The End (7w4d)

It was an awful, painful, bloody night. When I finally got up this morning (after sleeping off and on and then napping until almost noon), I decided I couldn’t wait until my prenatal appointment tomorrow to find out what I was certain I already knew.

I went to the hospital this afternoon and they confirmed my fear. There was no heartbeat. I knew there wouldn’t be when the silence in the room lingered for almost five minutes. Sunday, they located the heartbeat within a minute. Today, it was as if the doctor was seeking some elusive treasure that was not to be found.

I knew it. And yet, I still hoped.

I go back to the hospital tomorrow for more blood work, to be sure my hormone levels are falling as they should be. I’m fairly certain the worst is over and there won’t be a need for invasive procedures. That’s one small blessing in all this—my body knows what to do once it’s over.

I’m hanging in there. I’m being tough. I’m looking toward the future because there is so much to look forward to and so many good things on the horizon. We’ll try again, when I’m ready. When I’ve healed, inside and out. Maybe next time will be my time.

I have hope.

Waiting in Limbo (7w3d)

I got my hopes up Sunday. I thought that was a good thing, to be reassured. Now, I’m not so sure. I am starting to think I will not be in the ninety-fifth percentile. I’ve been bleeding since my ER visit. Today, it’s been like a regular period, including the heavy cramping.

I’m miserable and I can’t take anything for the pain but Tylenol. I’m scared because I don’t feel pregnant, but I want to believe there’s a chance it will all work out. That chance seems less and less likely as the hours pass.

I know I could go back to the hospital. Probably should, since the bleeding is heavier. But they can’t do anything for me if I’m miscarrying and I don’t have the energy to sit in the waiting room of the ER for hours. It’s scary, this not knowing. But I’m not sure I’m ready to know.

My first prenatal appointment is Thursday. That seems forever away. I’m afraid I won’t be offered the same reassurance I was on Sunday. I’m afraid there won’t be a heartbeat to see.

Blood (7w0d)

Red blood. Not a lot, but enough. I’m going to the hospital tomorrow.

Seeing Red (6w0d)

Another week down, though it’s still so early in my pregnancy it doesn’t seem possible I’ve known for over two and a half weeks. I’ve been doing so well with not having any symptoms beyond the sore breasts and fatigue and mild cramping. It’s almost too good to be true. I’ve actually been enjoying this being pregnant thing.

Then, this afternoon, I saw red.

Just a little, but enough to startle me. Where did that come from? Why? The cramping continues, intermittently, a little more intense than it’s been in previous days. Or am I being paranoid? I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. But I worry.

As I always do when I’m concerned about something, I turned to my greatest comfort—the internet. WebMd, Pregnancy.org, What to Expect—they offer me what I need most—facts, statistics, information. They reassure me that what I’m experiencing is normal for the first trimester and the odds of it being something more serious, a miscarriage or ectopic pregnancy, are not likely. Probably.

Prenatal Care... Eventually (5w2d)

Dealing with the military healthcare system will be the most trying thing about pregnancy. I have very little experience with being pregnant, but I can still state this with utmost confidence. It took me nearly an hour and three phone calls to schedule my first prenatal appointment. Despite my "advanced maternal age" and some medical history that might make this a high-risk pregnancy, I was told they will not see me, under any circumstances, before my tenth week of pregnancy. If I have any complications, I'm to go to the naval hospital. Period. Go figure.

So, my first prenatal appointment is schedule for September 16. That seems very, very far away, all things considered. I'm not one of "those" women who wants a doctor attached to my side from the moment the two lines appear on the pregnancy test until Junior graduates from high school, but it would be nice to simply have confirmation that I have medical care. Maybe see the embryo on an ultrasound and know it's attached properly. Have someone address my concerns about genetic testing face-to-face instead of giving me some vague (and incorrect) time frame over the phone. Everyone (medical community, included) acts like the fact I'm 41 and pregnant is the equivalent of the sky falling, so why doesn't the medical community think it's necessary to see me before the tenth week?

Ah, right, miscarriage. Why bother seeing me, doing any sort of testing beyond the basic pregnancy test, giving me any kind of reassurance, when the odds that I'll miscarry before week 10 are around 50%, maybe higher. So, I get it-- it's not fiscally responsible to waste resources on women who might miscarry before the end of the first trimester anyway. Of course, there's not a lot they can do for me at this stage. I know that.

But a little peace of mind would go a long way right now.

It's Official (4w5d)

So, I’m officially pregnant according to the military health care system. After a brief appointment that included a pregnancy test and a check of my vitals, as well as verification that all the medications I’m taking are safe during pregnancy (which I already knew they were), I was sent on my way with a pamphlet printed in what looks like Comic Sans font congratulating me on my pregnancy and giving me the usual basic information as well as the usual vague, but certainly dire, warnings. In 48 hours I can schedule my first prenatal appointment.

When the charge nurse came in to give me my test results, she acted rather grim. Pushing the sheet of paper across the desk and putting her finger under the word POSITIVE, she said, “The test is positive. You’re pregnant.”

I blinked and smiled. I knew I was pregnant, of course, but couldn’t figure out why she seemed so somber. “Good!” I said, enthusiastically. I may have even added a thumbs up for emphasis.

“Oh, you’re happy about it? This is a good thing?” She said, smiling, but looking a bit confused.

“Definitely. We’ve been trying,” I told her. Then, as if to ease her discomfort, I explained how it happened on a mid-deployment getaway. It didn't seem to make her feel any better.

“Oh. Well, I never know whether it’s a good thing or not.”

I suppose I could understand that, and her attempt at remaining neutral, but the pamphlet she gave me said “CONGRATULATIONS from the entire staff!” across the top. Talk about mixed messages.

After leaving the doctor’s office, I pondered why she would think I’d be anything but happy. I’m clearly not a fresh young Navy bride who couldn’t afford a box of diapers much less a crib. Is it because of my age? I suppose I’ll have many months to consider people’s reactions to the news that I’m expecting. At least, I hope I have these months to ponder.

The last time I was pregnant, in 1997, I didn’t make it from the pregnancy test appointment to the prenatal appointment. I had a miscarriage in between. So, now that the doctor’s office has confirmed I’m pregnant, here is my first mile marker of many to come: to make it to the first prenatal appointment.