First of all, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for your positive thoughts, prayers, vibes, facebook messages, and kind words, in regards to my post the other day. Words really cannot express how thankful I am, to have your support.
Now. Let me tell you what’s going on with me.
On October 12th, I found out I was pregnant. Jared and I were beyond thrilled. We’ve been officially trying for baby #2 since June. Based off my calculations, my estimated due date would be around June 21, 2013. However, because I would be having another scheduled c-section, I would have the baby at 39 weeks, which would be June 14th…my grandparents anniversary, and my grandfather’s birthday. Perfect!
I called my OB’s office, and my first prenatal appointment was scheduled for November 6th. I would be about 7 weeks pregnant at that time.
Because we were going to Florida for my aunts wedding, we told my parents and brother immediately, and a few other family members that would be traveling with us. They were all thrilled! My sweet boy Lincoln, was going to be a big brother!!
Before I knew it, November 6th had arrived, and it was time for our appointment! I was a bunch of emotions… excited, anxious, nervous. All to be expected, of course.
My OB practically bounced into the room with excitement. He delivered Lincoln, and I actually ran into him at Target last March, where he asked me when we’d be trying for #2! It was like a reunion. Sounds a bid weird, perhaps, considering he’s my OB and all, but he’s really a great doctor.
Because he already knew my previous medical history, we could basically cut to the chase, and get started with the highlight of the visit. The ultrasound!!!
Because I was estimated to be about 7 weeks, he had to do an internal ultrasound, which I was fully prepared for, and yes, as awkward as it seems, I think you eventually just get used to it. Or maybe I’m just weird 😉
I grinned at my husband next to me, as we waited the anticipation of seeing our baby for the first time.
Then my doctor asked, “How sure are you of your dates?”
My heart sank.
I was more than sure of my dates. I received my positive test on October 12th. I knew at the very earliest I could be is 7 weeks.
He told me to get dressed, and he’d be back to chat.
I felt like I was going to throw up.
When he came back into the room, he pulled up a chair. He said he’d like me to come back the following week for another ultrasound. Right now the only thing visible, was a gestational sac, and at this point in pregnancy, they can normally see the fetal pole and detect a heartbeat. He hoped that the following week, we would see the sac grow, and the fetal pole would be visible.
Okay. I was still pregnant. Nervous, indeed. But, still pregnant.
That week was one of the longest weeks in my life. I am a very optimistic person by nature, however, I think once you experience a miscarriage firsthand, you lose that carefree sense when you find out you’re first pregnant. You check the toilet paper for blood each time you wipe. You do this the entire 9 months you’re pregnant. When I first told my parents, the first thing out of my mouth was, “but it’s REALLY early, so …”
Going into my second appointment on Tuesday, I was exceptionally nervous. Thankfully when my doctor came into the room, he immediately went for the ultrasound machine. He noted that the gestational sac has grown, but I could clearly see there was still nothing inside.
He finished up his measurements and again told me to get dressed, and he’d be back.
I looked at my husband and just shook my head.
When my doctor arrived, he pulled up his chair. He told me I could possibly have something called a blighted ovum. Basically what this means, is while the gestational sac grows, there is no fetal development inside.
However. He said because the sac did grow, and I am not showing any signs of miscarrying naturally, he’d like to perform another ultrasound the following Monday. He also wanted to have my HCG levels checked that day, and for me to go again before my appointment on Monday, so he could compare the numbers.
I straight out asked him, “Is there any hope? I received my positive test on October 12th. I know that the very minimum pregnant I could be is 8 weeks.”
My doctor placed his head in his hands. That’s something you don’t expect to see. My doctor was showing emotion and compassion towards me, his patient. I could genuinely see the care and concern in his eyes.
I apologized for asking that question, but I just didn’t understand scientifically speaking, how there was even a possibility.
He told me that, yes, while there is normally something to see at this stage of pregnancy, sometimes medicine is a tricky thing, and there are no explanations as to why something happens the way it does. He said he has witnessed miracles happen firsthand. He said he has had cases exactly like mine where there should very well be a baby there, and then the next week, there’s a heartbeat. He said he likes to give each and every pregnancy a chance, because sometimes, that’s all that is needed. He doesn’t believe in ending things before he 100% believes they are not viable.
He told me to be prepared for the worst, and hope for the best.
He scheduled me an appointment for first thing Monday morning at 8am. By that time, based on the ultrasound, and my HCG levels, we should have an answer.
So now, we wait. The unknown is the hardest part.
While I know I should stay far away from google, I found this website the other day. The site has tons of stories just like mine, where there is a positive outcome.
While I know the odds are not in my favor, these stories give me hope. My doctor not giving up, gives me hope. Right now those are the things I need to hang on to.
But in all reality, all I can do is wait. And pray for a miracle.