In Between Days

I sit here today sandwiched between 2 days. Yesterday was the day that ended our 4^th pregnancy, in a way we weren’t expecting. And tomorrow will be 1 year since we found out we were having a girl. I have so many emotions swirling through my head that it’s hard to sort through them all.

Just 2 weeks ago, I wrote about our latest pregnancy ending in miscarriage. That process did not go as the doctors had hoped, and we found out last Friday that with increasing levels (that were supposed to be going down to 0) the doctors were “concerned” and the pregnancy could still be tubal/ectopic. We rushed to the doctor’s office that day for more (rather painful) tests that were still inconclusive. We were sent home with the warning signs of ectopic, once again.

 We’d been through this terror before, but it is still horrific every time. Each pain, each possibility of a symptom making you wonder whether you should go to the hospital, wondering whether there is internal bleeding, and ultimately wondering if it will kill you. Every pang made me wonder whether I was ignoring something important – will I regret not going to the hospital? Is this it? I counted down the hours til my appointment on Monday, when I knew I was, at the very least, safely with doctors.

Monday morning finally came, after what felt like a weekend that went on forever (which normally, I’d be happy about). We anxiously waited for the results and got the call we both expected and dreaded. “Your levels went up. We’re scheduling you for surgery this afternoon.” As we counted down the hours til surgery, I was still very much on edge. I was convinced that my tube would rupture while I waited for surgery.

I’d been fasting since the night before, and my surgery wasn’t scheduled until 3:00. I was exhausted (you can imagine that we didn’t get much sleep over the weekend), I was hungry, and I was terrified. I reached my breaking point while they tried to put in my IV. Because I was so dehydrated, it took 3 very painful attempts to get an IV into my “tiny disappearing veins.” On the 3^rd attempt, I burst into tears and could not stop. It had built up for days and burst in front of the anesthesiologist and nurses.

The surgery was successful, and we were very lucky. They found a pregnancy in my right tube, and it was causing the tube to bulge. For them, that makes it easy to find. For me, it makes me realize how close we were to a tragedy. They were able to remove the pregnancy and save my tube, which is the best outcome we could hope for.

In the end, all I can feel is relief. I’m relieved that the days of every pain terrorizing me are over. This results in guilt, of course, because it still means a baby lost. I should be sad and mourning this child, and instead all I can feel is the ability to breathe returning.

And now I focus on tomorrow, where 1 year ago, in an unexpected ultrasound, our doctor proclaimed “your daughter is perfect!” When that day started, we had no idea the turn of events that would take place.

The day began with a call from the doctor with the results from my 2^nd trimester quad screen, where they check for chromosomal issues. Most of the results were good, but I could only hear 1 thing, “we have a positive for Down’s Syndrome.” It immediately knocked the wind out of me. To the doctor, this meant that the odds of our baby having Down’s were higher than my age would predict (and my age already gives us bad odds). They wanted me in for an ultrasound that same day to look for any physical markers. As we drove to the doctor’s office, I wondered to Gordon whether they’d tell us boy/girl, and he said “don’t be greedy, Tracey.” He was right, healthy baby was most important.

The doctor looked for all physical markers and found nothing of concern. At the end of the appointment, he told us our daughter was perfect. We could not have been happier – our baby was healthy, and we could now plan for our baby girl.

And so here I sit – sandwiched between a very bad day with an outcome of relief and guilt and a day with a beautiful memory that in hindsight is so bittersweet. I’m juggling a lot of emotions between these 2 days. I feel pulled in 2 directions trying to remember and honor 2 children lost under very different circumstances.

Knocked Back Down

I know we have a lot of people out there praying and hoping for us. All of your encouragement and hope for us means so much. I have been dreaming of the day when I can share good news with all of you. Today is not that day. A couple of weeks ago, we found out we were expecting again. Today, we found out that I am going to miscarry.

It’s been a roller coaster couple of weeks. From the highs of thinking that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different to following levels that weren’t quite doing what the doctors wanted them to do to warnings and worries from the doctors that we could be dealing with an ectopic pregnancy again.

I cannot begin to tell you how terrifying it is to hear those words. Ectopic pregnancy. I’ve done a lot of reading on this one, having gone through this in February, then hearing the dreaded words again in the last couple of weeks. For those who don’t know, ectopic pregnancies are very dangerous and also very difficult to pinpoint. You are left, while waiting to see how things develop, on high alert for symptoms that a tube has ruptured, and you’re bleeding internally. If a tube ruptures, it can compromise your chances of having another baby or even kill you. It is emotionally and physically exhausting to hyper-analyze every symptom you feel and wonder whether this is the one that should send you to the ER. Each pain wondering whether it was sharp enough, painful enough to warrant a call to the doctor.

When this happened to us in February, we didn’t have to torture ourselves for very long. My levels indicated earlier on that the pregnancy would not be viable, and under the advice of our doctor, we proceeded with a drug called methotrexate. Methotrexate is a cancer drug which stops rapidly growing cells from developing. I had to go to the local cancer center, to their infusion center, and sit in a chemotherapy chair while I waited for 2 shots that would end our dreams of parenthood once again. They never did find out if the embryo implanted in the wrong place, but it was a “better safe than sorry” situation.

This time, our torture was much longer. We began receiving the “watch for the warning signs” speech more than a week ago. Every minute of the day, I tormented myself over every pang and pain. There was still a chance that the pregnancy could be viable, and we wanted to give this baby every chance. Today, we learned that the embryo may have implanted on my ovary, which could be very dangerous. Fortunately (and I use that term VERY loosely), my levels are going down, and my body seems to be taking care of this one on its own. It’s not likely that I’ll have to get another injection of a cancer drug. And this is what passes for “good news” in our house these days.

So here we are. 4 pregnancies. 4 losses. After each one, it gets harder and harder to pick ourselves back up, dust off, and think about whether we want to roll the dice again. It certainly seems like the deck is stacked against us. I’m having a hard time picking myself up off the floor this time. And I have to wonder how many times we’ll get knocked down with such brutal force.