Today’s the day, finally, after all this waiting I have an answer and a plan. It wasn’t the answer we wanted, on Friday, but MS and I both agreed that finding out the baby was definitely gone was better than not knowing, or finding out that there was something severely wrong and possibly having to deliver a stillborn or a child with such severe birth defects that it would die shortly after being born. I have read the stories of the brave women who have dealt with this type of tragedy, and as painful as an early miscarriage is, I can’t imagine losing a baby right after it was born, or watching a child suffer through a too-short and painful life. I admire and respect the mothers who are forced to do this, and mourn for them and their children.

My doctor wanted me to wait until she could be on-call in case I need an emergency D&C, so I waited out the weekend for today so that I could take Misoprostol at home. I am prepared with my bottle of Vicodin and a heating pad, and hoping that it goes as smoothly as possible. As much as I hate the idea of doing this to myself, I also prefer it to having surgery. Being at home is a comfort, and I am trying to be brave and strong and accept that this has to happen and all I can do is try to make it as painless as possible. I am so grateful for all the support I’ve received from friends , family and even all my E-friends. My lovely friends from my last job sent the beautiful flowers pictured, my 2 favorites-daisies and pink roses. I feel very loved and cared for, and truly blessed that there are so many people I know I can count on through tough times.

The Things People Say

Yesterday I had a wonderful day with my mom. My car was in getting service, so I took advantage of the cushy loaner car I had for the day and took her out to the Ventura Harbor where we had lunch at a Greek restaurant overlooking the water. As we talked we got on the subject of the things people say to make us feel better.

We both acknowledged that we didn't fault anyone for the things they said, how would they know what would make us feel good and what wouldn't? If you haven't been in our situations, you don't know what to say, and we know everyone's intentions are good.

Her pet peeves were when people told her stories of their friend who had cancer and got better, or so-and-so that had gone through chemo for a year and never lost her hair. Instead of finding those stories encouraging, she finds them upsetting, putting undue pressure on her and getting her hopes up too high when they should remain positive, but realistic. Those anecdotes bring up her argumentative, logical side that thinks, "Sure there is that one story of that one person who was easily healed, but I could come up with a thousand stories of people who lost the battle."

She also dislikes it being called a battle, and a fight, making her feel that if she doesn't pull through, she is somehow weak, at fault, someone who just didn't "fight" hard enough to win. The whole vocabulary surrounding cancer is odd, it's all about fighting and surviving, whereas with other diseases, you're allowed to passively be a victim. In some ways these fighting words are good. They inspire and make the patient feel like he or she has a chance to beat the odds, but at the same time, they make it the patient's responsibility in a weird way that people don't do with other diseases. No one fights heart disease, diabetes, or kidney stones. You don't call a person recovering from the flu a survivor. There is a sense that other diseases are not the patient's fault, but that cancer is somehow something a patient can choose to overcome, if only they are willing to fight and survive.

I said the same thing, that I feel unsure how to react when people tell me stories of babies who measured small and ended up fine in the end, of faulty ultrasound machines and incompetent doctors and technicians who just measured wrong even though the fetus was perfectly fine. Part of me loves these stories, because I think maybe I too will experience this happy turn of events, but part of me, like my mom, can come up with a bunch of counter-anecdotes that say the first ultrasound was probably right. These stories play with my hopes in a cruel way, raising them up and then dashing them down.

The other things I hate are the platitudes that people only use for a miscarriage. I don't blame anyone for saying these things, it's what I would have said and thought before this happened to me. To someone who has never experienced the loss of a wanted pregnancy, the idea that it feels the same as a death sounds melodramatic and odd. How could you equate losing a tiny ball of cells in your uterus to losing a fully grown child? Until you've been pregnant, you can't understand how instantly attached and bonded a mother becomes to her child, however small and new that life is. We love it, make plans for it, dream about how it will look, sound, and act. We cradle our bellies and smile thinking of the budding life we're helping to nurture and protect. It's not just a ball of cells or a tiny little fetus, it's our child, our baby, already as important to us and loved as a child is to any parent.

When people express the standard miscarriage sentiments of "These things happen for a reason." or "This is God/Nature's way of weeding out the sick and the unhealthy ones." or "It's all for the best." or "You can always have more kids." It cuts mothers of the unborn to the core. Think of how cruel it would be to say any of those things to the mother of a 6 year old who had died of leukemia. You wouldn't, because that would be horrid. I can tell you that the mother of an unborn child, lost at any stage in pregnancy, feels just as much that she is a mother and that was her child as the mother of a child of any age. So telling her that her baby was just a malformed, sick affront to evolution that is better off dead is not helpful, comforting, or kind. Don't say it or anything that makes it seem like this was supposed to happen. Because even though we know it's true, and that if something was terribly wrong it probably is better that the baby died early, the idea that there was something so wrong with our child that it couldn't even live is frightening, upsetting, and awful. And none of it takes away the fact that we lost a child. We didn't lose a fetus, we lost our baby, it died. It will never be in our belly or arms again. We won't get to meet it or see it or hold it and play with it. We can't watch it grow up. It's gone and dead, which is tragic and intensely painful.

The best thing to say to a grieving mother or a diagnosed cancer patient is some version of "I'm sorry, and I'm here for you." That's it. Just tell them how much it sucks, how unfair it is, and that you understand that they're in pain. Let them grieve and cry and feel bad and know that you get that it's a big deal. That alone will make us feel better.

Really, Symptoms?

Having morning sickness and not getting a baby in the end just seems truly unfair. I understand the medical explanation for why I am still having symptoms, but I still don't have to like it. I have felt more nauseated than I ever did before, I'm craving weird things, like Chex Mix (the other day I wanted it so bad I bought all the ingredients and made it myself when I got home, and then ate nearly the entire batch), I'm completely exhausted, and my stomach looks so big and bloated you'd think I was 20 weeks along.

Yesterday I went to empty our bathroom trash, which I had emptied on Sunday. There were three empty toilet paper rolls in there. Three! In three days! During my first exam my OB said that my uterus was right on top of my bladder. No kidding! The worst part is that all the symptoms just serve to intensify my hope. I think, surely something is growing and happening in there if I am feeling so pregnant. I know there is no correlation, but it doesn't stop my hopeful mind from wandering to possibilities and googling the accuracy rate of ultrasounds.

Nothing to do but wait and be grateful that for today, I am still pregnant.

A tiny bit of hope

We had our follow up appointment today. Just before we left, MS grabbed me, gave me a hug and said: “Don’t worry, everything is going to be okay. I won’t let the bad guys get you.” I had to laugh and smile. He really does make me feel better.

I went into Dr. Fine’s office and sat down, miserable. I was just reliving the last time I was there and going through all of the horrible things she was going to say, the difficult decisions and options we would be faced with. I was holding it together okay, trying not to look at all the baby magazines and pamphlets around the office, when in walks an adorable pregnant woman pushing a stroller with an equally adorable little baby boy in it. Everyone else in the waiting room smiled and gushed over the cute baby, which is what I used to do too, but I couldn’t even look at them. I almost burst into tears but I didn’t, and then the little boy turned around and grinned his cute baby grin at me, and I felt nothing but happiness and smiled back at him.

We were called in and Dr. Fine weighed me and I jokingly told MS he wasn’t allowed to watch this part, and then noted that on the bright side of all this I’d lost 4 pounds since last week. Dr. Fine was surprised that I was in better spirits. Better from sobbing uncontrollably isn’t that remarkable, but yeah I was doing better. She told me she wanted to do one more ultrasound and then we’d discuss options in her office.

She started the ultrasound and took a long time looking around. She had me hold my breath several times and acted like there was something interesting going on. She finally said that she thought she saw a flutter. I smiled bitterly, trying not to let my hopes jump up and my heart cling to that tiny bit of hope. But of course I did. She continued to search, magnifying here and there, sighing, frowning, and wondering aloud. Finally she called in her father, who is the other OB in the practice. He was less hopeful but admitted there was a flicker of some sort. She said it could either be a heartbeat or my pulse from blood flowing to the area in preparation of a miscarriage. She told me not to give up hope yet, and that there was definitely something going on and she didn’t want to schedule a D&C or medically induce a miscarriage if there was a slight chance there was something there. A similar situation happened to her with her daughter, and she turned out fine.

So she recommended we give it another week and a half, which I’m fine with. Since the first appointment, I’ve been researching D&C’s and they just don’t sound like something I want to do. It’s not that I’m afraid of surgery or pain, but, since there is a chance of complication, I don’t want to risk my future fertility just to get it over with a little sooner. I can be patient and wait for my body to take care of this, or we can medically manage it. Either option sounds better than a D&C unless it’s absolutely necessary. So, I was going to ask her if I could wait a little longer anyway. Now I’m waiting with the potential that there will be some miraculous growth or surprise awaiting us the next time we go in. I am not sure how I should feel, but I feel totally at peace. I accept that if this pregnancy is viable and meant to be that we will know and are in the right hands to take care of it. If it isn’t, I am already prepared for that and have already been told that twice, so hearing it a third and final time cannot be that much more traumatic than the past week has already been.

No matter what happens, I’m not going to hear anything worse than what I had already believed and accepted. It can only be the same or better. So now I’m just working on being patient and putting my hope in God to show us the right outcome for this pregnancy and our family, whatever that may be.

Nine baby bumps

Yesterday I didn’t cry, not even once. I have been on an every other day pattern with being weepy. The sadness doesn’t cease but the tears come and go.

MS and I decided to go to the mall in the afternoon. I knew it would be rough, considering the huge play area that is always teeming with toddlers, and the new Destination Maternity store I’d already been browsing in, not the mention all the cute baby clothing stores and cute babies that were bound to be there.

Before I found out that our baby died, seeing pregnant moms and babies didn’t bother me a bit. I saw them everywhere and noticed them more than I used to, but it made me excited and hopeful. I felt warm happy that someday I would have a cute bump and then a baby to hold and love. It was like when you get a new car, and suddenly you start noticing that make and model everywhere you go. There are probably just as many of that car on the road as there were before you got it, but now that you have one you just notice it more and feel kind of excited when you see it out and about.

That’s how I felt when we were just starting out and I saw a fellow pregnant woman, I wanted to wave and hug them and ask them when their due date was and then gush about how fun it was to be expecting.

Now, I still see the same number of pregnant women and babies. I notice them just as much, but instead of being fun, it is a painful reminder. Now, instead of comparing it to seeing your new car all over, I compare it to when you break up with someone and you feel like you see them, or something that reminds you of them everywhere you go, because you miss them so much and you’re in pain over losing them. That is how it is now when I see those cute baby bumps. I notice just as many (there were nine at the mall yesterday, in addition to about a million babies, including a set of triplets!) but each one is just a reminder that I don’t have one, that I’m not carrying a new life inside me anymore, that I won’t have an adorable baby in January the way I had been planning.

Moving Forward

Yesterday evening I picked MS up at 6:00. It was amazing to have him in my arms again. He makes things feel almost right and I am so glad I have him in my life. Due to the time and the traffic factor we took PCH home. It was a gorgeous sunny California day and as we drove up the coast we passed the Santa Monica Pier. He asked if I wanted to go walk on the beach and I agreed, since in all 29 years I’ve lived in Southern California I have never been to the Santa Monica Pier. We turned into the parking lot and were shocked that, despite it being 2010, the attendant wouldn’t take a credit card to pay for parking. He agreed to let us park if we went to an ATM and then came back and paid. We walked to the pier, and of course it was full of kids and happy families. I tried not to let that bother me, instead I reveled in the day, how happy I was to be here, with my loving husband, in this beautiful place. In spite of everything I know I have a lot of blessings in my life and so much to be grateful for.

After wandering around the pier we finally found an ATM, and it was out of service. We found another, and it too was out of service, defeated, tired, we headed out to leave, but spotted one more ATM. Of course it too was out of service. I guess we weren’t meant to hang out at the pier after all. We headed home and had a nice drive through Malibu Canyon, which is also gorgeous. I tried to focus on the scenery and how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful place, and not dwell on the dread I felt about my upcoming appointment.

Today we got up early and went to the radiology center. I was not excited, but not dreading it as much as one might think. I had been praying all night and all morning and in the car on the way over and just had a sense of peace and calm. When we went in, there was a mix up with the referrals and we had to leave and come back three hours later. Instead of being mad, I thought, okay, three more hours to pray, and have the hope that maybe I’m still pregnant.

Three hours later we came back. The ultrasound technician spent a long time working on me. She must have clicked dozens of images. I couldn’t see the screen and tried reading her face for signs of good news or bad. It felt like I was lying there for hours, but it was probably only ten minutes. When it was over she asked me how I was. I replied, “I don’t know, you tell me.” Thinking, I’m dying here, you know whether I have a healthy baby or a dead embryo in there and you’re asking me how I am? I won’t know how I am until you tell me the truth. She just said she couldn’t tell me and the doctor would have to. She left MS and I alone and I sat up and tried to decipher the screen, but she had closed all the images.

We sat for what again felt like an eternity before someone popped her head in and said the doctor would be awhile. Great. I tried praying and staying calm but my nerves were raw and I just wanted to know. I felt completely numb and exhausted and ready for it to be over, whatever the outcome.

Finally they told me to get dressed and go in and see the doctor. They led us to a darkened room full of video screens with images of what had been our baby. MS grabbed my hand and the doctor hesitantly but kindly told us that my doctor had been correct. I didn’t cry, I just nodded and accepted it. I wasn’t surprised. I was just glad it was over and I knew for sure where to go. No more hoping, just moving forward.

We left and walked numbly to the car. I felt completely at peace for the moment, accepting this was just the way it was and that I needed to learn to live with it. We went out to breakfast, even though it was almost lunchtime, and I held it together even as a pregnant woman walked right by me, holding the hand of her adorable little daughter. I just smiled, tried to imagine that someday that would be me, it just isn’t my time yet.

Strength from others

I've always been the strong one. I've been through awful things before and held my head up and maintained my positive outlook. I've been the one that other people could lean on. I don't cry easily when I'm sad and I get over grief quickly.

I'm trying to learn to lean on other people now, because this is truly the most upsetting thing that has ever happened to me. I don't feel strong enough to get through it and I am immensely grateful to those around me for offering support. My friends and family have been awesome, but somehow don't really get it. As grateful as I am to have so many loving, caring people in my life, I have found the most comfort from a group of women on The Bump, a forum for pregnancy. I was lucky enough to find this community when we first decided to start trying to have a baby. I learned so much from the women on the forums and also found friendship and a place where I could share both good and bad news. When I got the wonderful news that I was pregnant, these women shared my joy, and now they are sharing my pain and helping me immensely. Somehow, these people I have never even met know exactly to say, what not to say, and I have been overwhelmed with the kindness and compassion they have shown me.

I am also grateful for my husband. Without him, I don't think I could get through this. He is the only other person out there who can understand how upsetting it will be to lose this baby, because it is also his child. He is out of town and coming home today and I was brought to tears when I received a gorgeous bouquet of our favorite flowers. Mine are daisies and his are sunflowers. Together this bright bouquet brought tears to my eyes. I just couldn't help but think that without him I would be truly lost.

After wavering since yesterday, I made an appointment with an imaging center that has more sophisticated ultrasound equipment than my doctor had in her office. I am completely ambivalent about doing this. Part of me thinks I'm just setting myself up for more disappointment and heartache, because I'm clearly clinging to the slim chance that the ultrasound Dr. Fine took was inaccurate and that tomorrow they will find that our baby is perfect and healthy. I'm trying my best to be realistic and accept that they may find exactly what she found and I'll just be given the most horrible news of my life a second time. So I am praying and waiting, and trying not to get my hopes up only to be crushed again.

One of the lovely women on the bump gave me these touching, comforting words: "I know you don't want to get your hopes up, so I'll hold some up for you." For now, that's all I can do, give this pain and worry to God and to all the lovely people surrounding me. I am incredibly grateful to everyone who has reached out and offered their support, and gaining strength from them.