somewhere to sleep and something to eat. I am exhausted by all of the appointments and my emotions are all over the place, but I'm somehow still getting things done and putting one foot in front of the other. My mental state is better than it was months ago. I'm feeling stronger than I have been, and I know things will work out. Just one day at a time.
Sunday, November 3, 2019
29 weeks, 5 days
Two appointments last week. Both went fine. The regular OB appointment was first, on Monday. I've gained 19 pounds, which is right on track; my blood pressure is still perfect; and I was able to get both my flu shot and my whooping cough vaccine. On top of that, it was time for my one-hour glucose test, which I was admittedly nervous about. I know that technically, gestational diabetes doesn't really have anything to do with how you eat, but I've certainly been pushing the boundaries on it. My diet is atrocious and I'm just too damn tired to care. In any case, it wasn't as bad as expected. I got there a little bit early, so they let me have the drink early. Ten ounces in under four minutes, and I wasn't allowed to have any water afterwards. I didn't think I'd be able to do it, but I was fine. After that, it was just waiting for an hour. But, thankfully, I had my check-up in between, so it wasn't a full hour of just sitting and waiting.
I asked the doctor about the pelvic pain I've been having...it's been pretty terrible. At first, it was only every once in a while, and it wasn't really a big deal. But, now it's become more constant, and I'm just over it. Of course it's normal, as is the pain in my heels when I walk after sitting for too long. *sigh* Only ten weeks and two days more at most. I am not loving this.
Anyway, after the hour was up, they took a blood draw, which I was nervous about, because I hadn't eaten much that day, in fear of skewing the results of the test. It always feels like it takes forever, even though this time they told me they "only" took two vials. But, I survived, then they gave me the flu shot and the whooping cough vaccine, and they were fine. I laugh at the number of needles I had to endure that day (because, remember, I had to come home and get my daily injection as well!), because I've spent the last, like 20 years, avoiding needles. So, yeah, it was a big day for me.
I got lost getting KFC on the way home, cause when a craving strikes, you just do what you have to do. My phone was at 2% and I was horribly lost and terrified that it would die and I wouldn't be able to use the GPS to get home. But, again, I survived. I got two extra biscuits with my meal, and honestly, I could live on those alone. And call me crazy, but those frozen mashed potatoes are delish! Even before I was pregnant.
Wednesday was my ultrasound. Just another one of my 4-week growth scans. Baby is up to 3 pounds now and doing well. We still can't get a clear shot of the face, because every single time we try, the hands are covering the face. A shy little thing, just like Mama. I swear, they've got Ben's nose, though. In any case, not much to report there. We're on track. Baby is measuring perfectly, I'm measuring perfectly, all the medications and constant check-ups are working.
Now is when it starts getting crazy and kind of stressful, though. Starting at 32 weeks, I need to get twice weekly non-stress tests. I was originally told that it needed to be at the hospital I was meant to deliver at, which made me nervous, because that's over an hour from work and there's no way I'd be able to do that twice a week. My boss gave me the all-clear to work from home on those days. But, now it turns out I can get one of the tests done at the OB office, which has evening hours. And the other one can be done at the West Chester branch, which is not too far from where we live. So, I won't really need to work from home, but shit, I'm going to anyway. Just on the West Chester days. On top of those, I still have to maintain my OB appointments that are now every two weeks instead of every four, and my 4-week ultrasounds. I genuinely have no friggin clue how I'm going to do all this. I am beyond stressed out about it, and because of that, I've only made one appointment so far. I'm certain I'll have difficulties scheduling them all if I wait much longer, but I just can't.
Because, on top of that, my dad is being a jerk again, Ben's mom was in the hospital all weekend, my debit card was compromised again (which overdrew my account), and I'm still trying to keep my head above water at work. It also turns out that almost everyone knows the gender of our baby, which just pisses me off. Our parents and siblings were the only ones we told, except for Ben's dad, who didn't want to know. I know my mom slipped with my aunt, which is fine. And I know his mom told her sister, which is not really fine, but it wasn't particularly an argument I felt like having. So somewhere along the line, people blabbed. Ben's dad now knows, and I feel terrible about it, and incredibly pissed off. It's honestly just disrespectful. Not only did you go against my wishes and spread the word, but you also told this man the gender of his own grandchild, even though he didn't want to know. It wasn't your place or your business to tell. And, unfortunately, I don't know who it was, or who told them. So, I'm honestly just pissed at everyone. I also have an aunt who over analyzed one single item on my registry (despite my best efforts to keep everything 100% gender neutral) and figured it out, and then got confirmation from my mother. It's just ridiculous. Why does everyone want to know so badly? Why can't I have a single thing during this pregnancy that I ask for? The minute people find out your baby's gender, they go crazy buying you gender-specific clothes, which whatever, it's going to happen once the baby is born anyway. But, if I open them at my shower, then everyone else is going to know, which means this person essentially took it upon themselves to announce it to everyone. My mom keeps telling me we shouldn't have told anyone, including her, but that just puts the blame on us. People have no respect. Why is it not possible to be just as excited for us without knowing the gender of our baby? It's just feeling like I waited so long for this, got all my ducks in a row before I even tried to get pregnant, had a really traumatic loss that almost killed me, and have been through hell keeping this baby inside, and everyone else thinks it's their baby. I appreciate the excitement, but why can't I just do this the way I want to? It's already so far from what I thought it would be, and I'm having a hard time understanding that people don't seem to realize that. I'm just not the kind of person who likes to be bothered. If I want to tell you information, I will gladly tell you. Or, if you ask me directly, I will likely tell you. But, I don't have the patience for sneakiness and gossip. I'm not a story. I'm a fucking person, who had dreams of her own about pregnancy and motherhood - and they were shattered in the most painful and terrifying way. And it just feels like everyone forgets that. I don't feel like I've asked for much. I've been pretty much an open book about this pregnancy and the entire journey, so the fact that the one thing I asked for can't be respected just infuriates me.
Look, I'm grateful for every second of this pregnancy. Every minute that I get to keep this baby in there, knowing that they are growing and becoming stronger, and getting a better chance, is a relief. But, I'm also incredibly ready to not be pregnant anymore. Things quickly went from "aside from the shots, this really isn't terrible," to "oh my god, everything hurts and I want to die." Like, within a week. And I'm just over it. And I want this baby to be here, because apparently I stupidly think that will make me less pissed off about people not respecting my wishes. I'm just ready to hibernate through the winter with my kid and not let anyone touch us or be near us. Is that unreasonable? I don't care. I know I said after we lost Violet that I wouldn't complain about anything when I got pregnant again, but listen, this shit is for the birds. I'm figuring out I can be both grateful and absolutely miserable at the same time, so I guess that's where I'm at lately.
I asked the doctor about the pelvic pain I've been having...it's been pretty terrible. At first, it was only every once in a while, and it wasn't really a big deal. But, now it's become more constant, and I'm just over it. Of course it's normal, as is the pain in my heels when I walk after sitting for too long. *sigh* Only ten weeks and two days more at most. I am not loving this.
Anyway, after the hour was up, they took a blood draw, which I was nervous about, because I hadn't eaten much that day, in fear of skewing the results of the test. It always feels like it takes forever, even though this time they told me they "only" took two vials. But, I survived, then they gave me the flu shot and the whooping cough vaccine, and they were fine. I laugh at the number of needles I had to endure that day (because, remember, I had to come home and get my daily injection as well!), because I've spent the last, like 20 years, avoiding needles. So, yeah, it was a big day for me.
I got lost getting KFC on the way home, cause when a craving strikes, you just do what you have to do. My phone was at 2% and I was horribly lost and terrified that it would die and I wouldn't be able to use the GPS to get home. But, again, I survived. I got two extra biscuits with my meal, and honestly, I could live on those alone. And call me crazy, but those frozen mashed potatoes are delish! Even before I was pregnant.
Wednesday was my ultrasound. Just another one of my 4-week growth scans. Baby is up to 3 pounds now and doing well. We still can't get a clear shot of the face, because every single time we try, the hands are covering the face. A shy little thing, just like Mama. I swear, they've got Ben's nose, though. In any case, not much to report there. We're on track. Baby is measuring perfectly, I'm measuring perfectly, all the medications and constant check-ups are working.
Now is when it starts getting crazy and kind of stressful, though. Starting at 32 weeks, I need to get twice weekly non-stress tests. I was originally told that it needed to be at the hospital I was meant to deliver at, which made me nervous, because that's over an hour from work and there's no way I'd be able to do that twice a week. My boss gave me the all-clear to work from home on those days. But, now it turns out I can get one of the tests done at the OB office, which has evening hours. And the other one can be done at the West Chester branch, which is not too far from where we live. So, I won't really need to work from home, but shit, I'm going to anyway. Just on the West Chester days. On top of those, I still have to maintain my OB appointments that are now every two weeks instead of every four, and my 4-week ultrasounds. I genuinely have no friggin clue how I'm going to do all this. I am beyond stressed out about it, and because of that, I've only made one appointment so far. I'm certain I'll have difficulties scheduling them all if I wait much longer, but I just can't.
Because, on top of that, my dad is being a jerk again, Ben's mom was in the hospital all weekend, my debit card was compromised again (which overdrew my account), and I'm still trying to keep my head above water at work. It also turns out that almost everyone knows the gender of our baby, which just pisses me off. Our parents and siblings were the only ones we told, except for Ben's dad, who didn't want to know. I know my mom slipped with my aunt, which is fine. And I know his mom told her sister, which is not really fine, but it wasn't particularly an argument I felt like having. So somewhere along the line, people blabbed. Ben's dad now knows, and I feel terrible about it, and incredibly pissed off. It's honestly just disrespectful. Not only did you go against my wishes and spread the word, but you also told this man the gender of his own grandchild, even though he didn't want to know. It wasn't your place or your business to tell. And, unfortunately, I don't know who it was, or who told them. So, I'm honestly just pissed at everyone. I also have an aunt who over analyzed one single item on my registry (despite my best efforts to keep everything 100% gender neutral) and figured it out, and then got confirmation from my mother. It's just ridiculous. Why does everyone want to know so badly? Why can't I have a single thing during this pregnancy that I ask for? The minute people find out your baby's gender, they go crazy buying you gender-specific clothes, which whatever, it's going to happen once the baby is born anyway. But, if I open them at my shower, then everyone else is going to know, which means this person essentially took it upon themselves to announce it to everyone. My mom keeps telling me we shouldn't have told anyone, including her, but that just puts the blame on us. People have no respect. Why is it not possible to be just as excited for us without knowing the gender of our baby? It's just feeling like I waited so long for this, got all my ducks in a row before I even tried to get pregnant, had a really traumatic loss that almost killed me, and have been through hell keeping this baby inside, and everyone else thinks it's their baby. I appreciate the excitement, but why can't I just do this the way I want to? It's already so far from what I thought it would be, and I'm having a hard time understanding that people don't seem to realize that. I'm just not the kind of person who likes to be bothered. If I want to tell you information, I will gladly tell you. Or, if you ask me directly, I will likely tell you. But, I don't have the patience for sneakiness and gossip. I'm not a story. I'm a fucking person, who had dreams of her own about pregnancy and motherhood - and they were shattered in the most painful and terrifying way. And it just feels like everyone forgets that. I don't feel like I've asked for much. I've been pretty much an open book about this pregnancy and the entire journey, so the fact that the one thing I asked for can't be respected just infuriates me.
Look, I'm grateful for every second of this pregnancy. Every minute that I get to keep this baby in there, knowing that they are growing and becoming stronger, and getting a better chance, is a relief. But, I'm also incredibly ready to not be pregnant anymore. Things quickly went from "aside from the shots, this really isn't terrible," to "oh my god, everything hurts and I want to die." Like, within a week. And I'm just over it. And I want this baby to be here, because apparently I stupidly think that will make me less pissed off about people not respecting my wishes. I'm just ready to hibernate through the winter with my kid and not let anyone touch us or be near us. Is that unreasonable? I don't care. I know I said after we lost Violet that I wouldn't complain about anything when I got pregnant again, but listen, this shit is for the birds. I'm figuring out I can be both grateful and absolutely miserable at the same time, so I guess that's where I'm at lately.
Tuesday, October 8, 2019
26 Weeks
I try to update after each OB appointment, but maybe I shouldn't do that. Maybe my goal should be to update every time I feel anxious or excited or scared or happy or any of the other unlimited emotions I feel. Because, generally, after my appointments, I feel good. There's hardly anything to update after the appointments. And that is definitely a good thing.
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!!!
Another big milestone was actually seeing the movement. That's pretty wild. Ben hasn't been able to see it himself yet, because it's so hard to time. It's usually just one swift kick and then nothing, so by the time I get his attention it's over. But, he was able to feel it when we were laying in bed together and baby kicked his back. He seems underwhelmed, and it makes me think that pregnancy must be so weird for men. I know how detached I feel on a lot of days, just because I have to, in order to save my sanity. So, I can't imagine what it must be like for him. It can't possibly seem real, no matter how many ultrasounds you see or how many times you hear that heartbeat. But, that's why I keep trying to get him to see the movement. He'll see it eventually. But, until then, I guess it's just me and the babe sharing the moments.
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.
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!!!
 |
| 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.
Saturday, September 21, 2019
23 weeks, 4 days
I don't have anything new to report pregnancy-wise, but it's been an oddly rough week. My last post was so optimistic, and I'm still surprised by how quickly that can change. Because, like I've said before: grief is weird.
I'm glad I have my PALS (Pregnancy After Loss Support) group on Facebook, because they help me put words to a lot of my feelings, which I think I'm usually pretty good at, but this is still new territory for me. Yes, once we hit 22 weeks, I was feeling more comfortable with things. That's how far we made it last time, and I just wanted to get past that. And, as soon as I hit 22 weeks, 4 days, I felt even better, because that was officially longer than the last time. And I laid in bed extra long that morning just feeling the baby kick and being grateful and getting excited. And then by Wednesday, which was 23 weeks, 1 day, everything felt heavy again.
I shared this in my Facebook group. It wasn't fear that I felt. I wasn't worried about the baby or myself (although, that's always in the back of my mind). I just felt SAD. I slept on the couch the night before (sometimes it helps with my restless legs), feeling the baby wiggling around inside me. And I let myself feel excited. I let myself finally picture us holding our baby and taking them home. And then, for some reason, I got unbelievably sad that I never got to hold our first baby. Obviously, I've thought about that before -- a lot more so early on -- but I never really felt it the way I did that night. I stared at the empty space in front of me on the couch and thought "she could be laying right here now. She'd be 7 months old if she'd made it to her due date. I'd have a 7-month-old daughter." And I just felt a soul-crushing urge to hug her, to feel those little tiny baby arms wrapped around my neck. My little girl. Needless to say, sleep didn't come easy that night. I tossed and turned for a while, thinking of all I lost and all I still have to gain. This journey is strange.
It didn't go away the next day, either. I was lost in those feelings. I let myself go down that road, because sometimes I just need to. Sometimes I just need to let myself feel it, so I can stop feeling it, if that makes sense. One woman in my PALS group said it perfectly when she said once she passed the point where she lost her previous baby, she started feeling all the same things I did. And the reason was because it made her realize that those two babies really were disconnected now. There were no more similarities. There was no more, "oh yes, I remember this from last time." It's all different now. I never got to experience a single minute of this with my girl. Because I didn't make it this far. And no, there isn't really much difference between 22 weeks and 23 weeks, but it's the knowledge that this week didn't happen with my girl that is enough. To be honest, it felt strange to even say "I'm 23 weeks" when I reached it, because I'd never gotten to say it before. And I realized how badly I miss the innocence of a first pregnancy. That cockiness that comes with every "perfect" checkup, with every "normal" ultrasound, and every "negative" test result. Those days of believing that everything is fine and baby and I are invincible are over. I left work early the other day because I felt dizzy and hot. Everything was fine, but even the tiniest twinge of something not being right is too much sometimes.
I don't know why that day in particular was so difficult. There was nothing special about the date. It was almost a full week after the same gestational age as my loss. But, I know I was sad at work all day. Sad enough to the point where there was a brief period where I just sat at my desk and cried, not even able to see what I was working on. And then I came home and got a text message from my old college roommate, who I simply adore, letting me know that she had her baby girl...whose first name was my #1 choice and whose middle name was Ben's #1 choice. What are the odds? Goodness, that stung. By the time Ben came home and dinner was eaten, I was a bit of a mess. I just cried to him about it all again. And, maybe this is stupid, but I feel bad every time I do, because it's been almost a year, and I feel like I shouldn't still feel that sad. But, that day, it felt almost as fresh as the day I came home from the hospital. I begged him to help me finally name this baby. I had asked him previously and he couldn't get there. I sort of sprung it on him out of nowhere and caught him off guard and only succeeded in making him really sad. But, I need to give her a name. Before her first "birth"day, I need to name her. I need to be able to call her by name when I talk about her, because I do so often. I guess I didn't think I would at first...
He's still not as into the idea as I am. His reasons being that I had more of a connection to the baby. I got to feel her move, I got to be the one doing all the hard work and forming the bond. He was simply an observer from the outside. And yes, he loved that baby, and he misses that baby, but he doesn't feel the loss in the same way I do. And while that makes me really sad, I do respect it, and I do understand it. But, I'm giving this baby a name. Because she did live, she was real, and she does deserve it.
I'm glad I have my PALS (Pregnancy After Loss Support) group on Facebook, because they help me put words to a lot of my feelings, which I think I'm usually pretty good at, but this is still new territory for me. Yes, once we hit 22 weeks, I was feeling more comfortable with things. That's how far we made it last time, and I just wanted to get past that. And, as soon as I hit 22 weeks, 4 days, I felt even better, because that was officially longer than the last time. And I laid in bed extra long that morning just feeling the baby kick and being grateful and getting excited. And then by Wednesday, which was 23 weeks, 1 day, everything felt heavy again.
I shared this in my Facebook group. It wasn't fear that I felt. I wasn't worried about the baby or myself (although, that's always in the back of my mind). I just felt SAD. I slept on the couch the night before (sometimes it helps with my restless legs), feeling the baby wiggling around inside me. And I let myself feel excited. I let myself finally picture us holding our baby and taking them home. And then, for some reason, I got unbelievably sad that I never got to hold our first baby. Obviously, I've thought about that before -- a lot more so early on -- but I never really felt it the way I did that night. I stared at the empty space in front of me on the couch and thought "she could be laying right here now. She'd be 7 months old if she'd made it to her due date. I'd have a 7-month-old daughter." And I just felt a soul-crushing urge to hug her, to feel those little tiny baby arms wrapped around my neck. My little girl. Needless to say, sleep didn't come easy that night. I tossed and turned for a while, thinking of all I lost and all I still have to gain. This journey is strange.
It didn't go away the next day, either. I was lost in those feelings. I let myself go down that road, because sometimes I just need to. Sometimes I just need to let myself feel it, so I can stop feeling it, if that makes sense. One woman in my PALS group said it perfectly when she said once she passed the point where she lost her previous baby, she started feeling all the same things I did. And the reason was because it made her realize that those two babies really were disconnected now. There were no more similarities. There was no more, "oh yes, I remember this from last time." It's all different now. I never got to experience a single minute of this with my girl. Because I didn't make it this far. And no, there isn't really much difference between 22 weeks and 23 weeks, but it's the knowledge that this week didn't happen with my girl that is enough. To be honest, it felt strange to even say "I'm 23 weeks" when I reached it, because I'd never gotten to say it before. And I realized how badly I miss the innocence of a first pregnancy. That cockiness that comes with every "perfect" checkup, with every "normal" ultrasound, and every "negative" test result. Those days of believing that everything is fine and baby and I are invincible are over. I left work early the other day because I felt dizzy and hot. Everything was fine, but even the tiniest twinge of something not being right is too much sometimes.
I don't know why that day in particular was so difficult. There was nothing special about the date. It was almost a full week after the same gestational age as my loss. But, I know I was sad at work all day. Sad enough to the point where there was a brief period where I just sat at my desk and cried, not even able to see what I was working on. And then I came home and got a text message from my old college roommate, who I simply adore, letting me know that she had her baby girl...whose first name was my #1 choice and whose middle name was Ben's #1 choice. What are the odds? Goodness, that stung. By the time Ben came home and dinner was eaten, I was a bit of a mess. I just cried to him about it all again. And, maybe this is stupid, but I feel bad every time I do, because it's been almost a year, and I feel like I shouldn't still feel that sad. But, that day, it felt almost as fresh as the day I came home from the hospital. I begged him to help me finally name this baby. I had asked him previously and he couldn't get there. I sort of sprung it on him out of nowhere and caught him off guard and only succeeded in making him really sad. But, I need to give her a name. Before her first "birth"day, I need to name her. I need to be able to call her by name when I talk about her, because I do so often. I guess I didn't think I would at first...
He's still not as into the idea as I am. His reasons being that I had more of a connection to the baby. I got to feel her move, I got to be the one doing all the hard work and forming the bond. He was simply an observer from the outside. And yes, he loved that baby, and he misses that baby, but he doesn't feel the loss in the same way I do. And while that makes me really sad, I do respect it, and I do understand it. But, I'm giving this baby a name. Because she did live, she was real, and she does deserve it.
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
22 Weeks
This is the week I've been dreading. The week I just needed to "get past" before I could start feeling better and relaxing. With my first pregnancy, we went in for our anatomy scan at 21 weeks, 6 days. That was where we found out that things were going wrong. We still didn't know how bad they would get, and weren't even told that we may lose the baby, but we did know something was wrong. By 22 weeks, 3 days (four days later), Baby Girl was gone and I nearly was as well. So, 22 weeks has been my major milestone. If I could just get here and see that everything is okay, I may start believing that everything will continue to be okay. And so here we are.
This time, our anatomy scan was at 21 weeks, 1 day. And everything was perfect. We confirmed gender again (I think it's safe to say it's not going to change at this point). We saw fingers, toes, arms, legs, the heart, the brain, the bladder, and everything in between. We even got this killer ultrasound:
Ben couldn't come with me this time, which did concern me. He had a doctor's appointment of his own that he had already cancelled once and I didn't want him to cancel again. I had thankfully felt the baby moving the night before the appointment, so I wasn't that concerned, but my mom came along with me anyway. I think it means a lot to her to come with me. They didn't have ultrasounds when she was pregnant with my brother and I more than 30 years ago, so it's neat for her to see her grandchild this way. It was a little disappointing that Ben didn't get to see the baby so active. That was definitely not how our previous anatomy scan went. It would have been nice for him to experience a "normal" one. But, there will be other opportunities for him to see our peanut.
Not only is baby doing well, but they are actually measuring six days larger than "normal." At our last one, Baby Girl measured three weeks behind. So yeah, things are looking great. And I've actually let myself feel excited at times. I will say this, though: this is the craziest roller coaster I've ever been on.
Again, it's hard for me to say if these are normal pregnancy hormones and emotions, or if they are magnified because of all I've been through. But, more often than not, my emotions are all over the place. I'll start with the really hard confession first: Sometimes, I resent this baby. There are times when I allow myself to get lost in that feeling of "okay, why do you get to live when your sister did not? Why did we lose her, but you're still alive and well?" And, seriously, WTF? I should just be thankful for a healthy baby at this point. I don't know. Any loss mamas want to let me know if they've experienced this feeling as well? Or should I just accept the fact that I'm an absolutely dreadful person who doesn't deserve to be a mother?
There are other times, though, when I think of holding that baby and I am overwhelmed with excitement. To bite those little toes, have those tiny hands wrapped around my finger, smell that sweet baby smell, and enjoy all the snuggles. And yes, sometimes I'm excited about the diapers and the spit-up, and the crying. All the things I've waited my whole life for. So, maybe I do deserve to be a mother? Like I said, all over the place. But, at least I'm in a place now where I can somewhat joke about it.
Another feeling that confuses me is when the baby kicks. Honestly, I hate it. The only times I'm excited about it are when a lot of time has gone by without one. But, more often than not they make me want to cry. What the hell is that about? It doesn't feel like an "I'm so happy I could cry" kind of cry either. It feels like a "holy shit, there is a person living inside of me" kind of cry. It's seriously wild. There's a person in there. Like, an actual person. I've seen it move. I've seen it swallow. And I can feel its little arms and legs punching and kicking me in the gut. I love this little baby and I'm grateful for each little flutter, but seriously...gross.
Last night was another routine OB appointment. Baby's heartbeat is nice and strong, my vitals are all perfect, everyone is healthy. I asked the doctor about three things: what I could do for my sciatic pain, what I could do for my restless legs at night, and if the charlie horses in my feet and legs are anything to be concerned about. He showed me some stretches for the pain and asked about my iron intake for the other two. I confessed I didn't know if I was getting enough. I find it incredibly frustrating to try to get enough of everything I need. I gave up on prenatal vitamins a long time ago, I confess. Which leads me to the next point.
Ben decided to tell on me. He flat out told the doctor I wasn't taking my prenatals. So, naturally, the doctor turns to me and says, "that's probably why you're having those leg cramps." Oh, how Ben gloated. I've tried so many different vitamins. Even during my last pregnancy, I was never really able to stomach them. I hate the gummies. They're honestly so gross and they make me feel sick. The pills are either enormous or have fish in them (or both), and I literally can't swallow them. I gave up on those when I all but threw one up on my bed. The only other options are the tiny pills, which are obviously preferred, but are not covered by insurance. Why is everything a battle?? So, the doctor gave me several samples and told me to let him know which one works the best and we'd fight the insurance company on the grounds that they were the only ones I could stomach. Who knows if it'll work? I guess the up side is that I only have to deal with them for another four months.
After that, we quickly went over the ultrasound results and said our goodbyes, with the doctor saying "I'm glad everything's looking good." Me too, doc.
Another ultrasound and OB appointment in four weeks, then the glucose test three weeks after that. I never made it this far last time. We are doing this. This is happening. The belly is there, the kicks are there, the fear/excitement is there. We're bringing this baby home. I know it.
This time, our anatomy scan was at 21 weeks, 1 day. And everything was perfect. We confirmed gender again (I think it's safe to say it's not going to change at this point). We saw fingers, toes, arms, legs, the heart, the brain, the bladder, and everything in between. We even got this killer ultrasound:
 |
| That's our little brat simultaneously sucking their thumb and giving the finger. A child after my own heart. |
Ben couldn't come with me this time, which did concern me. He had a doctor's appointment of his own that he had already cancelled once and I didn't want him to cancel again. I had thankfully felt the baby moving the night before the appointment, so I wasn't that concerned, but my mom came along with me anyway. I think it means a lot to her to come with me. They didn't have ultrasounds when she was pregnant with my brother and I more than 30 years ago, so it's neat for her to see her grandchild this way. It was a little disappointing that Ben didn't get to see the baby so active. That was definitely not how our previous anatomy scan went. It would have been nice for him to experience a "normal" one. But, there will be other opportunities for him to see our peanut.
Not only is baby doing well, but they are actually measuring six days larger than "normal." At our last one, Baby Girl measured three weeks behind. So yeah, things are looking great. And I've actually let myself feel excited at times. I will say this, though: this is the craziest roller coaster I've ever been on.
Again, it's hard for me to say if these are normal pregnancy hormones and emotions, or if they are magnified because of all I've been through. But, more often than not, my emotions are all over the place. I'll start with the really hard confession first: Sometimes, I resent this baby. There are times when I allow myself to get lost in that feeling of "okay, why do you get to live when your sister did not? Why did we lose her, but you're still alive and well?" And, seriously, WTF? I should just be thankful for a healthy baby at this point. I don't know. Any loss mamas want to let me know if they've experienced this feeling as well? Or should I just accept the fact that I'm an absolutely dreadful person who doesn't deserve to be a mother?
There are other times, though, when I think of holding that baby and I am overwhelmed with excitement. To bite those little toes, have those tiny hands wrapped around my finger, smell that sweet baby smell, and enjoy all the snuggles. And yes, sometimes I'm excited about the diapers and the spit-up, and the crying. All the things I've waited my whole life for. So, maybe I do deserve to be a mother? Like I said, all over the place. But, at least I'm in a place now where I can somewhat joke about it.
Another feeling that confuses me is when the baby kicks. Honestly, I hate it. The only times I'm excited about it are when a lot of time has gone by without one. But, more often than not they make me want to cry. What the hell is that about? It doesn't feel like an "I'm so happy I could cry" kind of cry either. It feels like a "holy shit, there is a person living inside of me" kind of cry. It's seriously wild. There's a person in there. Like, an actual person. I've seen it move. I've seen it swallow. And I can feel its little arms and legs punching and kicking me in the gut. I love this little baby and I'm grateful for each little flutter, but seriously...gross.
Last night was another routine OB appointment. Baby's heartbeat is nice and strong, my vitals are all perfect, everyone is healthy. I asked the doctor about three things: what I could do for my sciatic pain, what I could do for my restless legs at night, and if the charlie horses in my feet and legs are anything to be concerned about. He showed me some stretches for the pain and asked about my iron intake for the other two. I confessed I didn't know if I was getting enough. I find it incredibly frustrating to try to get enough of everything I need. I gave up on prenatal vitamins a long time ago, I confess. Which leads me to the next point.
Ben decided to tell on me. He flat out told the doctor I wasn't taking my prenatals. So, naturally, the doctor turns to me and says, "that's probably why you're having those leg cramps." Oh, how Ben gloated. I've tried so many different vitamins. Even during my last pregnancy, I was never really able to stomach them. I hate the gummies. They're honestly so gross and they make me feel sick. The pills are either enormous or have fish in them (or both), and I literally can't swallow them. I gave up on those when I all but threw one up on my bed. The only other options are the tiny pills, which are obviously preferred, but are not covered by insurance. Why is everything a battle?? So, the doctor gave me several samples and told me to let him know which one works the best and we'd fight the insurance company on the grounds that they were the only ones I could stomach. Who knows if it'll work? I guess the up side is that I only have to deal with them for another four months.
After that, we quickly went over the ultrasound results and said our goodbyes, with the doctor saying "I'm glad everything's looking good." Me too, doc.
Another ultrasound and OB appointment in four weeks, then the glucose test three weeks after that. I never made it this far last time. We are doing this. This is happening. The belly is there, the kicks are there, the fear/excitement is there. We're bringing this baby home. I know it.
Tuesday, August 27, 2019
20 Weeks
Well, folks, we are halfway there. We have made it through 50% of this pregnancy. This was the time during the last pregnancy where it started to feel real; where I started realizing there were only 4.5 months left in the journey. But of course, that time, there were actually only two more weeks left in the journey...
I mentioned to my doctor at one of my past appointments that I had been feeling so depressed the weekend before that I couldn't even get out of bed. I asked if he thought it was just because we were getting closer to the doomed gestational age. He said yes, and that once we passed 20 weeks, we'd begin to feel better. Our last appointment showed that everything that came back abnormal on this round of tests during the last pregnancy, came back just fine on this one. He said, "I really think that's what the problem was last time. You guys can start to breathe a little now." He was wrong.
I am not breathing easier. I am terrified. Completely and legitimately terrified. And not just about losing the baby. I'm scared for my life. There was no warning last time. Nothing to clue me in that something was wrong with me. I could tell something was wrong with the baby - she wasn't moving. But, I, myself, felt totally fine. And then, I suddenly didn't, and it was a cascade of events from there. So, while I am hyper aware this time of every symptom, every cramp, every headache, and every little flutter from within, I'm still 100% terrified. I don't think there will be any getting around that. The wait between each appointment will continue to be agony until I get confirmation that everything is (still) fine. I have my little blood pressure monitor that I check every time I get a little nervous, but it doesn't help much. I'm not a doctor. It's a store-bought monitor, handed down to me by my mom. It could be inaccurate. Let's hope it's not, because so far, it's been pretty perfect.
Now that the baby is moving, it does feel more real. But, I also thought it would calm me down a bit once this point was reached. This time, I was wrong. Yes, there are times when those little kicks and flutters make me feel better and reassure me that everything is going as it should. But, then there are those times in between. Those times when I wonder if the baby's kicking enough. Is s/he kicking too much (because remember, our girl kicked A LOT the day before she passed. Something I now know is a sign of distress)? I will never fully enjoy this pregnancy. We have twenty more weeks of anxiety and stress and fear.
On top of all of that, I don't feel like we're mentally in the same place we were last time either, and that kills me. Yes, I was scared last time. Especially those first few days. But, I'd wanted this all my life. And it was finally happening for me. I was scared but excited to finally begin my journey to motherhood. There was no doubt in my mind that I'd be a good mother, a capable mother, a stable mother. And now. Now I don't know how I'll do it. I'm seeing a therapist and I like her a lot, but we haven't talked much about the pregnancy yet. There's too much other stuff going on. My job is in jeopardy. I haven't spoken to my father in months. We have a house now and a slew of financial responsibility that comes with that (plus the medical bills that WON'T STOP COMING). And on top of that, I was not healed enough before I got pregnant again. Because I believed another pregnancy would heal me. How stupid of me.
I see so many women posting things saying that their child saved their life, and I love that. That's wonderful. I'm happy for those women. But, I never wanted to be one. I don't want my baby to have to save me. I want to be emotionally well enough that I can provide what that baby needs, from all aspects. It's not the baby's job to fix whatever is broken in me. But, maybe I need to accept now that something will always be broken in me from now on. There's no amount of talking or writing or medication or crying that can make this better. This part of our story will always be the same, and it will always hurt. And yes, perhaps this new baby will fill some part of my shattered little heart, but I still want to feel emotionally capable of being a mother. Some days, I feel legitimately crazy; like I'm losing my mind, and that the smallest thing will push me over the edge. And it's a weird feeling for me, because I've always prided myself on my strength and my endurance, and my ability to "get shit done." And I'm just not that person anymore. Now that I need to be more than ever, I'm not.
Honestly, it's hard to tell how much of this is normal pregnancy hormones and how much of this is because of last year's trauma. I don't know. I've never had a "normal" pregnancy. And I never will. So, I blame it on the loss, and I blame it on the guilt, and I blame it on the heartbreak, but maybe I actually am normal after all. All I know at this point is that I still have a lot of healing to do, and a shit load of things to get together in the next four months, and I 100% lack the motivation to do it. But, as always, we'll get there. And we'll be fine. So, I tell myself.
I mentioned to my doctor at one of my past appointments that I had been feeling so depressed the weekend before that I couldn't even get out of bed. I asked if he thought it was just because we were getting closer to the doomed gestational age. He said yes, and that once we passed 20 weeks, we'd begin to feel better. Our last appointment showed that everything that came back abnormal on this round of tests during the last pregnancy, came back just fine on this one. He said, "I really think that's what the problem was last time. You guys can start to breathe a little now." He was wrong.
I am not breathing easier. I am terrified. Completely and legitimately terrified. And not just about losing the baby. I'm scared for my life. There was no warning last time. Nothing to clue me in that something was wrong with me. I could tell something was wrong with the baby - she wasn't moving. But, I, myself, felt totally fine. And then, I suddenly didn't, and it was a cascade of events from there. So, while I am hyper aware this time of every symptom, every cramp, every headache, and every little flutter from within, I'm still 100% terrified. I don't think there will be any getting around that. The wait between each appointment will continue to be agony until I get confirmation that everything is (still) fine. I have my little blood pressure monitor that I check every time I get a little nervous, but it doesn't help much. I'm not a doctor. It's a store-bought monitor, handed down to me by my mom. It could be inaccurate. Let's hope it's not, because so far, it's been pretty perfect.
Now that the baby is moving, it does feel more real. But, I also thought it would calm me down a bit once this point was reached. This time, I was wrong. Yes, there are times when those little kicks and flutters make me feel better and reassure me that everything is going as it should. But, then there are those times in between. Those times when I wonder if the baby's kicking enough. Is s/he kicking too much (because remember, our girl kicked A LOT the day before she passed. Something I now know is a sign of distress)? I will never fully enjoy this pregnancy. We have twenty more weeks of anxiety and stress and fear.
On top of all of that, I don't feel like we're mentally in the same place we were last time either, and that kills me. Yes, I was scared last time. Especially those first few days. But, I'd wanted this all my life. And it was finally happening for me. I was scared but excited to finally begin my journey to motherhood. There was no doubt in my mind that I'd be a good mother, a capable mother, a stable mother. And now. Now I don't know how I'll do it. I'm seeing a therapist and I like her a lot, but we haven't talked much about the pregnancy yet. There's too much other stuff going on. My job is in jeopardy. I haven't spoken to my father in months. We have a house now and a slew of financial responsibility that comes with that (plus the medical bills that WON'T STOP COMING). And on top of that, I was not healed enough before I got pregnant again. Because I believed another pregnancy would heal me. How stupid of me.
I see so many women posting things saying that their child saved their life, and I love that. That's wonderful. I'm happy for those women. But, I never wanted to be one. I don't want my baby to have to save me. I want to be emotionally well enough that I can provide what that baby needs, from all aspects. It's not the baby's job to fix whatever is broken in me. But, maybe I need to accept now that something will always be broken in me from now on. There's no amount of talking or writing or medication or crying that can make this better. This part of our story will always be the same, and it will always hurt. And yes, perhaps this new baby will fill some part of my shattered little heart, but I still want to feel emotionally capable of being a mother. Some days, I feel legitimately crazy; like I'm losing my mind, and that the smallest thing will push me over the edge. And it's a weird feeling for me, because I've always prided myself on my strength and my endurance, and my ability to "get shit done." And I'm just not that person anymore. Now that I need to be more than ever, I'm not.
Honestly, it's hard to tell how much of this is normal pregnancy hormones and how much of this is because of last year's trauma. I don't know. I've never had a "normal" pregnancy. And I never will. So, I blame it on the loss, and I blame it on the guilt, and I blame it on the heartbreak, but maybe I actually am normal after all. All I know at this point is that I still have a lot of healing to do, and a shit load of things to get together in the next four months, and I 100% lack the motivation to do it. But, as always, we'll get there. And we'll be fine. So, I tell myself.
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| Cheesing with my 20-week belly for the camera. Somehow, I think I'm still hiding it at work? Only one person has called me out so far, but they could all just be afraid to ask. What do you think? |
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