Wow, I hadn't realized how long it had been since I last wrote here. My apologies! The only explanation I have to offer up for my absence is that I've been nesting like a maniac over here, not to mention the little unexpected hospital admission for contractions at almost 34 weeks (more on those in a bit), but I'm happy to say that all is well right now!
As of today, I am 35 weeks and 1 day pregnant, so we have less than 4 weeks left until we meet our baby girl. Can I tell you how excited I am?? I'm GIDDY at the thought, people. You have NO IDEA.
I think about the baby constantly. I have been driving my husband and son nuts in my quest to get her room ready for her, and to get all the essentials purchased and in place for her arrival. (Seriously, there were maybe 2 weeks there where I thought Super Man might actually go insane because I was all "we've got to get this done - we've got to get that done - NOW!") I spend hours daydreaming about what the baby will be like, I love "window shopping" online and looking at all the cute girly clothes, and I can't stop thinking about what our life will be like with her in it. Oh - and we're still obsessing over what we're going to name her (and yet we're no closer to having ONE NAME chosen). At least we've got it narrowed down to three names, so that's a start!
Before I get off on a tangent about that, let me just tell you what all I've been up to lately!
Baby Super Girl is taking Super Boy's old bedroom, which is right next to my and Super Man's bedroom, and we've moved Super Boy into what was our guest room/playroom (we've always referred to it as The Back Bedroom as it's at the back of the house, but Super Boy is now VERY quick to correct me when I call it that rather than Super Boy's Room). Super Boy is THRILLED with the new sleeping arrangements, to say the least. He has wanted The Back Bedroom as his bedroom f-o-r-e-v-e-r, and has been sleeping back there for the past few months anyway, so it was a pretty natural transition for him. Which was a HUGE relief to me and Super Man because although Super Boy is very excited for his baby sister to arrive and seems to be doing really well with the changes that have already come about in preparation for her arrival (not the least of which is my completely altered shape!), we know it will be a huge adjustment for him once she's actually HERE and it's no longer just him and us.
No, this bedroom move was met with elation on his part, so that went very smoothly. Unfortunately, given that The Back Bedroom was the spare room, its closet became the catch-all closet, where things we didn't have room for anywhere else ended up. And by things, I mean a LOT of things! Clothes, pillows, blankets, sleeping bags, Halloween costumes, duffle bags, fitness things (hand weights, medicine balls, the big exercise ball, etc.). And ALL of that had to be cleared out so I could move Super Boy's clothes and things from his old closet -- and since we needed Super Boy's old closet for the baby's things, all the crap we moved had to find a new home.
Say it with me: Uggghhhhhhhh.
So, there I was, 7-1/2 months pregnant on a step ladder, tossing things off the shelves, going through a ridiculous amount of clothing and crap, throwing some stuff in the garbage and other stuff into garbage bags for Goodwill, and finding a new home from the stuff we wanted to hold onto. It took hours, but holy smokes, did it feel good to have it DONE! The unfortunate (or is it fortunate?) thing is that I wasn't able to just work on that closet, when all was said and done, because finding new homes for what was being kept meant having to go through all the OTHER closets in the house -- the one in my and Super Man's bedroom, the closet in the hallway, and the closet in Super Girl's rarely-used room. So instead of purging and organizing just Super Boy's new closet and the baby's closet, I ended up purging and organizing ALL of our upstairs closets.
Needless to say, I got rid of a TON of stuff. Most went into the Goodwill bags, which I felt good about. But the whole process just had me shaking my head, wondering why the heck we held on to some of the stuff I was going through and sorting. We have wayyyyy too much STUFF, and I guarantee that most of it was there because one of us said to ourselves, "I'm sure I'll wear/use that again someday." Those words ought to be the kiss of death from now on. If I ever think them again, I need to find a 6-months holding area for those items and if they aren't used in that time, they're gone, no questions asked.
All in all, it took me nearly an entire day to go through all five closets upstairs, and the hall and staircase landing were full of bags by the time I was done. Needless to say, I overdid it a bit that day (ya think??), but I was on such a roll that although I intended to rest the day after, I found myself doing a little bit more purging and organizing, though not nearly to the same extent. And I did make sure I took long breaks every couple hours to rest, as I was really feeling it that second day.
Anyhoo, Super Boy's new bedroom still has a little bit to be done to make it just right (we desperately need to go through all of his toys, stuffed animals and books and PURGE), but he LOVES it and has been so excited to show it to his friends as he's had playdates the past few weeks. I think the best part of it to him is that the room has a t.v. and the Wii in it. Now, before anyone jumps down my throat and spouts research showing how awful it is to let kids have a t.v. - much less a video game system! - in their bedroom, let me just say that those things have ALWAYS been in that room because, REMEMBER, it was our guest room/play room. We contemplated moving the t.v. somewhere else and the Wii down to the living room, but then Super Boy is going to have his play dates in the living room instead of upstairs, and that level of noise and activity is not something I want to deal with!
So, instead, we set some ground rules for Super Boy that MUST be followed in order to keep the electronics in his room. First, he is allowed to watch 15 minutes of t.v. before he falls asleep at night, and I set the sleep timer on the t.v. when I say goodnight to him so I know when it will be turning off. He knows that if he resets it or turns the t.v. back on after it automatically shuts off, the t.v. is gone. And he is not to play the Wii at all before bed -- that's for after school or weekends, not evening hours. He's always been really great about following house rules and not pushing his luck, I'm sure because he knows I don't mess around and I WILL follow through on the consequences, so I fully expect this arrangement will be fine for the time being. Thankfully, Super Girl will be 18 in three more years and we will no longer feel compelled to provide her with a designated room at our house at that point, so if the situation with Super Boy changes and it's a problem for him to have the t.v./Wii in his room, we can move it to the new spare room at that point.
Now let me tell you about the baby's room! :)
I never in a million years thought I'd be the mom who would want a pink bedroom with pink things in it if I had a daughter. And yet, lo and behold, that is apparently EXACTLY the mom I am.
We originally planned to keep the bedroom painted the way it was as Super Boy's nursery, as it was done in a relatively neutral animal theme and the crib bedding we used with Super Boy and planned to use again was Pottery Barn Kids Animals bedding (2003). Well, it didn't take long for me to conclude that I just wasn't digging that plan, and I felt compelled to make the room girlier. And making it girlier meant painting it pink. Not just one shade of pink, but two shades of pink. Extra pink.
Thankfully, Super Man didn't fight me on my compulsion. In fact, he went along with it quite willingly. So we picked out two complementary shades of pink that, surprisingly, we agreed on without any debate - one medium/deep pink and one pale/medium pink - and Super Man promptly painted the room.
Once the room was painted, however, I came to the conclusion that the animals crib bedding was no longer going to work in the room, as there is no PINK in the animals bedding. Of course, that's when Super Man decided to disagree and insist that we reuse Super Boy's bedding!
But I (being the clever mommy-to-be that I am) had a plan: I had just gotten some belated Christmas and birthday money from my in-laws, so I decided to use some of that to get a new crib bumper and a few new sheets that were girlier. And then, as luck would have it, my mom called my cell phone while I was ON MY WAY to buy the new crib bumper and sheets, and in the course of our conversation she asked if we were using the same bedding we had for Super Boy. I explained the situation and before I could even say that I was going to buy a new bumper and sheets myself, she offered to buy a new bedding set as a (yet another) baby gift for her granddaughter. I accepted her offer, but declined to get a whole new SET because although I loved the set we had for Super Boy, we only used the toddler quilt for a very short time with him and it was mostly just for decoration despite being the most expensive piece of the set, so I really didn't want to spend the money on an entirely new set. I was able to get a new bumper and sheets for ~$60, as compared to $150 on a whole new set, but I got exactly what I wanted, and was so excited to put it in the baby's room! (Thanks again, Mom!!)
That same week, after scouring Craigslist every few days in search of an old, tall dresser for the baby's room, I found the PERFECT one: it was $30 and the size was just what I had in mind. So that weekend we went and picked it up, and Super Man gave it a fresh coat of white paint the next weekend. I was thrilled to be able to clean and line the drawers and get all of the baby's 0-6 month clothes put away in it (I'd already hung the hangable stuff in the closet earlier in the week). And Super Boy helped me set-up the crib while Super Man was painting the dresser, so it felt like the whole room came together in a day but for wall decorations, which I finished the week after.
We had already decided to do vinyl wall decals this time as opposed to having Super Man paint a mural or murals again. And, thankfully, we once again were able to agree on a set of decals pretty quickly, which Super Boy helped us put up one Sunday afternoon! The set has owls, birds, a tree and branches, flowers, and a few other animals, and there were enough that we were able to do one main arrangement right by the baby's crib and several smaller ones elsewhere in the room.
In addition to the decals, I decided to finally try my hand at making some mixed-media art on canvas, something I've thought about doing for quite a while but was never confident enough to try - until now. I made two smaller canvases with birds on them and one larger canvas with an owl, and they turned out beautifully! I painted the canvases with acrylic paint, let them dry, and then using my ridiculous stash of scrapbooking paper and some templates I found online, I made multi-patterned/colored birds and the owl and Modge-Podged them onto the canvases and then Modge-Podged the canvases in their entirety to give them a little sheen. I had a few "uh-oh" moments along the way (1. I had planned to use some felt on the bird canvases but after sponge-painting the Modge-Podge on the felt and seeing the effect - can you say "ruined?" - I quickly pulled the felt off and replaced it with a different scrapbooking paper, and 2. I thought I could ink stamp the owl canvas, let it dry for nearly 2 days and then Modge-Podge it, but the Modge-Podge smeared the ink, so I had to finish the picture, let it dry, and THEN ink stamp the canvas), but the end results are awesome. To finish them for hanging, I just hot-glued ribbons to the back. Gorgeous, simple, low-cost and made with love - doesn't get much better than that!
Anyway, the baby's room is so sweet, I can't even tell you. I love the pink. I love the white crib and white dresser against the pink walls. I love the pretty pink crib bumper and sheet. I love the gorgeous stuffed birds and owls I found and purchased on Etsy.com to go with her room. I love the artwork I made for the room. It's all beautiful, and it's all ready and waiting for her to get here!
Now, about the unplanned hospitalization...
Wow, that was scary! It was last Monday; I wasn't quite 34 weeks yet (two days shy), and I was doing nothing that should've triggered labor. The day it happened, I had literally spent the entire morning working on the owl canvas, sitting at my kitchen island. I wasn't cleaning, lifting, doing laundry, climbing stairs excessively or anything of the sort - it was actually a pretty relaxing, low-key day. Around lunchtime, I used the bathroom and came out to start making my lunch when all of a sudden I had a terrible pain in my lower abdomen. Thinking maybe I had to go #2 (sorry for the TMI!), I went back to the bathroom, but nothing was coming. That said, it did look as though I'd lost a bit of my mucus plug (again, sorry for the TMI), and that made me nervous. I came back out and continued making my lunch, only to realize that the sharp pains were coming with some frequency and consistency. Still, I tried to stay calm, drink my water, eat my lunch and sit quietly. It wasn't getting any better, so I went upstairs, grabbed the phone and lay down on my side on our bed, praying that the contractions would go away. I called Super Man first.
SW: "Hey, baby - it's me. Um... can you come home?"
SM: "Uh... what's going on? Everything okay?"
SW: "Well, maybe. I'm not sure. I'm having contractions, and they hurt. Bad. I really think it would be a good idea for you to get home, just in case." (side note: Super Man works an hour away from where we live.)
SM: "Really? Have you called your doctor yet??"
SW: "No - I wanted to call you first and have you get on the road, and I'll be calling her next. Whether she wants to see me in her office or not, I think it's smart for you to plan to be at home in case I have to go in somewhere later on. Can you just come home?"
SM: "Well, yeah, I should be able to. Let me start wrapping things up here, but you call Dr. ____ and call me back, ok?"
I called my OB's office next and explained what was happening. They didn't put me through to the nurse right away but said they'd take my number and have the nurse call me back. I waited. And waited.
Thankfully, I spent enough time lying on my side waiting to get a call back that the contractions seemed to be easing up a bit, and since I had not yet showered that day, I decided to take a really quick, warm shower in the hopes that that might also calm the contractions down. I put the phone right next to the shower and took a quickie shower. The doctor's office still had not called me back.
The contractions, while still coming, were less intense and seemed less frequent, so I was a bit calmer, but I also realized that I had to pick up Super Boy from school in about 45 minutes, so the clock was ticking.
As I was getting dressed and drying my hair, the nurse finally called me back. We talked a bit and I told her I was nervous because this round of contractions were more painful than the bout I had at 27 weeks. That said, the last round was triggered by a UTI, and I had been on the fence wondering if I had another one, so we ultimately decided that I should go in to their office to do a urine test to check for a UTI, and then depending on what the urinalysis showed, Dr. ____ may or may not see me.
I called Super Man back and told him that I was picking up Super Boy and heading to the doctor's office and that he should just meet us there. It all worked out great timing-wise, and thank God I did ask Super Man to come home because the contractions were getting worse as I was driving with Super Boy to the doctor's office.
My urinalysis didn't show any sign of infection, so they said they'd culture it (since it took a culture to diagnose it last time) but would not give me antibiotics for it until they knew for sure. The urine DID, however, show that I was rather dehydrated, no doubt as a result of the on and off diarrhea I'd had all weekend. And dehydration can definitely trigger contractions. The doctor was able to see me, as I wanted her to check my cervix. Thankfully, it was still tightly closed, but I was really in a lot of pain then, to the point of tears, so she hooked me up to the fetal monitor to see what was going on with the contractions. They were coming about every 4 minutes and lasting up to a minute, and they weren't letting up. So the doctor sent me next door to the hospital to Labor & Delivery to get some IV fluids, hoping that rehydrating me would stop the contractions.
Again, thank God Super Man was there. I looked at the clock as I was wheeled over to L&D and it was about 5:30pm, which meant Super Man had to get dinner for Super Boy and make sure he got homework done, not to mention run home and let our dog out and feed her. In the meantime, I was admitted, told to put a gown on, and hooked up to the fetal monitor and an IV to get the first liter of fluids. The monitor was showing my contractions were coming every 2-4 minutes (which I could definitely feel at that point - the pain was worse than ever), but still lasting 45-60 seconds each. When the first liter of fluids failed to stop the contractions, the nurse called my doctor and was told to give me another liter of fluids and terbutaline shots to try to stop the contractions. I had the first shot, and although I felt MUCH better almost immediately, the monitor was still picking up mild contractions, so I had another shot 20 minutes later to completely knock them out. I had to wait until the second liter of fluids was empty and until I'd had 30 minutes without any contractions being picked up by the monitor to be released, which happened around 10pm. My doctor didn't put me on bed rest, as she fully believed that whole situation was due to the dehydration and I wasn't dilating, but she insisted that I take it very easy going forward.
We were all exhausted by the events of that evening, physically and mentally. God bless them, Super Man and especially Super Boy were both very calm and reassuring through the whole ordeal seeing how upset I was, but I know it was hard for them, too. It was definitely at the forefront of my mind that having the baby that early could've been really bad. Yes, babies usually survive when born at ~34 weeks, but they're more likely to have problems. I know that to be considered "term" we need to get to 37 weeks at least, so I was immensely relieved that they were able to stop my contractions, get me rehydrated and send me home. I am now DETERMINED to stay properly hydrated at all costs, diarrhea or not, and have been taking it extremely easy since that day to make sure I don't trigger another episode.
As it turns out, I had another - worse - episode of diarrhea this past Sunday night/Monday morning that left me feeling nauseous, but I forced myself to drink tons of Gatorade and water anyway, and thankfully nothing came of it contraction-wise. But then I was nervous because I was also summoned for my first jury duty EVER and was to do it yesterday/today, and I was praying the diarrhea would resolve well before then so I could just go and get it over with. Thankfully it did, so I was able to report for duty yesterday. And even MORE thankfully, I was dismissed at around Noon yesterday and told I didn't have to report back today!
Anyway, we aren't sure what's causing all my diarrhea, and that's a bit of a concern to ME at least, because it's really uncomfortable and I don't like that it could send me back into contractions. I also think it's odd because I was SO ridiculously constipated for most of this pregnancy and now all of a sudden I'm on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. I have NO normal BMs - I either can't go at all or I'm going like a goose. That can't be right!!
Still, I had my 34 week check-up last Friday and everything looked good, and I'll have my 36 week appointment next Friday, where she'll be checking my cervix again. And other than the diarrhea episode, I have been feeling mostly pretty good since the hospitalization, so that's a good thing. I have less than 2 weeks to get through before I could safely have the baby and feel okay about it, and I have less than 4 weeks until my scheduled C-section, if the baby stays put that long!
I look back at all the time it's taken us to get here. Not just the past 8 months of pregnancy, but the miscarriage I endured last May, the year of seeing our fertility specialists, and the three and a half years of trying for another baby without success on our own prior to that. March of 2011 marked 5 years since we began our journey; that sort of takes my breath away when I think about it. I was just 32 at the beginning of all of this, and Super Man was only 40. I still can't believe that it took us this long, but I am so, so immeasurably grateful that we are finally here, in the final weeks of this pregnancy, waiting to meet the final member of our family. Every moment, even the worst of them like the days and weeks following the miscarriage, of the past 5 years has been worthwhile because each one brought us one step closer to where we are now and has made us that much more appreciative of being here.
For all reading this who are still waiting for their miracle, stay strong. I know that not everyone will get their dream come true, as medicine and science can only do so much, but for those who have not yet exhausted all their options, don't lose hope, don't lose faith, and keep believing that the journey isn't over until it's over. As often as I doubted things along our journey, there was always that part of me that believed we weren't done yet, and I'm so grateful that part wouldn't let me give up. I continue to pray constantly for others who are going through all forms of infertility, always.
SW
Showing posts with label medical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label medical. Show all posts
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
holy crap, I fainted
Readers, I had one of the scariest experiences of my life yesterday morning.
My family and I were heading down to church for our son's Sunday school class. I was driving my minivan (as I always do), Super Man was in the passenger seat and Super Girl was in back with Super Boy. We were about halfway to our church, ON A BRIDGE, when all of a sudden I felt light-headed, hot & sweaty, and definitely NOT well. I turned off the heat in the van, opened my window and tried to see if that would help. My light-headedness was getting worse and my vision was getting blotchy. I had just enough time to say to Super Man, "I don't feel right - I think I'm going to pass out," pull the van as far to the right as possible, throw it into "park" and hit the button to turn my hazards on before I PASSED OUT.
From the time I started feeling not right to the time I passed out was maybe 90 seconds.
Next thing I knew, I felt like I was just waking up and I could hear Super Man saying my name over and over and over. When I opened my eyes, he was holding my face in his hands, looking very concerned. I asked, "What happened?" Honestly, I thought I had just closed my eyes for a minute to rest and cool off once I'd pulled over. Super Man told me I had passed out, and was out for about 45 seconds. I couldn't believe it. In the meantime, the kids were freaking out in the back, and I could hear Super Girl telling 911 that it was a false alarm and I was okay. Can you say, "HOLY CRAP???"
I sat there in disbelief for a few minutes while Super Man made me drink from my ever-present bottle of ice water. My hands were shaking like crazy, my face was a little sweaty and I was sure I was very pale, and I suddenly felt really cold. We sat there, blocking the right lane on the bridge, until I felt well enough to drive to the nearest turn so Super Man could take the wheel. Needless to say, I was - and remain - scared to drive after that happened. I mean, think about it: I had my entire family in my car with me, ON A BRIDGE, and I passed out while driving. THANK GOD a million times over that I had enough time to process what was happening, pull over and park the car before I lost consciousness. I shudder to think of what could've happened if I'd still had the car in "drive" when it happened. I could've killed my family, or someone else's family. NOT a good situation, no matter how you slice it.
When we got the car off the road and switched places, Super Man called my OB's office to ask whether he should take me to the hospital or not. Of course, being a Sunday, we got the answering service and had to wait for the on-call OB to call us back. In the meantime, I drank my ice water, sucked on a mint I had in the car (in case it happened to be hypoglycemia), and made DH and the kids tell me exactly what happened after I parked the car and passed out.
Apparently, I was out for about 45 seconds. In that time, I literally slumped in my seat and the reason Super Man was holding my face was that it sounded like I was having trouble breathing being slumped as I was. My skin got clammy and pale, and Super Man said he was repeating my name the entire time trying to get me to come around. He could tell when I was almost there because my breathing got quieter and more normal, and then it was like I just woke up.
Super Man said he couldn't believe how lucky we ALL were that I was able to stop the car before I passed out. I was thinking the same thing.
He started driving, heading toward the hospital near our house, when the OB on-call called us back. Super Man spoke to him for a few minutes, and then the doctor wanted to speak to me. I told him what happened, and explained that in the middle of the night before, I'd woken up around 2:45am with a stomachache and spent about a half-hour in the bathroom with diarrhea, then had trouble falling back asleep, but I felt okay in the morning. I had eaten a big bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. The doctor wasn't overly concerned about me passing out, and chalked it up to dehydration from my middle-of-the-night bathroom situation the night before, assuming I hadn't rehydrated enough afterwards. He also said it could've been the position of the baby, maybe resting on a crucial bit of my vascular system and causing the drop in blood pressure. He asked how my appointments have gone so far, and if I've had any issues with diabetes or blood pressure and I said no -- all of my appointments have gone great, and all my vitals and tests have been normal. So, no tests this time, but he said if it happens again, to call and they'll probably want to run a few tests. He told me to go home, drink sports drinks and water and get some rest. So I did.
But now I'm afraid to drive. At least alone, or with Super Boy. What if it happens again? Then again, I know that I can't NOT drive. Super Man works an hour away; he works long hours; he travels for work. I HAVE TO drive. Super Boy has to get to school and to activities, we need groceries and other things, etc. I think I'll feel a lot better once I can get through a few weeks without any more fainting issues.
It was just so bizarre. I never fainted while pregnant with Super Boy. I don't even remember ever feeling dizzy with him, beyond a little light-headedness if I stood up too fast or something. This happened so out-of-the-blue, with so little warning, that it just surprised the heck out of me. I'm just praying it won't happen again.
Have any of you had issues with fainting while pregnant? Anyone ever fainted while DRIVING while pregnant?
Stay safe, friends, and be well!
Your grateful friend SW
My family and I were heading down to church for our son's Sunday school class. I was driving my minivan (as I always do), Super Man was in the passenger seat and Super Girl was in back with Super Boy. We were about halfway to our church, ON A BRIDGE, when all of a sudden I felt light-headed, hot & sweaty, and definitely NOT well. I turned off the heat in the van, opened my window and tried to see if that would help. My light-headedness was getting worse and my vision was getting blotchy. I had just enough time to say to Super Man, "I don't feel right - I think I'm going to pass out," pull the van as far to the right as possible, throw it into "park" and hit the button to turn my hazards on before I PASSED OUT.
From the time I started feeling not right to the time I passed out was maybe 90 seconds.
Next thing I knew, I felt like I was just waking up and I could hear Super Man saying my name over and over and over. When I opened my eyes, he was holding my face in his hands, looking very concerned. I asked, "What happened?" Honestly, I thought I had just closed my eyes for a minute to rest and cool off once I'd pulled over. Super Man told me I had passed out, and was out for about 45 seconds. I couldn't believe it. In the meantime, the kids were freaking out in the back, and I could hear Super Girl telling 911 that it was a false alarm and I was okay. Can you say, "HOLY CRAP???"
I sat there in disbelief for a few minutes while Super Man made me drink from my ever-present bottle of ice water. My hands were shaking like crazy, my face was a little sweaty and I was sure I was very pale, and I suddenly felt really cold. We sat there, blocking the right lane on the bridge, until I felt well enough to drive to the nearest turn so Super Man could take the wheel. Needless to say, I was - and remain - scared to drive after that happened. I mean, think about it: I had my entire family in my car with me, ON A BRIDGE, and I passed out while driving. THANK GOD a million times over that I had enough time to process what was happening, pull over and park the car before I lost consciousness. I shudder to think of what could've happened if I'd still had the car in "drive" when it happened. I could've killed my family, or someone else's family. NOT a good situation, no matter how you slice it.
When we got the car off the road and switched places, Super Man called my OB's office to ask whether he should take me to the hospital or not. Of course, being a Sunday, we got the answering service and had to wait for the on-call OB to call us back. In the meantime, I drank my ice water, sucked on a mint I had in the car (in case it happened to be hypoglycemia), and made DH and the kids tell me exactly what happened after I parked the car and passed out.
Apparently, I was out for about 45 seconds. In that time, I literally slumped in my seat and the reason Super Man was holding my face was that it sounded like I was having trouble breathing being slumped as I was. My skin got clammy and pale, and Super Man said he was repeating my name the entire time trying to get me to come around. He could tell when I was almost there because my breathing got quieter and more normal, and then it was like I just woke up.
Super Man said he couldn't believe how lucky we ALL were that I was able to stop the car before I passed out. I was thinking the same thing.
He started driving, heading toward the hospital near our house, when the OB on-call called us back. Super Man spoke to him for a few minutes, and then the doctor wanted to speak to me. I told him what happened, and explained that in the middle of the night before, I'd woken up around 2:45am with a stomachache and spent about a half-hour in the bathroom with diarrhea, then had trouble falling back asleep, but I felt okay in the morning. I had eaten a big bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. The doctor wasn't overly concerned about me passing out, and chalked it up to dehydration from my middle-of-the-night bathroom situation the night before, assuming I hadn't rehydrated enough afterwards. He also said it could've been the position of the baby, maybe resting on a crucial bit of my vascular system and causing the drop in blood pressure. He asked how my appointments have gone so far, and if I've had any issues with diabetes or blood pressure and I said no -- all of my appointments have gone great, and all my vitals and tests have been normal. So, no tests this time, but he said if it happens again, to call and they'll probably want to run a few tests. He told me to go home, drink sports drinks and water and get some rest. So I did.
But now I'm afraid to drive. At least alone, or with Super Boy. What if it happens again? Then again, I know that I can't NOT drive. Super Man works an hour away; he works long hours; he travels for work. I HAVE TO drive. Super Boy has to get to school and to activities, we need groceries and other things, etc. I think I'll feel a lot better once I can get through a few weeks without any more fainting issues.
It was just so bizarre. I never fainted while pregnant with Super Boy. I don't even remember ever feeling dizzy with him, beyond a little light-headedness if I stood up too fast or something. This happened so out-of-the-blue, with so little warning, that it just surprised the heck out of me. I'm just praying it won't happen again.
Have any of you had issues with fainting while pregnant? Anyone ever fainted while DRIVING while pregnant?
Stay safe, friends, and be well!
Your grateful friend SW
Sunday, November 21, 2010
a crazy week that ended well
We are at 14 weeks and 4 days - amen!
We had a bit of a rollercoaster week, though, and when I say that I'm not exaggerating it ONE BIT.
I wrote last time (at 13 weeks) about how we were anxiously anticipating our nuchal translucency screening ultrasound and blood test on Friday 11/12, which are used to check for obvious genetic/chromosomal problems and identify potential risks for those problems. As I mentioned in my last post, I had never had this particular combined test when I was pregnant with Super Boy. It was available then, but it was never offered to me, probably in part because I was only 28 at the time and my levels of risk were relatively low.
Now, back when I was expecting Super Boy, the only similar screening tests I had were the triple screen (now called the quad screen, as another protein was added for screening) and the alpha feto-protein (AFP) test, which are both used to screen for possible neural tube defects, Down syndrome and Trisomy 13 and 18. I remember my doctor warning me that the triple screen had a high false-positive rate, and to take whatever results came back with a grain of salt as a result. She assured me that IF there were any indication of a problem on that test result, she would do further testing (likely amniocentesis) to drill down to more solid evidence one way or the other. Fortunately, in that pregnancy, it was never an issue and my results were fine and I ended up giving birth to a healthy baby boy.
Apparently, however, the nuchal translucency ultrasound combined with the special blood test has only a 5% false positive rate, so any red flags raised by those tests are taken a bit more seriously by doctors, as I was soon to find out.
The day of the ultrasound, on 11/12, we were nervous but also excited to get another look at our baby. The ultrasound tech warned us in advance that a nuchal ultrasound tends to take longer because they have to get a really optimal view of the neck folds on the baby, which can take awhile because babies move so much at that point. She was right in our case! Our baby was all over the place, waving its arms & legs, rolling over and turning around. It was WONDERFUL to see, and was awesome for us to get so much time to watch him or her, but frustrating for the tech to say the least! Ultimately, she was able to see everything she needed to see, and according to her, all the measurements of the baby were right on for the gestational age, and she saw nothing of concern. We met with my doctor right afterward and she, too, said things looked great. We made the mistake of prematurely breathing a sigh of relief and assuming all was well, despite the fact that our blood test would not be back for a week.
Big mistake.
We were going about our lives, not thinking too much about the blood test results, thinking in our minds that our baby was just fine, that everything was going beautifully. On Wednesday 11/17, around lunchtime, I was in the midst of talking to my mom on the phone about how we'd had to have an electrician out that morning and were looking at having to do some MAJOR electrical work on our house when, out of the blue, my cell phone started ringing. I told my mom to hold on a second while I checked to see who it was. It was my doctor's office. Only it wasn't just the doctor's office calling -- it was the doctor herself.
As soon as I heard my doctor's voice, my intestines clenched and my heart stopped. I knew it couldn't be a good sign that she herself was calling me to discuss my results. I could hardly breathe as she said that my test results had come back. My risk for Trisomy 13 and 18 were normal, 1 in around 7,000, so that was good. But the test showed an elevated risk of Down syndrome. Normal for my age (36) is around 1 in 375; my results came back putting the risk at 1 in 49, which is only "normal" for a woman of 43-years-old.
I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I didn't even know what to say. My doctor said it was "probably nothing to be concerned about, but" she wanted me to see a genetic specialist as soon as possible for a genetic ultrasound and possibly amnio or CVS (chorionic villus sampling). I was numb as she gave me the names and phone numbers of the specialists she recommended contacting. I thanked her for calling, somehow still managing to hold my shit together, and then she said, "Super Woman, like I said, it's PROBABLY nothing to worry about, so try to stay calm and relax, and let's just see what the genetic specialist finds. One in 49 means that 48 babies will be just fine - the odds are in your favor."
And, just like that, I started bawling.
My doctor kept talking to me while I calmed down, and then when I had a grip on myself again, she told me to call her back if I had any questions and to let her know who I was going to see for the ultrasound.
Long story short, we thankfully ended up getting in with one of her recommended specialists the very next day. I was beyond relieved -- the thought of facing several days or even a week of waiting for answers was simply intolerable. Still, not knowing what lay ahead of us the following day meant very little sleep that night, for me or Super Man. Thankfully, my mom came to be with us, knowing it would help calm me down and keep me from obsessing over the worst case scenario. And while I can't say it totally worked, I will admit that it helped.
Our appointment was on Thursday 11/18 at 12:30pm. We had been told it would be at least a 1.5 hour appointment, possibly longer, depending on whether we needed to have amnio or CVS. When the time came to drive to the specialist's office, we resolved to just get through it and hope for the best. Still, I was shaking like a leaf. Thankfully the doctor's office was just down the road from our house, 5 minutes away, so I wasn't a danger to myself or others driving over there.
The doctor, an older German man, was phenomenal. Excellent personality for working with someone like me (meaning someone who is a grade-A first-class chronic worrier). He took a thorough history of our family backgrounds, our health, my prior pregnancies and this pregnancy, and then talked to us about what was going to happen that day. He said that he focuses on four things in conducting genetic ultrasounds:
1.) the health of the pregnancy, meaning my uterus; the placenta; the amniotic fluid; my blood flow to the baby and placenta; and so forth;
2.) the health of the baby, meaning the actual baby itself and all of its measurements; the blood flow within the umbilical cord and the baby's body; the health, development and function of the baby's organs; the heart rate of the baby; and so forth;
3.) looking for indicators of birth defects, such as missing or extra digits on hands/feet, malformed body parts, etc.; and
4.) looking for signs of chromosomal disorders, like Down's, by checking the development and function of the heart and other organs, and checking the measurements of the baby for its gestational age.
He said that amnio or CVS may not be necessary if he could reasonably rule out the risk based on the ultrasound alone, but if it looked like one of those additional tests would be warranted, he would only do it if everything with the baby was ideal on ultrasound, because there is a slight risk of miscarriage with either of those more invasive tests. We could refuse them, but if solid answers were what we wanted, we had to be willing to accept the slight risk of miscarriage. We knew we were ready to accept that risk if necessary, because the alternative -- waiting in the dark for 6 months to find out after the baby was born -- was not something we felt we could endure.
The ultrasound took about an hour, but it was far more detailed than any ultrasound I've ever had before. Once again, our baby was moving around like crazy, very active, sucking its thumb and waving its hands and feet at us. Seeing that totally warmed our hearts, and my mom was amazed by how much could be seen given that I was just over 14 weeks pregnant and she'd never had even one ultrasound with me, my brother or my sister!
The doctor checked E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G, from my reproductive organs to the top of the baby's head to the tips of its toes. He showed us where the baby's teensy-tiny kidneys and liver were, and looked closely at the chambers of the heart, the movement of blood in the baby's body, and even pointed out the tiny pearls of the baby's fingers, toes and joints. It was truly amazing.
The icing on the cake of the ultrasound was that the specialist was able to tell the baby's gender, which was something we had planned on having to wait to find out at my 18-week general anatomic ultrasound, which was scheduled for 12/15. I knew the baby's gender in my heart from the very beginning, but Super Man, Super Girl and Super Boy all thought it was the opposite, so I was really happy to hear that my gut instinct was right: this baby is a GIRL!! My mom and I both started crying at the happy news; Super Man's response? "Are you sure? Can you check that again?" :) In case you're wondering, he was sort of hoping for another boy! But he is of course thrilled to have another daughter.
Thankfully, the entire time the doctor was doing the ultrasound, he talked about what he was looking at, and all his comments were good -- everything was where it was supposed to be, doing what it was supposed to be doing, and as developed and appropriately sized as it was supposed to be at that point. Still, somehow, at the end of the ultrasound he told me that he could NOT say for sure that the baby did NOT have Down's. The ultrasound did not reveal any specific markers, but he couldn't confidently say for sure based solely on the ultrasound, so he recommended doing CVS. We asked why he wanted to do that versus amnio, and he said that the accuracy was virtually the same and we'd have the results the very next day, versus a week to wait for amnio results. We consented, and they prepped me and did the test right away.
I, of course, had no idea what to expect, having never been through a CVS before. I understood there would be a big, thin needle involved, the placement of which would be determined and guided by ultrasound, that they would be inserting that needle into the placenta through my abdomen, and that the purpose of the CVS was to take a tissue sample from the placenta, which shares the same genetic material as the baby itself. The doctor felt confident based on the placement of the baby and the placenta that he could do the test very safely without any impact on the baby, which put my mind at ease. He said it would pinch a little during the test, but it was a quick test and I would feel pretty much fine afterward.
He was right. It was a little uncomfortable when the sample was being extricated, but it was over within a few minutes. I had a little tenderness around the point of insertion, and have felt an occasional twinge here and there in the days since, but I have had no bleeding or spotting or fever or anything else (thank God). When we left, 2 hours after we arrived, we were told that we could call in at 4pm the following day, Friday 11/19, to get our results. This doctor handles it that way so that the patients are prepared and he's not calling anyone at a bad time to share potentially bad news. I was glad for that, but wished he'd said we'd have results by 10am instead of 4pm!
Needless to say, Thursday was another near sleepless night. I tried so hard to just focus on the wonderful ultrasound and the news that our baby girl appeared to be healthy and was measuring normal and all indicators were generally good, and focus less on the possibility that our baby might have Down's, but it was hard not to worry. Fortunately, we had Super Boy's parent-teacher conference at school Friday morning, and had a handful of errands to run that morning as well, so it helped to distract me, but the afternoon passed agonizingly slow.
Super Man had to go in to work that day, but planned to get home before 4pm. My mom had stayed with us, and my awesome Super Friend also offered to come and be with us for the call, so I had plenty of love and support around me, just in case. Unfortunately, Super Man ended up getting home a little late, but we were able to make the call by 4:15pm.
I could barely breathe waiting for them to answer. Once they did, they didn't keep us waiting. We were told immediately that the test results came back completely normal, that our baby was just fine, healthy and normal. I started crying with relief, and then the nurse asked if we wanted to know the sex of the baby. Super Man told her that the doctor had told us during the ultrasound that it was a girl, and she confirmed that the CVS showed that as well, so it was all good news on all fronts.
We were so relieved... honestly, I can't find the words to express the sheer measure of our relief. We had discussed the "what if," obviously, and we were both in agreement about our general feelings should that come to pass, but we just prayed that we wouldn't have anything to worry about when all was said and done. Because this is it -- there will be no more pregnancies for us, regardless of the outcome of this one. After going through my miscarriage in the spring, I knew that if we lost another one, I could not personally go through it all again, given all we had to do just to GET pregnant. So, for sure, the relief we felt hearing that our baby is doing beautifully and is normal and healthy was beyond anything I could ever have imagined.
With all we've gone through, I know how lucky we are to be here, now, expecting this baby. I pray every single day for those couples who have struggled to get pregnant, for those who have suffered losses, for those who have reached the end of the road in their efforts to have a baby. It's not easy, any of it. There are no magic words to heal the hurt. I pray for peace for all.
With a grateful heart,
SW
We had a bit of a rollercoaster week, though, and when I say that I'm not exaggerating it ONE BIT.
I wrote last time (at 13 weeks) about how we were anxiously anticipating our nuchal translucency screening ultrasound and blood test on Friday 11/12, which are used to check for obvious genetic/chromosomal problems and identify potential risks for those problems. As I mentioned in my last post, I had never had this particular combined test when I was pregnant with Super Boy. It was available then, but it was never offered to me, probably in part because I was only 28 at the time and my levels of risk were relatively low.
Now, back when I was expecting Super Boy, the only similar screening tests I had were the triple screen (now called the quad screen, as another protein was added for screening) and the alpha feto-protein (AFP) test, which are both used to screen for possible neural tube defects, Down syndrome and Trisomy 13 and 18. I remember my doctor warning me that the triple screen had a high false-positive rate, and to take whatever results came back with a grain of salt as a result. She assured me that IF there were any indication of a problem on that test result, she would do further testing (likely amniocentesis) to drill down to more solid evidence one way or the other. Fortunately, in that pregnancy, it was never an issue and my results were fine and I ended up giving birth to a healthy baby boy.
Apparently, however, the nuchal translucency ultrasound combined with the special blood test has only a 5% false positive rate, so any red flags raised by those tests are taken a bit more seriously by doctors, as I was soon to find out.
The day of the ultrasound, on 11/12, we were nervous but also excited to get another look at our baby. The ultrasound tech warned us in advance that a nuchal ultrasound tends to take longer because they have to get a really optimal view of the neck folds on the baby, which can take awhile because babies move so much at that point. She was right in our case! Our baby was all over the place, waving its arms & legs, rolling over and turning around. It was WONDERFUL to see, and was awesome for us to get so much time to watch him or her, but frustrating for the tech to say the least! Ultimately, she was able to see everything she needed to see, and according to her, all the measurements of the baby were right on for the gestational age, and she saw nothing of concern. We met with my doctor right afterward and she, too, said things looked great. We made the mistake of prematurely breathing a sigh of relief and assuming all was well, despite the fact that our blood test would not be back for a week.
Big mistake.
We were going about our lives, not thinking too much about the blood test results, thinking in our minds that our baby was just fine, that everything was going beautifully. On Wednesday 11/17, around lunchtime, I was in the midst of talking to my mom on the phone about how we'd had to have an electrician out that morning and were looking at having to do some MAJOR electrical work on our house when, out of the blue, my cell phone started ringing. I told my mom to hold on a second while I checked to see who it was. It was my doctor's office. Only it wasn't just the doctor's office calling -- it was the doctor herself.
As soon as I heard my doctor's voice, my intestines clenched and my heart stopped. I knew it couldn't be a good sign that she herself was calling me to discuss my results. I could hardly breathe as she said that my test results had come back. My risk for Trisomy 13 and 18 were normal, 1 in around 7,000, so that was good. But the test showed an elevated risk of Down syndrome. Normal for my age (36) is around 1 in 375; my results came back putting the risk at 1 in 49, which is only "normal" for a woman of 43-years-old.
I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I didn't even know what to say. My doctor said it was "probably nothing to be concerned about, but" she wanted me to see a genetic specialist as soon as possible for a genetic ultrasound and possibly amnio or CVS (chorionic villus sampling). I was numb as she gave me the names and phone numbers of the specialists she recommended contacting. I thanked her for calling, somehow still managing to hold my shit together, and then she said, "Super Woman, like I said, it's PROBABLY nothing to worry about, so try to stay calm and relax, and let's just see what the genetic specialist finds. One in 49 means that 48 babies will be just fine - the odds are in your favor."
And, just like that, I started bawling.
My doctor kept talking to me while I calmed down, and then when I had a grip on myself again, she told me to call her back if I had any questions and to let her know who I was going to see for the ultrasound.
Long story short, we thankfully ended up getting in with one of her recommended specialists the very next day. I was beyond relieved -- the thought of facing several days or even a week of waiting for answers was simply intolerable. Still, not knowing what lay ahead of us the following day meant very little sleep that night, for me or Super Man. Thankfully, my mom came to be with us, knowing it would help calm me down and keep me from obsessing over the worst case scenario. And while I can't say it totally worked, I will admit that it helped.
Our appointment was on Thursday 11/18 at 12:30pm. We had been told it would be at least a 1.5 hour appointment, possibly longer, depending on whether we needed to have amnio or CVS. When the time came to drive to the specialist's office, we resolved to just get through it and hope for the best. Still, I was shaking like a leaf. Thankfully the doctor's office was just down the road from our house, 5 minutes away, so I wasn't a danger to myself or others driving over there.
The doctor, an older German man, was phenomenal. Excellent personality for working with someone like me (meaning someone who is a grade-A first-class chronic worrier). He took a thorough history of our family backgrounds, our health, my prior pregnancies and this pregnancy, and then talked to us about what was going to happen that day. He said that he focuses on four things in conducting genetic ultrasounds:
1.) the health of the pregnancy, meaning my uterus; the placenta; the amniotic fluid; my blood flow to the baby and placenta; and so forth;
2.) the health of the baby, meaning the actual baby itself and all of its measurements; the blood flow within the umbilical cord and the baby's body; the health, development and function of the baby's organs; the heart rate of the baby; and so forth;
3.) looking for indicators of birth defects, such as missing or extra digits on hands/feet, malformed body parts, etc.; and
4.) looking for signs of chromosomal disorders, like Down's, by checking the development and function of the heart and other organs, and checking the measurements of the baby for its gestational age.
He said that amnio or CVS may not be necessary if he could reasonably rule out the risk based on the ultrasound alone, but if it looked like one of those additional tests would be warranted, he would only do it if everything with the baby was ideal on ultrasound, because there is a slight risk of miscarriage with either of those more invasive tests. We could refuse them, but if solid answers were what we wanted, we had to be willing to accept the slight risk of miscarriage. We knew we were ready to accept that risk if necessary, because the alternative -- waiting in the dark for 6 months to find out after the baby was born -- was not something we felt we could endure.
The ultrasound took about an hour, but it was far more detailed than any ultrasound I've ever had before. Once again, our baby was moving around like crazy, very active, sucking its thumb and waving its hands and feet at us. Seeing that totally warmed our hearts, and my mom was amazed by how much could be seen given that I was just over 14 weeks pregnant and she'd never had even one ultrasound with me, my brother or my sister!
The doctor checked E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G, from my reproductive organs to the top of the baby's head to the tips of its toes. He showed us where the baby's teensy-tiny kidneys and liver were, and looked closely at the chambers of the heart, the movement of blood in the baby's body, and even pointed out the tiny pearls of the baby's fingers, toes and joints. It was truly amazing.
The icing on the cake of the ultrasound was that the specialist was able to tell the baby's gender, which was something we had planned on having to wait to find out at my 18-week general anatomic ultrasound, which was scheduled for 12/15. I knew the baby's gender in my heart from the very beginning, but Super Man, Super Girl and Super Boy all thought it was the opposite, so I was really happy to hear that my gut instinct was right: this baby is a GIRL!! My mom and I both started crying at the happy news; Super Man's response? "Are you sure? Can you check that again?" :) In case you're wondering, he was sort of hoping for another boy! But he is of course thrilled to have another daughter.
Thankfully, the entire time the doctor was doing the ultrasound, he talked about what he was looking at, and all his comments were good -- everything was where it was supposed to be, doing what it was supposed to be doing, and as developed and appropriately sized as it was supposed to be at that point. Still, somehow, at the end of the ultrasound he told me that he could NOT say for sure that the baby did NOT have Down's. The ultrasound did not reveal any specific markers, but he couldn't confidently say for sure based solely on the ultrasound, so he recommended doing CVS. We asked why he wanted to do that versus amnio, and he said that the accuracy was virtually the same and we'd have the results the very next day, versus a week to wait for amnio results. We consented, and they prepped me and did the test right away.
I, of course, had no idea what to expect, having never been through a CVS before. I understood there would be a big, thin needle involved, the placement of which would be determined and guided by ultrasound, that they would be inserting that needle into the placenta through my abdomen, and that the purpose of the CVS was to take a tissue sample from the placenta, which shares the same genetic material as the baby itself. The doctor felt confident based on the placement of the baby and the placenta that he could do the test very safely without any impact on the baby, which put my mind at ease. He said it would pinch a little during the test, but it was a quick test and I would feel pretty much fine afterward.
He was right. It was a little uncomfortable when the sample was being extricated, but it was over within a few minutes. I had a little tenderness around the point of insertion, and have felt an occasional twinge here and there in the days since, but I have had no bleeding or spotting or fever or anything else (thank God). When we left, 2 hours after we arrived, we were told that we could call in at 4pm the following day, Friday 11/19, to get our results. This doctor handles it that way so that the patients are prepared and he's not calling anyone at a bad time to share potentially bad news. I was glad for that, but wished he'd said we'd have results by 10am instead of 4pm!
Needless to say, Thursday was another near sleepless night. I tried so hard to just focus on the wonderful ultrasound and the news that our baby girl appeared to be healthy and was measuring normal and all indicators were generally good, and focus less on the possibility that our baby might have Down's, but it was hard not to worry. Fortunately, we had Super Boy's parent-teacher conference at school Friday morning, and had a handful of errands to run that morning as well, so it helped to distract me, but the afternoon passed agonizingly slow.
Super Man had to go in to work that day, but planned to get home before 4pm. My mom had stayed with us, and my awesome Super Friend also offered to come and be with us for the call, so I had plenty of love and support around me, just in case. Unfortunately, Super Man ended up getting home a little late, but we were able to make the call by 4:15pm.
I could barely breathe waiting for them to answer. Once they did, they didn't keep us waiting. We were told immediately that the test results came back completely normal, that our baby was just fine, healthy and normal. I started crying with relief, and then the nurse asked if we wanted to know the sex of the baby. Super Man told her that the doctor had told us during the ultrasound that it was a girl, and she confirmed that the CVS showed that as well, so it was all good news on all fronts.
We were so relieved... honestly, I can't find the words to express the sheer measure of our relief. We had discussed the "what if," obviously, and we were both in agreement about our general feelings should that come to pass, but we just prayed that we wouldn't have anything to worry about when all was said and done. Because this is it -- there will be no more pregnancies for us, regardless of the outcome of this one. After going through my miscarriage in the spring, I knew that if we lost another one, I could not personally go through it all again, given all we had to do just to GET pregnant. So, for sure, the relief we felt hearing that our baby is doing beautifully and is normal and healthy was beyond anything I could ever have imagined.
With all we've gone through, I know how lucky we are to be here, now, expecting this baby. I pray every single day for those couples who have struggled to get pregnant, for those who have suffered losses, for those who have reached the end of the road in their efforts to have a baby. It's not easy, any of it. There are no magic words to heal the hurt. I pray for peace for all.
With a grateful heart,
SW
Thursday, November 11, 2010
thirteen
I am happy to report that I am now 13 weeks and 1 day pregnant. :)
Yes, it looks as though we all survived the first trimester intact, praise be to God! In fact, I ended up with a sinus infection last week and went in to my ob-gyn last Wednesday, when I was exactly 12 weeks, and while I was there having her listen to my lungs and write me a script for an antibiotic, I asked if I was far enough along to hear the heartbeat yet. The answer was yes. Which was great, because Super Boy happened to be with me, as I had just picked him up from school when the doctor's office called to say they could get me in to listen to my lungs.
So Dr. F got her little doppler thing-a-majig, put some jelly on my belly, and found Baby G2's heartbeat immediately. Hearing those 164 beats per minute was music to my ears, and resulted in my breathing just a little bit easier knowing that baby was still alive and well in my belly.
And watching Super Boy's face as Dr. F found the heartbeat was an extraordinary thing. :) His eyes got big and sparkly, a huge grin spread across his face, and he raised his eyebrows, asking, "Mom... is THAT the baby or you?" He was very excited to hear the heartbeat.
For about 30 seconds. :)
And then he was more curious about the jelly on my belly, and whether it was hot or cold, and if the doctor was going to wipe it off or leave it, etc.
Boys. :)
Anyhoo, last Wednesday was a beautiful day getting to hear the baby's heartbeat and have a little reassurance that things were okay. And now tomorrow Super Man and I will go in for the nuchal translucency ultrasound and Quad Screen blood tests. I'm a little nervous - after all, I'm not the spring chicken I was when I had Super Boy - but I have to hope that God will be merciful and spare this baby any genetic problems after all we've been through to conceive him or her. Dr. F will be meeting with us after the ultrasound so I'll know those results immediately, but we'll have to wait for the blood test results. Please keep us in your prayers that all turns out well.
Being at this point in the pregnancy is a lot of fun. My regular jeans/pants/skirts are almost too tight now but some of my under-belly maternity stuff is now fitting better, so my wardrobe shift is underway. And - holla! - my evening sickness has tapered off dramatically, so now I pretty much only feel sick if I wait too long to eat dinner. I can't tell you how glad I am to feel mostly nausea-free now! I'm sleeping better (but for my cough that won't go away), I'm not peeing every 6 seconds (although I expect that to resume as the baby continues to grow and tap dance on my bladder), and I am not nearly as exhausted during the day as I was a few weeks ago, so I'm being a bit more productive. I remember LOVING the second trimester with Super Boy, and I hope I will be able to revel in this second trimester, too.
We feel very blessed to be where we are right now, anticipating the arrival of our last child together, and we are so thankful that our prayers have been answered, at long last.
Our thoughts & prayers, however, also remain with those who are still struggling to achieve and/or sustain the pregnancies they so deeply desire. Keep hope. Keep faith. Miracles happen.
Yours,
SW
Yes, it looks as though we all survived the first trimester intact, praise be to God! In fact, I ended up with a sinus infection last week and went in to my ob-gyn last Wednesday, when I was exactly 12 weeks, and while I was there having her listen to my lungs and write me a script for an antibiotic, I asked if I was far enough along to hear the heartbeat yet. The answer was yes. Which was great, because Super Boy happened to be with me, as I had just picked him up from school when the doctor's office called to say they could get me in to listen to my lungs.
So Dr. F got her little doppler thing-a-majig, put some jelly on my belly, and found Baby G2's heartbeat immediately. Hearing those 164 beats per minute was music to my ears, and resulted in my breathing just a little bit easier knowing that baby was still alive and well in my belly.
And watching Super Boy's face as Dr. F found the heartbeat was an extraordinary thing. :) His eyes got big and sparkly, a huge grin spread across his face, and he raised his eyebrows, asking, "Mom... is THAT the baby or you?" He was very excited to hear the heartbeat.
For about 30 seconds. :)
And then he was more curious about the jelly on my belly, and whether it was hot or cold, and if the doctor was going to wipe it off or leave it, etc.
Boys. :)
Anyhoo, last Wednesday was a beautiful day getting to hear the baby's heartbeat and have a little reassurance that things were okay. And now tomorrow Super Man and I will go in for the nuchal translucency ultrasound and Quad Screen blood tests. I'm a little nervous - after all, I'm not the spring chicken I was when I had Super Boy - but I have to hope that God will be merciful and spare this baby any genetic problems after all we've been through to conceive him or her. Dr. F will be meeting with us after the ultrasound so I'll know those results immediately, but we'll have to wait for the blood test results. Please keep us in your prayers that all turns out well.
Being at this point in the pregnancy is a lot of fun. My regular jeans/pants/skirts are almost too tight now but some of my under-belly maternity stuff is now fitting better, so my wardrobe shift is underway. And - holla! - my evening sickness has tapered off dramatically, so now I pretty much only feel sick if I wait too long to eat dinner. I can't tell you how glad I am to feel mostly nausea-free now! I'm sleeping better (but for my cough that won't go away), I'm not peeing every 6 seconds (although I expect that to resume as the baby continues to grow and tap dance on my bladder), and I am not nearly as exhausted during the day as I was a few weeks ago, so I'm being a bit more productive. I remember LOVING the second trimester with Super Boy, and I hope I will be able to revel in this second trimester, too.
We feel very blessed to be where we are right now, anticipating the arrival of our last child together, and we are so thankful that our prayers have been answered, at long last.
Our thoughts & prayers, however, also remain with those who are still struggling to achieve and/or sustain the pregnancies they so deeply desire. Keep hope. Keep faith. Miracles happen.
Yours,
SW
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
a big day
Tomorrow is a big day for us. I can't say why just yet; I just ask that you trust me on that.
In the meantime, I have to ask for lots of prayers and good thoughts and good juju. So much is riding on the outcome of one hour of our day tomorrow that my head is spinning. As has become my motto in life, I'm hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.
Just please, please, please let it be the best outcome!
Thanks for hanging with me, fellow secondary infertiles & family/friends. You have no idea how much it has meant to me.
SW
In the meantime, I have to ask for lots of prayers and good thoughts and good juju. So much is riding on the outcome of one hour of our day tomorrow that my head is spinning. As has become my motto in life, I'm hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.
Just please, please, please let it be the best outcome!
Thanks for hanging with me, fellow secondary infertiles & family/friends. You have no idea how much it has meant to me.
SW
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
our story
I met my wonderful husband, hereafter referred to as Super Man, when I was 24 and married him when I was 26 (he - being 8 years older than I - was 32 and 34, respectively). Super Man had an adorable little girl, Super Girl, when I met him. She was the product of his earlier, brief marriage to a different woman. They shared custody of Super Girl, but she primarily lived with her mom and Super Man had her every other weekend. She was 2 when Super Man & I met and 4 when we got married, and she's now a lovely 14-year-old high school freshman.
When Super Girl was 6, and I was 28 and Super Man was 36, we started trying for what we thought of as our first child together, meaning "the first of more than one" that we planned to have together.
Within 3 months, I was pregnant with our amazing little miracle, Super Boy. He was born when Super Girl was 7, I was 29 and Super Man was 37. Super Boy was a fabulous baby (and toddler, and kid) -- easygoing, mellow, happy, sweet, funny, charismatic. It was a joy to become a full-fledged mommy with him as my teacher, especially after Super Girl did such a good job prepping me in my role as stepmom.
With Super Man being 8 years older than I, we knew we didn't want to wait a REALLY long time to try for another baby, but I was working full-time and we didn't want to have two in daycare for long, so we waited until Super Boy was almost 3, and I was 32 and Super Man was 40, to start trying to get pregnant again.
Three months went by. I won't lie: I fully expected I'd be pregnant by the end of Month #3, just like with Super Boy. My cycles were totally regular, every 28 days, I was ovulating on day 14 most months, and I had only taken hormonal birth control for a few months after Super Boy was born, so you'd think it would be fairly easy.
Little did I know I had many, many more months -- YEARS worth -- to go before I'd once again hear the words: YOU'RE PREGNANT.
When a year had gone by with no pregnancy, I was confused, a little concerned, and deeply unhappy. I mean, YES, I admit that every month wasn't our absolute best efforts -- after all, we had an active 3-year-old, a busy 10-year-old every other weekend, and two full time jobs! We weren't getting a whole lotta sleep, much less a whole lotta mommy-and-daddy time, so I wrote it off to all of THAT.
When the second year had gone by with no pregnancy, I was a LOT concerned and even more unhappy. This isn't how it was supposed to be! I was 34 and I was absolutely supposed to be pregnant by then! Literally EVERYONE I had been pregnant with the first time around had lapped me in pregnancy - at least once - and so added to all of the other things I felt, I had a deep sense of shame and embarrassment and inadequacy that we were unable to get this thing done like everyone else had. In a Reiki session that year, I could picture myself with a little girl, so clearly I'd have swore it was real. Despite my despair, I had hope.
I had talked to my regular ob/gyn about it, the one who delivered Super Boy (via C-section). She was convinced it was just timing. I asked her to check a few things -- my FSH, to make sure I was still ovulating since I have a family history of premature menopause on both sides of my family; my progesterone; my tubes; Super Man's swimmers. She did the blood tests to check the first two, and they were fine, so she felt we could hold off on the third. As for the fourth, dude hit it out of the park - there was absolutely nothing wrong with his boys.
During these first two years of trying to conceive, I was also dealing with a separate gynecologic situation: I kept having abnormal Pap smears (if you're interested - and you have, oh, 12 hours or so, you can read about it here, here, here, here, here and here). I was convinced that situation had something to do with me not getting pregnant, but who knows? Because even after it was all resolved, I wasn't getting pregnant.
Then the third year came and went. I was 35. It was obvious to me, if not to my doctor, that things were decidedly NOT okay and that timing couldn't be the issue because we had tried every kind of timing there was in the THREE YEARS we'd already been trying. Fortunately, due to an unanticipated job change on Super Man's part, we found ourselves with much better insurance, which thankfully covered testing and some treatment for infertility.
I had a hysterosalpingogram (HSG) to check my tubes (you can read about it here and here). They were clear. The radiologist did, however, notice a small abnormality in my uterus, which he figured was a fibroid, but not a large one. I gave it a few more months, and then I scheduled an appointment with a well-reputed Reproductive Medicine clinic in Milwaukee to seek specialized help.
I had my first appointment with the specialist in September of 2009. We reviewed my history: discussed my first pregnancy & delivery (picture-perfect pregnancy but 30-hour long delivery that ended in a C-section), reviewed all my test results (all normal), discussed the various things we'd tried in our efforts to conceive. Based on all of that, the specialist diagnosed us with "secondary infertility of unknown cause."
A part of me cringed to hear the official diagnosis of infertility, but a part of me felt relief to finally be taken seriously that SOMETHING IS WRONG after 3-1/2 years of trying without a single pregnancy to speak of.
I was started on Clomid, scheduled for a repeat FSH test to make sure I was still ovulating, and then went in for a mid-cycle ultrasound to see if it worked. Assuming it did, the plan was to start intrauterine insemination (IUI, also known as artificial insemination) that month.
The good news from the ultrasound was that my ovaries responded beautifully to the Clomid. The bad news was that after seeing it on ultrasound, the doctor felt the suspected fibroid in my uterus needed to be checked out and possibly removed before we started IUI. And there was another suspected fibroid in there, too.
I was less than thrilled. I was growing increasingly impatient. My 36th birthday was fast approaching.
All of that meant that there would be no IUI in September. Or in October, because the surgery couldn't be scheduled until late in October.
And I was even less thrilled when I ended up with a bad respiratory virus the week I was to have surgery, resulting in the surgery being delayed until November.
When at last the big day arrived, I was nervous. The only surgery I'd ever had was my C-section, and I was awake for that. The only sedation I'd ever had was for a colonoscopy in 2007. This was going to be a two-fer: surgery AND sedation. Thankfully, my anesthesiologist and I had a great talk beforehand and she understood all my concerns about the sedation (I have a GIGANTIC AWFUL EMBARRASSING vomit phobia issue). I ended up feeling absolutely fine when I came out of surgery. They removed both suspected fibroids - which turned out to be benign polyps - without incident, and I just had to wait one cycle to to start IUI.
Which puts us at December 2009. I took my Clomid, had another mid-cycle ultrasound that again showed I was responding beautifully to the meds, I had an hCG shot to force ovulation, and I went into IUI with the absolute highest of hopes. The two-week wait was torture. But I was optimistic!
And then my period showed up.
We went through the process again in January, minus the hCG shot - I wanted to try ovulating naturally and see if that made a difference. Again, I was crazy-hopeful and optimistic, as my specialist felt that I was really a great candidate for a successful IUI. Being somewhat superstitious, I also felt like it was perhaps auspicious that my 36th birthday at the end of January was going to coincide with the end of the cycle, when I could test to see if IUI #2 had worked. And...
Wait for it...
My period showed up.
Happy 36th Birthday.
uuuuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhh
I was frustrated. I was even more frustrated that certain events beyond our control meant that trying IUI again in February would be a waste of our time due to our stress levels. Instead, we decided that I'd still take Clomid, but we'd just try on our own and see if that would do the trick. Except that I ended up having a bad reaction to the Clomid on day 3 of 5, in the form of disturbing visual problems, which meant I was immediately pulled from the meds for that month (and all eternity thereafter). We still tried on our own that month, but our efforts failed.
I was discouraged. I was blue. I was feeling old. And I was feeling like the Universe was totally against us. Or at least against me, anyway.
Given my state of mind - not to mention the chaotic schedule Super Man had in the month of March - we opted to take a breather that month and regroup.
Which brings me to April 2010, and IUI #3.
While I continued to feel hopeful and optimistic, I was also cautious and weary. I had to force myself to just take it all as it came. I tried a new medication, Femara (letrazole), which is typically used to treat estrogen-related breast cancer but was found to have a very strong fertility side effect, which makes it a good choice treatment when Clomid isn't an option. I tolerated it beautifully, and my mid-cycle ultrasound showed that it had worked well for me. I waited to get my positive ovulation test and we scheduled our IUI for the following day.
Two weeks went by. My breasts felt huge and tender. I was nauseous and exhausted.
I felt pregnant.
My period didn't show up on the day it was due (my cycles are like clockwork, every 28 days). I took a test the day after, but it was negative. I waited 2 days and took another test. This time I got a very, very faint line. But... with Super Boy I had a BOLD line - there was no question I was pregnant. I was nervous.
I called my specialist the next day and asked them to order a blood test. I went to the lab, holding my breath, praying, praying, praying.
They called me that afternoon. "Technically," I was pregnant -- anything over 5 hCG is a positive, and mine was at 27. "HOWEVER"... I was 4 days late for my period, and it was 18 days post-IUI. My hCG should've been higher at that point. They told me not to get my hopes up, and to come back in 2 days to re-test.
I held my breath and prayed for 2 straight days. I went back on 4/28/10 for my blood draw, and waited on pins and needles for the nurse to call me with the results.
I had just come home from the grocery store with Super Boy when the phone rang. My heart was beating frantically. And that was when I heard the words I'd waited exactly 4 long years to hear:
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU'RE PREGNANT!!
Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh, those words were so sweet! I paused, breathless, for a fraction of a second before I started crying, and laughing, asking "are you sure?? FOR SURE???" My hCG had tripled in those 2 days, indicating that all was progressing.
I was officially pregnant, at long last.
I know there are some women who don't get that jazzed up over pregnancy -- their own or anyone else's. I'm not one of those women.
The moment I heard those sweet and long-awaited words, I was all in. I was pregnant. I was having a baby. We were expanding our family. There was no kind of or sort of or maybe -- I was 200% in it, no going back.
My official due date was 1/1/11. Super Man and I thought that was incredibly special, and so symbolic: a wonderful new start to a brand new year. The reality is that I probably would've had a scheduled C-section a few weeks earlier, but that's beside the point. And, best of all, I'd be delivering before my 37th birthday.
I checked Super Boy's old car seats to see if they were still usable. I started looking at summer maternity clothes, as my maternity wardrobe from 2002-2003 was all cold-weather clothes, with that pregnancy being from late August to late May. I started looking at strollers online. I knitted two baby hats, something I'd never done before. I was about to start on a sweater. I decided to make a blanket with some super soft yarn I'd found in my stash. I was pregnant.
As the days passed, I felt more and more sick to my stomach (a good thing!), and my mind was completely preoccupied with the baby growing in my belly. Our whole family was walking on air at the long-awaited news. Super Boy was super excited to be a big brother, Super Girl was hoping it was triplets (!!!), my mom was already looking at baby girl clothes, and all our parents were just thrilled and happy for the news to finally arrive.
The weeks passed. I continued to feel nauseous and tired, and my breasts still killed. We had scheduled a 7-week ultrasound with my fertility specialist for 05/14/10; if all checked out there, I'd transfer back to my regular ob/gyn for the remainder of the pregnancy. I had the date in my calendar in red, circled with a heart, and I could not wait to go and see my little baby growing, to see a heartbeat.
The day of the ultrasound, Super Man had big meetings and felt bad that he couldn't come with, but neither of us suspected any problems, so we didn't think too much about it. I went to the clinic with a huge smile on my face, thrilled to finally see the proof that IUI #3 had worked. As I waited to be called back, I worked on knitting my baby blanket in the waiting room.
At last, I was called. I went back with a spring in my step, barely containing my excitement. The doctor was asking how I'd been feeling (answer: pregnant!), if I'd had any spotting or cramping (answer: none!), and he couldn't help but smile for how excited I was. He turned the monitor towards me and started the intravaginal ultrasound.
He found the sac immediately.
My heart sank. Because I knew it the second I saw it.
It didn't look the way it was supposed to look. It was just a circle. It housed nothing.
I could barely speak the words, "This isn't what we're supposed to be seeing, is it?"
"Unfortunately, no. I just want to see if there's another fertilized egg growing elsewhere..."
My heart was pounding. My eyes darted frantically around the screen, praying that we would find another with a healthy baby growing in it.
We didn't.
And just like that, I was no longer pregnant.
I cried. I sobbed. I was so, so sad. I felt duped, embarrassed, furious, anguished. Numb.
And to top it off, I was alone.
The doctor left the room while I dressed and took a moment to try to call Super Man. I tried; he didn't answer. I tried again; he still didn't answer. Angry, heart-broken and frustrated, I called my mom. We cried. I could barely move.
When the doctor came back for me, we went to another room to talk. He shared his condolences, but told me not to give up. While the lost pregnancy didn't feel like a good thing right that second, it WAS actually a good thing: We now knew I could get pregnant. We had done it. After four solid years of no pregnancy, I had finally gotten pregnant.
We had the right equation, the right components. We just had to wait for the pregnancy to miscarry and try again.
I was devastated. I had never had a miscarriage to my knowledge, and I never in a million years expected to have a miscarriage. It was stupid to be surprised by it, in retrospect. After all, I was 29 when I had Super Boy and I'm 36 now. Miscarriage rates are higher at my age. Even the doctor said that he's not surprised by this occurrence of blighted ovum because of my age -- the quality of some portion of my eggs is less than ideal, and it was a genetic glitch that caused the pregnancy to stop.
Despite that, he felt very optimistic that we could get me pregnant again and still have the desired outcome: a healthy baby.
My miscarriage began the following day, entirely on its own. I couldn't decide whether to be happy that I never had any spotting or cramping prior to finding out that I was no longer pregnant or whether I was glad I knew beforehand. I suppose I'm glad I knew before the miscarriage started, because I would've been completely freaking out the other way. I was already freaking out, but it could've been worse.
Still, it was bad. Not "the worst thing anyone has ever gone through" kind of bad, but bad. I was in bed for days. My bleeding thankfully never got too bad or crossed over into dangerous territory, and I was thankful for that. After about 5 days, it was mostly over.
Physically, at least.
Mentally, I was a mess.
I couldn't seem to stop crying. I felt totally and completely alone, for a few different reasons. I was utterly and completely decimated. I'm sure it didn't help that my hCG level took a few weeks to drop back down to zero.
The kicker was that Super Boy's birthday was the following weekend, so I couldn't afford to indulge my desire to stay in bed for the rest of my life. I could barely indulge it for a week. In retrospect, I'm glad I couldn't do what my bruised heart wanted to do. I'm glad my son's miraculous existence and my fervent desire to honor the incredibly special day of his birth forced me to get up, shower, and go about the business of something normal in my life. That much, I could do.
Each day was fractionally better than the one before it. Each week got a little easier to put behind me. The months passed; life returned to normal, mostly. But make no mistake: Even now, nearly 4 months later, I still know exactly how many weeks pregnant I'd have been now if the pregnancy hadn't stopped. (I'd have been 23 weeks pregnant this Friday.) No matter how much I've healed in that time, there is some part of me that is irreparably broken by that loss.
Anyway...
I had to wait for my period to return after the miscarriage, which it did in June. And then my specialist wanted me to wait through another full cycle before we resumed IUI again. As always, my periods came every 28 days, even after the miscarriage.
While I waited to get through the second cycle, I realized that it seemed like EVERYONE ELSE IN THE MILWAUKEE AREA WAS PREGNANT EXCEPT ME. I literally could not go ANYWHERE without running into at least one obviously pregnant person. I spent the entire month grinding my teeth in frustration.
After my second post-miscarriage period came in July, I notified the doctor that I was good to go. We were cleared to restart IUI. I took my Femara again, peed on sticks again, got my positive ovulation test... and then we couldn't make IUI work with Super Man's schedule that day. We thought we'd just try on our own instead, since I'd already taken the medication... but my dad and stepmom were at our house for a few days, and on THE day we needed to either do IUI or have sex. Needless to say, it was a little too much pressure. July was lost.
I cried. I was so frustrated and angry to have had to wait 2 months to get back on track, to finally get cleared to try again, and to have taken the fertility meds only to get shut down on the IUI due to bad timing. It wasn't a good few days.
I sat down with Super Man and had a major heart-to-heart. I told him that I felt like he wasn't investing himself in this. And while he doesn't have to be there for MY part of IUI, he DOES have to be there for HIS part. Without his part, there can be no my part. And I explained that I don't want to keep taking medication that messes with my body & my hormones for no reason -- if I'm going to take it, we'd better be doing IUI. For some reason, he seemed to think that the window of opportunity was much larger than it actually is - he simply didn't understand how critical the timing of things really is. He promised me he'd do his best to keep the next ovulation week as open as he could.
Which brought us to August. Once again, I took my Femara, peed on sticks, waited for the smiley face. It came on Day 14, we had IUI on Day 15...
And now we wait.
If I haven't gotten my period by 9/7, I will be testing on 9/8.
I can't help but be hopeful. IUI #3 worked with all these same components. I am praying fervently, desperately, humbly that IUI #4 will be The One.
If it's not, we have 2 IUIs left.
We're not pursuing in vitro (insurance doesn't cover it and we can't justify going broke and putting ourselves in financial jeopardy to pursue it).
We're not pursuing adoption (I would under other circumstances, but at Super Man's age, he can't see doing it).
For the record, if we didn't have Super Boy, we would absolutely be pursuing one or both of those options, but we do have one miracle child together, and we both feel blessed to have him.
So, if these final IUIs don't work, then we're done.
~~~~
And I think I'll stop there, for now. Between this post and all its links to my posts about the various subjects on my Average Everyday Super Woman blog, I figure that will occupy the readers of this blog for a few hours, at least.
Until next time...
When Super Girl was 6, and I was 28 and Super Man was 36, we started trying for what we thought of as our first child together, meaning "the first of more than one" that we planned to have together.
Within 3 months, I was pregnant with our amazing little miracle, Super Boy. He was born when Super Girl was 7, I was 29 and Super Man was 37. Super Boy was a fabulous baby (and toddler, and kid) -- easygoing, mellow, happy, sweet, funny, charismatic. It was a joy to become a full-fledged mommy with him as my teacher, especially after Super Girl did such a good job prepping me in my role as stepmom.
With Super Man being 8 years older than I, we knew we didn't want to wait a REALLY long time to try for another baby, but I was working full-time and we didn't want to have two in daycare for long, so we waited until Super Boy was almost 3, and I was 32 and Super Man was 40, to start trying to get pregnant again.
Three months went by. I won't lie: I fully expected I'd be pregnant by the end of Month #3, just like with Super Boy. My cycles were totally regular, every 28 days, I was ovulating on day 14 most months, and I had only taken hormonal birth control for a few months after Super Boy was born, so you'd think it would be fairly easy.
Little did I know I had many, many more months -- YEARS worth -- to go before I'd once again hear the words: YOU'RE PREGNANT.
When a year had gone by with no pregnancy, I was confused, a little concerned, and deeply unhappy. I mean, YES, I admit that every month wasn't our absolute best efforts -- after all, we had an active 3-year-old, a busy 10-year-old every other weekend, and two full time jobs! We weren't getting a whole lotta sleep, much less a whole lotta mommy-and-daddy time, so I wrote it off to all of THAT.
When the second year had gone by with no pregnancy, I was a LOT concerned and even more unhappy. This isn't how it was supposed to be! I was 34 and I was absolutely supposed to be pregnant by then! Literally EVERYONE I had been pregnant with the first time around had lapped me in pregnancy - at least once - and so added to all of the other things I felt, I had a deep sense of shame and embarrassment and inadequacy that we were unable to get this thing done like everyone else had. In a Reiki session that year, I could picture myself with a little girl, so clearly I'd have swore it was real. Despite my despair, I had hope.
I had talked to my regular ob/gyn about it, the one who delivered Super Boy (via C-section). She was convinced it was just timing. I asked her to check a few things -- my FSH, to make sure I was still ovulating since I have a family history of premature menopause on both sides of my family; my progesterone; my tubes; Super Man's swimmers. She did the blood tests to check the first two, and they were fine, so she felt we could hold off on the third. As for the fourth, dude hit it out of the park - there was absolutely nothing wrong with his boys.
During these first two years of trying to conceive, I was also dealing with a separate gynecologic situation: I kept having abnormal Pap smears (if you're interested - and you have, oh, 12 hours or so, you can read about it here, here, here, here, here and here). I was convinced that situation had something to do with me not getting pregnant, but who knows? Because even after it was all resolved, I wasn't getting pregnant.
Then the third year came and went. I was 35. It was obvious to me, if not to my doctor, that things were decidedly NOT okay and that timing couldn't be the issue because we had tried every kind of timing there was in the THREE YEARS we'd already been trying. Fortunately, due to an unanticipated job change on Super Man's part, we found ourselves with much better insurance, which thankfully covered testing and some treatment for infertility.
I had a hysterosalpingogram (HSG) to check my tubes (you can read about it here and here). They were clear. The radiologist did, however, notice a small abnormality in my uterus, which he figured was a fibroid, but not a large one. I gave it a few more months, and then I scheduled an appointment with a well-reputed Reproductive Medicine clinic in Milwaukee to seek specialized help.
I had my first appointment with the specialist in September of 2009. We reviewed my history: discussed my first pregnancy & delivery (picture-perfect pregnancy but 30-hour long delivery that ended in a C-section), reviewed all my test results (all normal), discussed the various things we'd tried in our efforts to conceive. Based on all of that, the specialist diagnosed us with "secondary infertility of unknown cause."
A part of me cringed to hear the official diagnosis of infertility, but a part of me felt relief to finally be taken seriously that SOMETHING IS WRONG after 3-1/2 years of trying without a single pregnancy to speak of.
I was started on Clomid, scheduled for a repeat FSH test to make sure I was still ovulating, and then went in for a mid-cycle ultrasound to see if it worked. Assuming it did, the plan was to start intrauterine insemination (IUI, also known as artificial insemination) that month.
The good news from the ultrasound was that my ovaries responded beautifully to the Clomid. The bad news was that after seeing it on ultrasound, the doctor felt the suspected fibroid in my uterus needed to be checked out and possibly removed before we started IUI. And there was another suspected fibroid in there, too.
I was less than thrilled. I was growing increasingly impatient. My 36th birthday was fast approaching.
All of that meant that there would be no IUI in September. Or in October, because the surgery couldn't be scheduled until late in October.
And I was even less thrilled when I ended up with a bad respiratory virus the week I was to have surgery, resulting in the surgery being delayed until November.
When at last the big day arrived, I was nervous. The only surgery I'd ever had was my C-section, and I was awake for that. The only sedation I'd ever had was for a colonoscopy in 2007. This was going to be a two-fer: surgery AND sedation. Thankfully, my anesthesiologist and I had a great talk beforehand and she understood all my concerns about the sedation (I have a GIGANTIC AWFUL EMBARRASSING vomit phobia issue). I ended up feeling absolutely fine when I came out of surgery. They removed both suspected fibroids - which turned out to be benign polyps - without incident, and I just had to wait one cycle to to start IUI.
Which puts us at December 2009. I took my Clomid, had another mid-cycle ultrasound that again showed I was responding beautifully to the meds, I had an hCG shot to force ovulation, and I went into IUI with the absolute highest of hopes. The two-week wait was torture. But I was optimistic!
And then my period showed up.
We went through the process again in January, minus the hCG shot - I wanted to try ovulating naturally and see if that made a difference. Again, I was crazy-hopeful and optimistic, as my specialist felt that I was really a great candidate for a successful IUI. Being somewhat superstitious, I also felt like it was perhaps auspicious that my 36th birthday at the end of January was going to coincide with the end of the cycle, when I could test to see if IUI #2 had worked. And...
Wait for it...
My period showed up.
Happy 36th Birthday.
uuuuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhh
I was frustrated. I was even more frustrated that certain events beyond our control meant that trying IUI again in February would be a waste of our time due to our stress levels. Instead, we decided that I'd still take Clomid, but we'd just try on our own and see if that would do the trick. Except that I ended up having a bad reaction to the Clomid on day 3 of 5, in the form of disturbing visual problems, which meant I was immediately pulled from the meds for that month (and all eternity thereafter). We still tried on our own that month, but our efforts failed.
I was discouraged. I was blue. I was feeling old. And I was feeling like the Universe was totally against us. Or at least against me, anyway.
Given my state of mind - not to mention the chaotic schedule Super Man had in the month of March - we opted to take a breather that month and regroup.
Which brings me to April 2010, and IUI #3.
While I continued to feel hopeful and optimistic, I was also cautious and weary. I had to force myself to just take it all as it came. I tried a new medication, Femara (letrazole), which is typically used to treat estrogen-related breast cancer but was found to have a very strong fertility side effect, which makes it a good choice treatment when Clomid isn't an option. I tolerated it beautifully, and my mid-cycle ultrasound showed that it had worked well for me. I waited to get my positive ovulation test and we scheduled our IUI for the following day.
Two weeks went by. My breasts felt huge and tender. I was nauseous and exhausted.
I felt pregnant.
My period didn't show up on the day it was due (my cycles are like clockwork, every 28 days). I took a test the day after, but it was negative. I waited 2 days and took another test. This time I got a very, very faint line. But... with Super Boy I had a BOLD line - there was no question I was pregnant. I was nervous.
I called my specialist the next day and asked them to order a blood test. I went to the lab, holding my breath, praying, praying, praying.
They called me that afternoon. "Technically," I was pregnant -- anything over 5 hCG is a positive, and mine was at 27. "HOWEVER"... I was 4 days late for my period, and it was 18 days post-IUI. My hCG should've been higher at that point. They told me not to get my hopes up, and to come back in 2 days to re-test.
I held my breath and prayed for 2 straight days. I went back on 4/28/10 for my blood draw, and waited on pins and needles for the nurse to call me with the results.
I had just come home from the grocery store with Super Boy when the phone rang. My heart was beating frantically. And that was when I heard the words I'd waited exactly 4 long years to hear:
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU'RE PREGNANT!!
Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh, those words were so sweet! I paused, breathless, for a fraction of a second before I started crying, and laughing, asking "are you sure?? FOR SURE???" My hCG had tripled in those 2 days, indicating that all was progressing.
I was officially pregnant, at long last.
I know there are some women who don't get that jazzed up over pregnancy -- their own or anyone else's. I'm not one of those women.
The moment I heard those sweet and long-awaited words, I was all in. I was pregnant. I was having a baby. We were expanding our family. There was no kind of or sort of or maybe -- I was 200% in it, no going back.
My official due date was 1/1/11. Super Man and I thought that was incredibly special, and so symbolic: a wonderful new start to a brand new year. The reality is that I probably would've had a scheduled C-section a few weeks earlier, but that's beside the point. And, best of all, I'd be delivering before my 37th birthday.
I checked Super Boy's old car seats to see if they were still usable. I started looking at summer maternity clothes, as my maternity wardrobe from 2002-2003 was all cold-weather clothes, with that pregnancy being from late August to late May. I started looking at strollers online. I knitted two baby hats, something I'd never done before. I was about to start on a sweater. I decided to make a blanket with some super soft yarn I'd found in my stash. I was pregnant.
As the days passed, I felt more and more sick to my stomach (a good thing!), and my mind was completely preoccupied with the baby growing in my belly. Our whole family was walking on air at the long-awaited news. Super Boy was super excited to be a big brother, Super Girl was hoping it was triplets (!!!), my mom was already looking at baby girl clothes, and all our parents were just thrilled and happy for the news to finally arrive.
The weeks passed. I continued to feel nauseous and tired, and my breasts still killed. We had scheduled a 7-week ultrasound with my fertility specialist for 05/14/10; if all checked out there, I'd transfer back to my regular ob/gyn for the remainder of the pregnancy. I had the date in my calendar in red, circled with a heart, and I could not wait to go and see my little baby growing, to see a heartbeat.
The day of the ultrasound, Super Man had big meetings and felt bad that he couldn't come with, but neither of us suspected any problems, so we didn't think too much about it. I went to the clinic with a huge smile on my face, thrilled to finally see the proof that IUI #3 had worked. As I waited to be called back, I worked on knitting my baby blanket in the waiting room.
At last, I was called. I went back with a spring in my step, barely containing my excitement. The doctor was asking how I'd been feeling (answer: pregnant!), if I'd had any spotting or cramping (answer: none!), and he couldn't help but smile for how excited I was. He turned the monitor towards me and started the intravaginal ultrasound.
He found the sac immediately.
My heart sank. Because I knew it the second I saw it.
It didn't look the way it was supposed to look. It was just a circle. It housed nothing.
I could barely speak the words, "This isn't what we're supposed to be seeing, is it?"
"Unfortunately, no. I just want to see if there's another fertilized egg growing elsewhere..."
My heart was pounding. My eyes darted frantically around the screen, praying that we would find another with a healthy baby growing in it.
We didn't.
And just like that, I was no longer pregnant.
I cried. I sobbed. I was so, so sad. I felt duped, embarrassed, furious, anguished. Numb.
And to top it off, I was alone.
The doctor left the room while I dressed and took a moment to try to call Super Man. I tried; he didn't answer. I tried again; he still didn't answer. Angry, heart-broken and frustrated, I called my mom. We cried. I could barely move.
When the doctor came back for me, we went to another room to talk. He shared his condolences, but told me not to give up. While the lost pregnancy didn't feel like a good thing right that second, it WAS actually a good thing: We now knew I could get pregnant. We had done it. After four solid years of no pregnancy, I had finally gotten pregnant.
We had the right equation, the right components. We just had to wait for the pregnancy to miscarry and try again.
I was devastated. I had never had a miscarriage to my knowledge, and I never in a million years expected to have a miscarriage. It was stupid to be surprised by it, in retrospect. After all, I was 29 when I had Super Boy and I'm 36 now. Miscarriage rates are higher at my age. Even the doctor said that he's not surprised by this occurrence of blighted ovum because of my age -- the quality of some portion of my eggs is less than ideal, and it was a genetic glitch that caused the pregnancy to stop.
Despite that, he felt very optimistic that we could get me pregnant again and still have the desired outcome: a healthy baby.
My miscarriage began the following day, entirely on its own. I couldn't decide whether to be happy that I never had any spotting or cramping prior to finding out that I was no longer pregnant or whether I was glad I knew beforehand. I suppose I'm glad I knew before the miscarriage started, because I would've been completely freaking out the other way. I was already freaking out, but it could've been worse.
Still, it was bad. Not "the worst thing anyone has ever gone through" kind of bad, but bad. I was in bed for days. My bleeding thankfully never got too bad or crossed over into dangerous territory, and I was thankful for that. After about 5 days, it was mostly over.
Physically, at least.
Mentally, I was a mess.
I couldn't seem to stop crying. I felt totally and completely alone, for a few different reasons. I was utterly and completely decimated. I'm sure it didn't help that my hCG level took a few weeks to drop back down to zero.
The kicker was that Super Boy's birthday was the following weekend, so I couldn't afford to indulge my desire to stay in bed for the rest of my life. I could barely indulge it for a week. In retrospect, I'm glad I couldn't do what my bruised heart wanted to do. I'm glad my son's miraculous existence and my fervent desire to honor the incredibly special day of his birth forced me to get up, shower, and go about the business of something normal in my life. That much, I could do.
Each day was fractionally better than the one before it. Each week got a little easier to put behind me. The months passed; life returned to normal, mostly. But make no mistake: Even now, nearly 4 months later, I still know exactly how many weeks pregnant I'd have been now if the pregnancy hadn't stopped. (I'd have been 23 weeks pregnant this Friday.) No matter how much I've healed in that time, there is some part of me that is irreparably broken by that loss.
Anyway...
I had to wait for my period to return after the miscarriage, which it did in June. And then my specialist wanted me to wait through another full cycle before we resumed IUI again. As always, my periods came every 28 days, even after the miscarriage.
While I waited to get through the second cycle, I realized that it seemed like EVERYONE ELSE IN THE MILWAUKEE AREA WAS PREGNANT EXCEPT ME. I literally could not go ANYWHERE without running into at least one obviously pregnant person. I spent the entire month grinding my teeth in frustration.
After my second post-miscarriage period came in July, I notified the doctor that I was good to go. We were cleared to restart IUI. I took my Femara again, peed on sticks again, got my positive ovulation test... and then we couldn't make IUI work with Super Man's schedule that day. We thought we'd just try on our own instead, since I'd already taken the medication... but my dad and stepmom were at our house for a few days, and on THE day we needed to either do IUI or have sex. Needless to say, it was a little too much pressure. July was lost.
I cried. I was so frustrated and angry to have had to wait 2 months to get back on track, to finally get cleared to try again, and to have taken the fertility meds only to get shut down on the IUI due to bad timing. It wasn't a good few days.
I sat down with Super Man and had a major heart-to-heart. I told him that I felt like he wasn't investing himself in this. And while he doesn't have to be there for MY part of IUI, he DOES have to be there for HIS part. Without his part, there can be no my part. And I explained that I don't want to keep taking medication that messes with my body & my hormones for no reason -- if I'm going to take it, we'd better be doing IUI. For some reason, he seemed to think that the window of opportunity was much larger than it actually is - he simply didn't understand how critical the timing of things really is. He promised me he'd do his best to keep the next ovulation week as open as he could.
Which brought us to August. Once again, I took my Femara, peed on sticks, waited for the smiley face. It came on Day 14, we had IUI on Day 15...
And now we wait.
If I haven't gotten my period by 9/7, I will be testing on 9/8.
I can't help but be hopeful. IUI #3 worked with all these same components. I am praying fervently, desperately, humbly that IUI #4 will be The One.
If it's not, we have 2 IUIs left.
We're not pursuing in vitro (insurance doesn't cover it and we can't justify going broke and putting ourselves in financial jeopardy to pursue it).
We're not pursuing adoption (I would under other circumstances, but at Super Man's age, he can't see doing it).
For the record, if we didn't have Super Boy, we would absolutely be pursuing one or both of those options, but we do have one miracle child together, and we both feel blessed to have him.
So, if these final IUIs don't work, then we're done.
~~~~
And I think I'll stop there, for now. Between this post and all its links to my posts about the various subjects on my Average Everyday Super Woman blog, I figure that will occupy the readers of this blog for a few hours, at least.
Until next time...
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