Lucy feels so very far away from me now. My pregnancy with Lucy, and the subsequent heartbreak and devastation that followed - well they are taking on more and more of a dream like quality these days.
When I think about the key moments that are engrained in my mind - that sickening realisation on that sunny morning that I couldn't get her to respond to me, the drive to the hospital, the scan, the hysteria, the phone calls, the tearful relatives arriving, the endless questions (the list goes on and on) - they have that dream like haze over them these days. Like when you wake and you try and think about the dream that was just very clear in your mind, yet now the more you think the more it is like you are watching it through tinted glass - the edges are smudgey and you can't quite get clarity in the picture, just fleeting glances of faces, rooms, minor details.
The rawness of the emotion I felt in those early days has settled, but is never far from the surface. It can sneak up from nowhere, but all of a sudden the hot tears are stinging my eyes and the knot in my throat is suffocating and no matter how much I swallow it won't shift and then the tears fall. Time at first forces you to carry on living, you can't fight it as the second hand keeps going round and minutes pass, then hours, then days. Gradually you stop trying to fight it and acceptance of what has happened begins, albeit very slowly. And eventually you start to find joy in life again, although it is a strange happiness that you have now because underneath your smile and laugh your thoughts always flick for a moment to that little baby soul that touched your life and was gone. And then you want to scream at people and tell them your inner anguish. I hate it when people don't see Lucy as a baby. They don't have to say anything, but the way they speak about her, their body language - a whole host of things - it's a dead give away. I don't know how they perceive her, a miscarriage maybe? A strange alien bump that was once protruding in front of the host and then vanished? I just know that in their head they don't imagine ten pudgy baby toes and soft downy baby hair when they think of her. They don't imagine a baby.
Or do they?
Is this just my own paranoia? These almost protective feelings I have as her mother, I don't want my beautiful child to be though any less of, I want her memory to be respected and cherished. I don't want her to be classified as something she's not, or feared as some sort of freak. I just want people to see her and understand this pain we suffer at having lost her, she was a baby, she was absolutely perfect and we loved her fiercely with all of our hearts. We still do.
7 months today I held her for the first time.
Saturday, 24 April 2010
Sunday, 18 April 2010
Blind faith
8 weeks and 3 days today. I have gained 2 days I know, I had another scan on Thursday just gone and they dated the pregnancy. Baby was measuring spot on 8 weeks so my new EDD is 25th November - our wedding anniversary. I know you could say it's coincidence and nothing more than that, but I found out by my birthday I was expecting again and my due date is my 4th Wedding anniversary - I like to tell myself Lucy has sent her blessings and a very special present for her Mum and Dad. I hope so.
The browny discharge is continuing on and off, some days it is barely there and others is in full force. They saw a tiny bleed on the scan but nothing they said to worry about, just that it could be the cause of the discharge. Baby had grown from 9mm to 15.2 mm and still had a heartbeat.
I am trying to comfort myself with the thought we are now past the point that my little bean stopped growing before. Baby has grown as it should and the bleeding does not seem to be affecting the pregnancy. Sometimes it comforts me and I get a rush of excitement, I allow myself to think a bit further into the future and imagine a Summer with a bump and swollen ankles. Then I reign it back in again and the dark thoughts are back. It's all about having blind faith I think. No matter how many doctors I see, even if they scan me everyday, there is no guarantee I will take this baby home. No one can offer me that assurance, it is just impossible. So all I can do is believe it will be OK. Some days I can do that, others not so much.
The guilt about Lucy has also started. I feel bad for even wanting another baby, for being pregnant again so soon after losing her. I feel as though I am trying to blot out her existence, even though I am not. I feel guilty that I crave so much a 'normal' baby, not one that was lifeless and couldn't come home with me. But I can't spend my life mourning her all day, every day. Her journey started because we want so much to be parents, filled with days at the zoo, and noisy car journeys, and first days at school. But the hurt is still there that I can't do any of this with her. Why was she sent here, to spend such a short time in her bubble world? My little daughter. My sweet baby girl. How much I love her. And whilst I am caught up with all these feelings about her I then get a jolt of guilt for this little life inside me. Will I be able to love this baby as they deserve whilst I am still so in love and grieving for my lost daughter? I know that I will, the evidence is there in other peoples blogs about their rainbow babes. But it is such a strange mix of emotions. I am just very thankful to be given the opportunity to be here again, stange emotions or not. But I didn't realise though how fragile I still was until I was pregnant again. I thought I was stronger, more then ready to handle another pregnancy and more than capable of dealing with another loss should it happen. The bleeding has shown me how I would feel if I were to lose this baby as well. And it was not a good place to be. In fact I don't think I would be able to pick myself up again. It was scary, I just hope and pray that it is a place I will not need to visit.
4 weeks until the end of the first trimester. Please pass by quickly and uneventfully with Rainbow baby still growing, and heart beating away happily inside me.
The browny discharge is continuing on and off, some days it is barely there and others is in full force. They saw a tiny bleed on the scan but nothing they said to worry about, just that it could be the cause of the discharge. Baby had grown from 9mm to 15.2 mm and still had a heartbeat.
I am trying to comfort myself with the thought we are now past the point that my little bean stopped growing before. Baby has grown as it should and the bleeding does not seem to be affecting the pregnancy. Sometimes it comforts me and I get a rush of excitement, I allow myself to think a bit further into the future and imagine a Summer with a bump and swollen ankles. Then I reign it back in again and the dark thoughts are back. It's all about having blind faith I think. No matter how many doctors I see, even if they scan me everyday, there is no guarantee I will take this baby home. No one can offer me that assurance, it is just impossible. So all I can do is believe it will be OK. Some days I can do that, others not so much.
The guilt about Lucy has also started. I feel bad for even wanting another baby, for being pregnant again so soon after losing her. I feel as though I am trying to blot out her existence, even though I am not. I feel guilty that I crave so much a 'normal' baby, not one that was lifeless and couldn't come home with me. But I can't spend my life mourning her all day, every day. Her journey started because we want so much to be parents, filled with days at the zoo, and noisy car journeys, and first days at school. But the hurt is still there that I can't do any of this with her. Why was she sent here, to spend such a short time in her bubble world? My little daughter. My sweet baby girl. How much I love her. And whilst I am caught up with all these feelings about her I then get a jolt of guilt for this little life inside me. Will I be able to love this baby as they deserve whilst I am still so in love and grieving for my lost daughter? I know that I will, the evidence is there in other peoples blogs about their rainbow babes. But it is such a strange mix of emotions. I am just very thankful to be given the opportunity to be here again, stange emotions or not. But I didn't realise though how fragile I still was until I was pregnant again. I thought I was stronger, more then ready to handle another pregnancy and more than capable of dealing with another loss should it happen. The bleeding has shown me how I would feel if I were to lose this baby as well. And it was not a good place to be. In fact I don't think I would be able to pick myself up again. It was scary, I just hope and pray that it is a place I will not need to visit.
4 weeks until the end of the first trimester. Please pass by quickly and uneventfully with Rainbow baby still growing, and heart beating away happily inside me.
Saturday, 10 April 2010
Day by day
Another day is here. I am 7 weeks today.
My scan went OK on Thursday, we have a sac, yolk and small crustacean shaped human being with a beating heart.
As I was waiting in the day room to be seen (amongst four or five heavily pregnant women) I dissolved into tears and sobs. Scans bring no joy for me, I have no excited anticipation, just a feeling of impending doom that I can only compare to how Anne Boleyn felt on the morning of her execution. The unavoidable is apparoaching.
The fabulous Sister at the EPU scanned me straight away when she saw the state I was in, and for a brief moment I was content in that dark room watching my babies heart flickering.
But the anxiety and dark thoughts are never far away, as we left the hospital I began to worry about another MMC as with the one I had before Lucy the baby stopped growing about now but wasn't found until a couple of weeks later. And to compound that worry, I am still having browny discharge. It is enough to spot onto my panty liner and is on the toilet tissue after peeing. There is not loads of it, but there is enough of it to be a concern. I am also having back pain on and off, so I am in a constant state of fear.
I did have the same with Lucy from about 6 weeks through to about 9 weeks, so I am trying to tell myself that it is nothing to concern myself with. But my advice falls on deaf and ignorant ears, of course I am worried. I wish for this to be a normal, boring pregnancy that millions of women seem to achieve every year. I am waiting to hear from the hospital regarding my consultant care plan starting. I may phone the EPU again on Monday. Time is passing, albeit very slowly for me.
My scan went OK on Thursday, we have a sac, yolk and small crustacean shaped human being with a beating heart.
As I was waiting in the day room to be seen (amongst four or five heavily pregnant women) I dissolved into tears and sobs. Scans bring no joy for me, I have no excited anticipation, just a feeling of impending doom that I can only compare to how Anne Boleyn felt on the morning of her execution. The unavoidable is apparoaching.
The fabulous Sister at the EPU scanned me straight away when she saw the state I was in, and for a brief moment I was content in that dark room watching my babies heart flickering.
But the anxiety and dark thoughts are never far away, as we left the hospital I began to worry about another MMC as with the one I had before Lucy the baby stopped growing about now but wasn't found until a couple of weeks later. And to compound that worry, I am still having browny discharge. It is enough to spot onto my panty liner and is on the toilet tissue after peeing. There is not loads of it, but there is enough of it to be a concern. I am also having back pain on and off, so I am in a constant state of fear.
I did have the same with Lucy from about 6 weeks through to about 9 weeks, so I am trying to tell myself that it is nothing to concern myself with. But my advice falls on deaf and ignorant ears, of course I am worried. I wish for this to be a normal, boring pregnancy that millions of women seem to achieve every year. I am waiting to hear from the hospital regarding my consultant care plan starting. I may phone the EPU again on Monday. Time is passing, albeit very slowly for me.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
The Birth
I am very, very proud of myself, my husband and my lovely angel Lucy, for getting through the experience. A very strange thing to be proud of I guess, but I was so worried about Labour and how I would handle the pain that I felt very proud when we got through it and were together as a family for a few hours.
The room they usually used for these sort of 'situations' was already being used, so I was ushered into the room where the birthing pool was. It seemed ironic as I had been planning on using the pool for pain relief when I went into Labour.
I had been forewarned it could take up to 24 hours for labour to really kick in. This sounded horrific to me, and I thought that there was every chance it would take this long as my body did not seem ready to give up my baby just yet.
I was given gel to ripen my cervix and told I would be checked in 6 hours at 10.30pm. Nothing really happened in the first few hours except more tears. We all sat around in the depressing room and wondered if this was really happening. I couldn't tell you what we spoke about, except they were empty, meaningless conversations. Nothing meant anything now my baby had gone.
Eventually I started get low back ache, like before my period. I didn't realise it at the time but these were contractions starting in my back area. John, my Mum and my Sister took turns to rub my back for me, or I would pace the floor rubbing it myself. It was surreal as I had tried to imagine Labour so many times, now here I was but everything was not as it should be. Everything appeared as though lit by a half light, making the experience even more surreal. The backache continued but it was bearable, at 10pm the midwife Meaghan came to check on me and everyone was ushered out of the room.
"Good girl!" she exclaimed, "You are already 5 cms dilated! I am going to break your waters now". A moments discomfort then a warm bath water feeling washed through my legs. "There is blood in your waters" she told me, "You may have had an abruption - have you had any pain?". The guilt as I racked my brains trying to think, had I missed a vital sign that could have saved my babies life? I didn't remember any pains, hell, I would have been straight up the hospital if I had!
She asked me if I wanted any pain relief, I told her no as I thought I had managed so far without any, I'd be OK. Then the next contraction came. And it hurt like hell this time, now that the soft cushion of my amniotic fluid had been removed. So I buzzed and was begging for pain relief, I was given Entinox and Diamorphine. And then things start to get a little hazy....in fact, I lose an hour or two. I have vague recollections of hallucinating, the beeping of equipment made me think I was in a nightclub, I had an entire conversation with John that didn't actually happen. My grasp on reality had slipped waaaaay out of reach. I didn't say much and when I did it was total nonsense. And it doesn't take the pain away, in fact you still feel every single painful contraction you have, but for some reason you just don't seem to care or react in the normal way to the pain. I remember hanging over the back of the bed with the mouthpiece for the gas and air firmly clamped between my teeth, and I though how funny it was that I had been nervous, embarrassed about showing strangers my bits and pieces and yet now here I was, nightie hitched up around my waist, all my bits on display and I couldn't have gived a damn if the Queen herself had popped by. When you are in Labour you go into your own little bubble, you totally withdraw into yourself - well that's how it was for me anyway. Then I am feeling the urge to bear down, and Meaghan is telling me I can push, and I am now saying I need an epidural. Meaghan says I can have one but then she checks and tells me baby is already on the way- it's too late for any more intervention now. So I flip onto my back, and she tells me to push with every contraction. I push with all my strength, and despite the pain I try not to cry out as all I can think is I want my baby to be born with dignity, not to a sweating, cussing, screeching banshee. So I barely utter a sound, and I am concentrating on the words Meaghan is saying, I pant when she tells me to and it burns and burns but I don't push, and then she tells me to push again and so I do and suddenly... relief.
Lucy is born into the world, and the room is silent.
"It's a little girl" Meaghan tells us, and we kiss each other and cry softly, partly with happiness that we finally meet this little person, but mainly with sorrow that she will never be ours to keep or parent in the true sense of the word.
Lucy is placed onto my chest so I can see and I gaze at her through my drug addled fog and barely take in what had just happened. "Her name is Lucy" I mumble, and all doubt as to whether I would use my special name that I had lovingly chosen is gone - Lucy deserves her real name, not a made up name because I am too selfish to part with the name I love that I know won't ever be used for a living child.
And then all hell breaks lose, I am haemorraghing and my uterus won't contract down and they can't stop the blood. The cord was stuck round Lucy's shoulders and when they cut it to free her they cut me as well by accident and so the bottom end of the bed is now awash with blood and medics and doctors trying to stitch me up and trying to stop me bleeding to death. I am being injected, prodded, poked, stitched, manhandled. But I am still in a Morphine fogged dream world, and all I can say to the Midwife is I don't want them to take my uterus away. And I wonder why there is a cleaner at the end of the bed stuffing my lady bits with paper towels, John laters tells me this was another hallucination as it was actually a doctor stitching me up.
And suddenly the room is empty again, and I stare at this little girl on my chest, and I tentatively reach up and touch her face - it is warm - and this surprises me as death is cold in my mind. I stroke her perfect little cheek and marvel at her beauty and how much she looks like both of us but in miniature.
The room they usually used for these sort of 'situations' was already being used, so I was ushered into the room where the birthing pool was. It seemed ironic as I had been planning on using the pool for pain relief when I went into Labour.
I had been forewarned it could take up to 24 hours for labour to really kick in. This sounded horrific to me, and I thought that there was every chance it would take this long as my body did not seem ready to give up my baby just yet.
I was given gel to ripen my cervix and told I would be checked in 6 hours at 10.30pm. Nothing really happened in the first few hours except more tears. We all sat around in the depressing room and wondered if this was really happening. I couldn't tell you what we spoke about, except they were empty, meaningless conversations. Nothing meant anything now my baby had gone.
Eventually I started get low back ache, like before my period. I didn't realise it at the time but these were contractions starting in my back area. John, my Mum and my Sister took turns to rub my back for me, or I would pace the floor rubbing it myself. It was surreal as I had tried to imagine Labour so many times, now here I was but everything was not as it should be. Everything appeared as though lit by a half light, making the experience even more surreal. The backache continued but it was bearable, at 10pm the midwife Meaghan came to check on me and everyone was ushered out of the room.
"Good girl!" she exclaimed, "You are already 5 cms dilated! I am going to break your waters now". A moments discomfort then a warm bath water feeling washed through my legs. "There is blood in your waters" she told me, "You may have had an abruption - have you had any pain?". The guilt as I racked my brains trying to think, had I missed a vital sign that could have saved my babies life? I didn't remember any pains, hell, I would have been straight up the hospital if I had!
She asked me if I wanted any pain relief, I told her no as I thought I had managed so far without any, I'd be OK. Then the next contraction came. And it hurt like hell this time, now that the soft cushion of my amniotic fluid had been removed. So I buzzed and was begging for pain relief, I was given Entinox and Diamorphine. And then things start to get a little hazy....in fact, I lose an hour or two. I have vague recollections of hallucinating, the beeping of equipment made me think I was in a nightclub, I had an entire conversation with John that didn't actually happen. My grasp on reality had slipped waaaaay out of reach. I didn't say much and when I did it was total nonsense. And it doesn't take the pain away, in fact you still feel every single painful contraction you have, but for some reason you just don't seem to care or react in the normal way to the pain. I remember hanging over the back of the bed with the mouthpiece for the gas and air firmly clamped between my teeth, and I though how funny it was that I had been nervous, embarrassed about showing strangers my bits and pieces and yet now here I was, nightie hitched up around my waist, all my bits on display and I couldn't have gived a damn if the Queen herself had popped by. When you are in Labour you go into your own little bubble, you totally withdraw into yourself - well that's how it was for me anyway. Then I am feeling the urge to bear down, and Meaghan is telling me I can push, and I am now saying I need an epidural. Meaghan says I can have one but then she checks and tells me baby is already on the way- it's too late for any more intervention now. So I flip onto my back, and she tells me to push with every contraction. I push with all my strength, and despite the pain I try not to cry out as all I can think is I want my baby to be born with dignity, not to a sweating, cussing, screeching banshee. So I barely utter a sound, and I am concentrating on the words Meaghan is saying, I pant when she tells me to and it burns and burns but I don't push, and then she tells me to push again and so I do and suddenly... relief.
Lucy is born into the world, and the room is silent.
"It's a little girl" Meaghan tells us, and we kiss each other and cry softly, partly with happiness that we finally meet this little person, but mainly with sorrow that she will never be ours to keep or parent in the true sense of the word.
Lucy is placed onto my chest so I can see and I gaze at her through my drug addled fog and barely take in what had just happened. "Her name is Lucy" I mumble, and all doubt as to whether I would use my special name that I had lovingly chosen is gone - Lucy deserves her real name, not a made up name because I am too selfish to part with the name I love that I know won't ever be used for a living child.
And then all hell breaks lose, I am haemorraghing and my uterus won't contract down and they can't stop the blood. The cord was stuck round Lucy's shoulders and when they cut it to free her they cut me as well by accident and so the bottom end of the bed is now awash with blood and medics and doctors trying to stitch me up and trying to stop me bleeding to death. I am being injected, prodded, poked, stitched, manhandled. But I am still in a Morphine fogged dream world, and all I can say to the Midwife is I don't want them to take my uterus away. And I wonder why there is a cleaner at the end of the bed stuffing my lady bits with paper towels, John laters tells me this was another hallucination as it was actually a doctor stitching me up.
And suddenly the room is empty again, and I stare at this little girl on my chest, and I tentatively reach up and touch her face - it is warm - and this surprises me as death is cold in my mind. I stroke her perfect little cheek and marvel at her beauty and how much she looks like both of us but in miniature.
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
Functioning
What do I write about? Dare I let myself hope that the little pip in my belly will become a full blown rainbow babe? Do I throw caution to the wind and gush about how happy I am? Talk about the happy trips we will make as a family of three? Look at little onesies with cute animals on and throw nappies into the shopping trolley so we are stocked up?
No of course I don't. I am in that limbo land that all Babyloss Mamas must find theselves in once they see that positive test again.
I am living in a semi permanent state of fear. Every wipe of the toilet roll is inspected for the mereest hint of blood. Every twinge analysed, every pain googled. I have no peace. I have no reason to think this will turn out well, just as I have no reason to think it won't.
Everyone I have told has that cheerful optimism of someone who hasn't lost a baby. "I have a good feeling about this one". "This pregnancy will be fine, don't you worry".
I have found myself making strange bargains with the universe, like if I can cross the road before the lights change then my baby will be born alive. Then I cry if the lights change whilst I am still crossing, then I get annoyed because I know rationally a set of traffic lights have no bearing on whether this pip will make it to term and be born alive.
I think the most killing thing is the uncertainty. The not knowing if I will be back in hospital next week for another ERPC or if I will be reading this back in a years time with a milky smelling babe asleep in my arms. How I hope and pray it is the latter one.
Tomorrow I go back for the second of repeat blood tests. This is to give me more of an idea if the pregnancy is viable. The Sister will call me tomorrow afternoon with the verdict.
I am counting down the days until my scan. I have played every scenario out in my head. Mainly the 'no heartbeat' scenario. I am steeling myself for bad news.
Time seems to be going slowly, the days drag past. Every now and then I let myself dream for a second and imagine a little further than next Thursday, imagine getting to feel a baby kick and tumble around inside me again.
Today I am 5+3. I hope you are OK in there Rainbow Babe. I hope Lucy will look down on you and keep you safe. I hope that this is our time. I hope so much I get to hold you in 8 months.
No of course I don't. I am in that limbo land that all Babyloss Mamas must find theselves in once they see that positive test again.
I am living in a semi permanent state of fear. Every wipe of the toilet roll is inspected for the mereest hint of blood. Every twinge analysed, every pain googled. I have no peace. I have no reason to think this will turn out well, just as I have no reason to think it won't.
Everyone I have told has that cheerful optimism of someone who hasn't lost a baby. "I have a good feeling about this one". "This pregnancy will be fine, don't you worry".
I have found myself making strange bargains with the universe, like if I can cross the road before the lights change then my baby will be born alive. Then I cry if the lights change whilst I am still crossing, then I get annoyed because I know rationally a set of traffic lights have no bearing on whether this pip will make it to term and be born alive.
I think the most killing thing is the uncertainty. The not knowing if I will be back in hospital next week for another ERPC or if I will be reading this back in a years time with a milky smelling babe asleep in my arms. How I hope and pray it is the latter one.
Tomorrow I go back for the second of repeat blood tests. This is to give me more of an idea if the pregnancy is viable. The Sister will call me tomorrow afternoon with the verdict.
I am counting down the days until my scan. I have played every scenario out in my head. Mainly the 'no heartbeat' scenario. I am steeling myself for bad news.
Time seems to be going slowly, the days drag past. Every now and then I let myself dream for a second and imagine a little further than next Thursday, imagine getting to feel a baby kick and tumble around inside me again.
Today I am 5+3. I hope you are OK in there Rainbow Babe. I hope Lucy will look down on you and keep you safe. I hope that this is our time. I hope so much I get to hold you in 8 months.
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
I am a mole and I live in a hole
I need to write stuff down. It's going round my head, I can't concentrate. I am going through the motions, lights on, nobody home. No one rational anyway.
It's been a while since I've blogged. It comes down to the part nervous breakdown I had after my last period showed up. I freaked out completely. I screamed and cried and scratched my legs and face in rage. Total, utter psycho.
So as I sat, a sobbing mess on the floor of the bathroom, I decided something had to give. I looked at my huge flabby belly in the mirror and decided baby stuff was not on the agenda this month. Weight loss was my new obsession. So I've been rigidly following slimming world and exercising, weight loss so far 12lb. Feeling good about myself, but still a stone to lose before I am pre-baby weight, and I don't just mean the Lucy Lu weight as I also put a few pounds on with the babies I miscarried.
However something came along and has put a spanner in the works. After 5 months of hoping, I finally got to see 2 pink lines over the weekend.
I'm pregnant.
I currently have no less than 20 various test brands on the windowsill, all with differing strengths of line. You would think that this news would have me jumping for joy, right?
Well, it did for about half an hour. For half an hour I was blissfully happy, I kept telling John I had a 'good feeling' about this one. So did he, and we grinned at each other like loonies for a bit. But being me, and a total POAS-aholic, I wanted to see it in words. So we drove to the shop, and I plumped for those new fangled digital tests that have a 'conception indicator' to tell you how far along you are. Not cheap.
We drove home and I excitedly chattered about scans and telling people and the normal stuff your mind races with when you see those glorious lines appear. I was determined to be excited, no matter what happened I wanted to revel in the joy of pregnancy whilst I had it.
Bizarrely though, the digital test had the opposite effect on me than calming me. Within a minute the word 'Pregnant' appeared and then below, where it tells you an approximate conception date, '3+' appeared.
3+....?
Meaning I was 5 weeks or more pregnant. Which is a physical impossibility. I know I conceived this cycle. 100%. When I took the test I was 4+1 according to my LMP. It should have only said 1-2 weeks, hell I could have lived with 2-3 weeks. But 3+ weeks? How the hell can my hormone levels be so high that they triggered that response?
So like any paranoid dead baby mama , I googled my little heart out. For hours. And the 4 conclusions I have found with regards to high HCG are:
It's all I can think about. I have totally convinced myself that this is the case. I am already devastated for the loss of this pregnancy and I have not even had a scientific opionion yet.
Molar pregnancies are rare, 1:1000 pregnancies apparently. Surely, surely we can't have THAT much bad luck? I mean come on, I'm not trying to complete the 'baby loss' set - spontaneous miscarriage, missed miscarriage, stillbirth...and Molar?
But no matter how I try, I can't seem to to get this thought out of my head. It haunts my every thought. I have googled to exhaustion the meaning of high HCG levels, the consequences and symptoms of molar pregnancies. My mind is full of information, and this is a bad thing. Too much information is a BAD thing.
I have a blood result due back on Friday to tell me what my level of HCG was as of yesterday, 4+3.
And I have a viability scan on April 8th.
D-day.
The scan that will tell me if I have an uncanny sixth sense and this pregnancy is doomed, or if it is pure, unadulterated PARANOIA caused by experiencing nothing but loss so far in my journey for a family.
Please keep everything crossed for me, pray for me. I think another loss would leave me totally broken.
It's been a while since I've blogged. It comes down to the part nervous breakdown I had after my last period showed up. I freaked out completely. I screamed and cried and scratched my legs and face in rage. Total, utter psycho.
So as I sat, a sobbing mess on the floor of the bathroom, I decided something had to give. I looked at my huge flabby belly in the mirror and decided baby stuff was not on the agenda this month. Weight loss was my new obsession. So I've been rigidly following slimming world and exercising, weight loss so far 12lb. Feeling good about myself, but still a stone to lose before I am pre-baby weight, and I don't just mean the Lucy Lu weight as I also put a few pounds on with the babies I miscarried.
However something came along and has put a spanner in the works. After 5 months of hoping, I finally got to see 2 pink lines over the weekend.
I'm pregnant.
I currently have no less than 20 various test brands on the windowsill, all with differing strengths of line. You would think that this news would have me jumping for joy, right?
Well, it did for about half an hour. For half an hour I was blissfully happy, I kept telling John I had a 'good feeling' about this one. So did he, and we grinned at each other like loonies for a bit. But being me, and a total POAS-aholic, I wanted to see it in words. So we drove to the shop, and I plumped for those new fangled digital tests that have a 'conception indicator' to tell you how far along you are. Not cheap.
We drove home and I excitedly chattered about scans and telling people and the normal stuff your mind races with when you see those glorious lines appear. I was determined to be excited, no matter what happened I wanted to revel in the joy of pregnancy whilst I had it.
Bizarrely though, the digital test had the opposite effect on me than calming me. Within a minute the word 'Pregnant' appeared and then below, where it tells you an approximate conception date, '3+' appeared.
3+....?
Meaning I was 5 weeks or more pregnant. Which is a physical impossibility. I know I conceived this cycle. 100%. When I took the test I was 4+1 according to my LMP. It should have only said 1-2 weeks, hell I could have lived with 2-3 weeks. But 3+ weeks? How the hell can my hormone levels be so high that they triggered that response?
So like any paranoid dead baby mama , I googled my little heart out. For hours. And the 4 conclusions I have found with regards to high HCG are:
- I miscalculated my dates. As I didn't temp or chart properly this month I actually don't know when I ovulated. I thought I HADN'T ovulated, so fuck knows. This is a possibility, I could be a few days further on than I thought.
- My levels are high, but still 'nomal'. The Clearblue tests are gimmicky, and not an exact science. The test strip that 'diagnoses' the conception is not terribly accurate, it just relies on the strength of a line to predict the level of hormone present and thus how far along. In fact that makes it sounds more scientific than it is. So I could just have high levels and still be fine.
- It's a multiple pregnancy. As neither John nor myself have a family history of multiples, and I have not had any fertility drugs, I severely doubt this is the case. But it is not entirely improbable.
- It is a Molar pregnancy.
It's all I can think about. I have totally convinced myself that this is the case. I am already devastated for the loss of this pregnancy and I have not even had a scientific opionion yet.
Molar pregnancies are rare, 1:1000 pregnancies apparently. Surely, surely we can't have THAT much bad luck? I mean come on, I'm not trying to complete the 'baby loss' set - spontaneous miscarriage, missed miscarriage, stillbirth...and Molar?
But no matter how I try, I can't seem to to get this thought out of my head. It haunts my every thought. I have googled to exhaustion the meaning of high HCG levels, the consequences and symptoms of molar pregnancies. My mind is full of information, and this is a bad thing. Too much information is a BAD thing.
I have a blood result due back on Friday to tell me what my level of HCG was as of yesterday, 4+3.
And I have a viability scan on April 8th.
D-day.
The scan that will tell me if I have an uncanny sixth sense and this pregnancy is doomed, or if it is pure, unadulterated PARANOIA caused by experiencing nothing but loss so far in my journey for a family.
Please keep everything crossed for me, pray for me. I think another loss would leave me totally broken.
Monday, 8 February 2010
Fail.
So after all my good intentions and promises and mantras I have woken up this morning and feel like all of the positivity has been sucked out of me.
Maybe it's the lack of sleep, maybe it's hormones, maybe it's just the phase of the moon. Who knows. I just feel that we will not have done it this cycle and I am just tired of trying to conceive again. This is just not how life should be. This is not how I want my life to be.
This post made me think today. Lately I have been feeling very, very jealous of my friend and her new baby. It's not a good emotion. I feel bitter that it's been so hard for us and so easy for her. We struggle for 2 years and lose three babies. She has aborted 2 previous 'unplanned' pregnancies, decides on a whim (in the middle of an argument with her boyfriend) to have a baby and is pregnant within 2 months, a year later she has a new baby, a new home (paid for by his parents). Everything I wanted and thought I would have. She text me the other day to ask how I was. She asked my opinion on something her baby was doing. But like Ashley said, what advice can I offer? I have never had a baby to bring up. I can't give her advice because I have no idea.
How do I move past this terrible negativity I have towards her? I just can't get past the unfairness of it all. Why has it been so easy for her? Why has it been so hard for us? How can I stop this horrible envy that is eating away at our friendship? I can barely bring myself to speak to her. She doesn't have the right words to say. She never even bothered to come to Lucy's funeral. She complains constantly about her baby not sleeping. When I told her how down I was feeling about TTC she texted to say "I know, I felt like that. I know how long the months can be and it's literally all you can think about". What?!? WTF?!? How can she even pretend to know what it's like? She decided at Christmas she wanted a baby and was pregnant by the February! Why does she not understand that her situation and my situation are worlds apart?
God I sound like a total bitch. I hate feeling this way towards her. But I hate that she just doesn't GET it. I'm not sure our friendship can recover from this. I am a terrible friend. I can't even feel happy for my friends anymore.
Maybe it's the lack of sleep, maybe it's hormones, maybe it's just the phase of the moon. Who knows. I just feel that we will not have done it this cycle and I am just tired of trying to conceive again. This is just not how life should be. This is not how I want my life to be.
This post made me think today. Lately I have been feeling very, very jealous of my friend and her new baby. It's not a good emotion. I feel bitter that it's been so hard for us and so easy for her. We struggle for 2 years and lose three babies. She has aborted 2 previous 'unplanned' pregnancies, decides on a whim (in the middle of an argument with her boyfriend) to have a baby and is pregnant within 2 months, a year later she has a new baby, a new home (paid for by his parents). Everything I wanted and thought I would have. She text me the other day to ask how I was. She asked my opinion on something her baby was doing. But like Ashley said, what advice can I offer? I have never had a baby to bring up. I can't give her advice because I have no idea.
How do I move past this terrible negativity I have towards her? I just can't get past the unfairness of it all. Why has it been so easy for her? Why has it been so hard for us? How can I stop this horrible envy that is eating away at our friendship? I can barely bring myself to speak to her. She doesn't have the right words to say. She never even bothered to come to Lucy's funeral. She complains constantly about her baby not sleeping. When I told her how down I was feeling about TTC she texted to say "I know, I felt like that. I know how long the months can be and it's literally all you can think about". What?!? WTF?!? How can she even pretend to know what it's like? She decided at Christmas she wanted a baby and was pregnant by the February! Why does she not understand that her situation and my situation are worlds apart?
God I sound like a total bitch. I hate feeling this way towards her. But I hate that she just doesn't GET it. I'm not sure our friendship can recover from this. I am a terrible friend. I can't even feel happy for my friends anymore.
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