thanks for the mammories

I woke up knowing that I would get the call today.  I've been anxious all day, but I carried on.  In the spirit of staying involved, I went to class and had lunch with Bern.  Doing just fine. 

The doctor called at 4, just as my mother was walking up the front steps for a visit.  Thank god for that.  The doctor said right off the bat that this was a bad call.  The results of the CVS culture showed Trisomy 18.  He was right.  That's really bad.  Worse than Down's Syndrome bad.  Even if I was one of those brave souls who could parent a severely disabled child, the stats are too bad.  50% are born stillborn.  90% of those don't make it to their first year.  Every system in their body is compromised, from their heart to their nasal passages.  There's just no way.

Instead of being able to surprise my mother with the pregnancy Christmas ornament I've been keeping, I had a nervous breakdown in the car (the only place I could get sufficient privacy from little Miss Nosy.) and she was sweet.  She bought me dinner and let me stay in my pajamas.  Mom's are good.

Next week, I'll lose another baby.  And then I'll try again. 

Yes, of course...

"I should have results in two or three days," says Dr. Reassuring.  Oh, but then there's the weekend.  On, and then the holiday.  That's ok, I can wait till Tuesday.  I'll just clean more stuff.  "Hi, it's Dr. Reassuring, and I'm sorry, I know you're anxious, but there wasn't a big enough sample to do the immediate test.  We'll have to culture it.  I'll have your results on Friday."  Friday?  Did he just say Friday?  Bastard.  Good think I could never run out of things to clean. Awesome.  Bastard.

oh, and that...

Reading back, I realize I left out a lot of important info.

An omphalocele is when the abdominal organs are pushed up into the umbilical cord. Thus, the balloon. This needs surgery. That's my best case scenario. A baby who needs abdominal surgery. And possibly heart surgery, which often comes with omphaloceles.

And the doctor performed a CVS, which involved him punching me in the stomach with a big needle and then him pumping it back and forth to draw out pieces of placenta. That was actually the funnest part of the day.

Eating my words...

One full month after getting all hopeful and deciding that everything would be all right, I sat in a specialist's office in Westchester. He asked me what my blood type was. Interesting. It's B+. I get the universe's little funny message. Be Postive. What. Ever.

I made it to 12 weeks, tummy growing, hungry an awful lot. Pleased with myself. Then I went in for my 12 week first trimester screening. "Um, why is my baby holding a punching balloon?" I asked the sonogram technician. "Let's look around," she said. After getting a picture of the baby, and making measurements of the back of it's neck, she sent me down to the midwife. Before she ever said the word "Omphalocele" she had made me an appointment with a fetal-maternal specialist at Westchester Medical. Four agonizing days away. She didn't even tell me what that meant. I only walked out with the words omphalocele, N.T. of 2.1 and amnio in my head. My husband and I were stunned. I had a lot of Googling to do. Often, omphalocele's are met with chromosomal abnormalities. Of course they are.

My poor husband had to go back to Boston for work, so we had to wait for the appointment separately. That's an awful kind of torture, I promise you. But I distracted myself with some massive house cleaning, and my dear friend who came and slept over just so I wouldn't have to be alone. I love girlfriends.

I was sane by the time we got to the doctor, and then sat in a waiting room full of big fat pregnant ladies and lots of babies. Yet another kind of torture. This one reminiscent of the fertility days. If not for my husband's strength and my knitting bag, I would have run out immediately. My doctor resembled Captain Kangaroo minus 40 pounds and he was lovely and reassuring. He said that 2/3 of the time there's no abnormalities other than the physical ones. OK, I can live with that stat. But there are really some scary stats out there.

Supposed to get the call today, but still waiting.

Well, things do sure come and go quickly around here. I went for an 8 week sonogram and got the news I pretty much felt in my heart. I no longer have identical twins (and I really do feel ok about that) but I now have one heart beating strongly in me and some fin like appendages moving around. I really did have a feeling. Now that I have that answer, I actually feel like I have the pregnancy I'm supposed to have. I immediately felt the dread leave me, and I began to feel hopeful. My fear of miscarriage is almost gone, even though this is the point that my last baby stopped growing. God, I hope I don't have to eat my words, but I have a really good feeling about this baby. It measured 3 days ahead of my calendar day, it's heart was beating so strongly, and it was wriggling around strongly. So I guess I feel strongly. At least I'm trying to feel strongly.

I saw the little blob that was left of my other baby. It was exactly the same size it was 2 weeks ago. I got a chance to "say goodbye" to it. My hope it that the life that was there will strengthen the baby that is meant to be. I do feel sad for this baby that it won't ever get to know what belonged to it in the beginning of life. Boy or girl, it should have had a mirror image. That said, if I hadn't had that 6 week sonogram, I never would have known there was twins in the first place. does that make it better? Hell if I know. But I do know that I'm ok.

Well that's why!

Ok, I know I'm posting the second half of the story on the same day, but I had to break it up because it really is two different stories. Forgive me.

So, back I go for my scheduled first scan. This time I've brought reinforcements with me. I've got my "baby daddy" with me, and he's so clearly not a woman who's had a miscarriage. He's hopeful and excited, and the idea of disappointing that sweet face again is killing me. So, you know the drill, get naked from the waist down. Slide down. Open up. Slide down again. Just a little more. In goes the slippery cold wand. This is actually starting to be my favorite part of the whole deal. I just know it's going to go badly. I know it deep, deep, deep in my heart. There is no way I will see a heartbeat.

Up comes the picture. At first I see nothing. Empty black sack and my man's hopeful face that has no idea what he's looking at. Then she says, "I see a little heartbeat, right there." And well, if that stick wasn't propping me up, I'd have fallen right off the table. Seriously? A heartbeat? How could I have been so wrong. Oh, I wasn't wrong. I wouldn't see A heartbeat. I would see two. Seriously. Took her about ten seconds to find the other one. That's why I couldn't see one heartbeat in my mind's eye. There were two. Two. Now, if you're reading this, you probably know me. I ALREADY HAVE TWINS!!! I did this already! Apparently being forty upped my chanced of identical twins. And if there's even a small odd against something happening, you can bet I'll get it. So, a 12 year old daughter (who can't stand to look at babies and has threatened my life if I ever dare to have another) and 10 year old twin boys. Add 2, and you have 5 kids. That is just ridiculous.

And don't think Mr. Optimistic Baby Daddy didn't "I told you so" at least once.

So, first OB app't tomorrow, and I'm sure another scan to come soon. Stay tuned...

Oh the drama!

Ok, so it's almost a month later, and I'm still pregnant. I had a scare that send me to the OB, like a crazy lady, convinced I was having another miscarriage. I began spotting in the same way as last time. I was having nightmares. I just couldn't even imagine an active heartbeat growing in me. And one thing I've learned is that if I can't envision something in my imagination, it's most likely not going to happen. So I leave the kids at home alone, making up a story about needing to go help a friend with a flat tire. I go and wait for the ultrasound tech's last appointment. I sit through the previous app't coming out with her husband and parents, all aglee over the lovely baby growing in her. I hate her. I fake having to go to the bathroom twice just to not listen to them be so damned happy.

Finally, in I go. embarrassed from the waist down, I scootch down to the end and get molested by the internal wand. I'm almost in tears. So what does she see? I'm so positive she'll see a black empty sack I almost can't look. I"m so dramatic I'm annoying myself at this point, so I start making awkward and really not funny jokes. The technician is so darned sweet she pretends to laugh.

So what does she see? She sees the big dark empty sack. And a yolk sac. No heartbeat. But she says that I'm only measuring 5 weeks. Oh, that doesn't sound good. By the calendar, I'm 6 weeks; appropriate enough to see a heartbeat should there be one. But she says that for 5 weeks, you should only see a yolk sac, and no fetal pole. I didn't even know fetus' had poles. So I walk away with no answer except that I'm still momentarily pregnant. It's a whole week (or maybe a year) until my scheduled scan. Stay tuned.