Or whatever the blogging equivalent might be. (Back under the laptop?) I was seriously considering giving up on my brief venture into blogdom. See those two months between posts? That was me being a quitter. But my husband asked me to keep it up and, as it turns out, there is one other person who is interested in what I have to say (or she was nice enough to pretend like she was. I'm not the only one capable of smoke and mirrors, you know. Either way I appreciate it.) So here I am giving it another shot.
And you know what? It feels good. Since miscarrying, I do feel a bit of a responsibility to blog. Considering somewhere around one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage, you'd think the world wide web would be crawling with stories and advice about dealing with such a thing. But it's harder to come by than you might guess. Since I'm not smart enough to write a book, I'll just hope my itty-bitty blog might give someone, somewhere some kind of comfort. Or at the least, someone might enjoy correcting all my fragmented sentences and overzealous punctuation.
So I'm back to blogging and I also happen to be back to being pregnant. We waited the recommended two cycles, hoping to be pregnant in May. And here we are. It's May and I'm pregnant. Apparently, getting pregnant (or falling pregnant as they say in Australia -- and really isn't that more appropriate?) is not our problem. For that, I am grateful. Pregnancy is a totally different experience this time around. There are many of the same emotions. Some new ones, too. Like the first time, we are excited, but now terribly paranoid. We are in love, but trying to stay detached. We are hopeful, but trying not to get our hopes up. You might wonder how that works. It doesn't, really. You can't be both in the same moment. It's a see-sawing motion, back and forth. A constant up and down. It's the most exciting and most terrifying place to find yourself. Because we can't see any other way, we're taking it a day at a time. One appointment at a time. And we don't expect to feel at ease until there's a real, live baby in our arms. (Here, I'm sure you who are already parents are thinking, "Feeling at ease? Having that baby is precisely when the REAL worries set in!" Well, okay. I'll blog about that when I get to it.)
So far, things are looking good for this pregnancy. I had blood drawn the first day I had a positive pregnancy test and then 72 hours later. My HCG (that's the "pregnancy" hormone for any of you unfamiliar with all of the chemicals and processes involved in conception -- the one detected when you pee on a stick) rose dramatically from 97 to 454. My progesterone level went from 16.52 to 20.66. These are good things. As we had no bloodwork the first time around, we have nothing by which to compare. But by themselves these levels give no cause for concern. I will return tomorrow, a week from the last blood draw, to be tested again. Cross your fingers that we will continue to see upward movement. (And that I don't get pulled over for speeding or a broken tail light. The nice officer might confuse me for an intravenous drug user, thanks to all the sticks and subsequent bruising.)
A few weeks from now it's time for an ultrasound. If the results aren't positive I doubt I'll be able to step foot in that place again. Really, the first time was bad enough. For those of you who have never been there, allow me to explain. It goes a little something like this...
First of all, your bladder must be full in order to have a successful ultrasound at an early date. And I mean Full, with a capital F. So you arrive and you are already in pain. Then they make you wait. Forty minutes with a bladder past capacity. By the time you are called back, you almost don't care what they see as long as you can hurry up and empty your aching bladder. Almost. So the friendly tech chats while she gets everything set up. You tell her you have just begun spotting. Everyone says that it happens sometimes to some women early in pregnancy. That it's not worrisome. But you want to be sure. That's why you are here. And then she falls heartbreakingly silent. You're ten weeks pregnant -- there should be a recognizable baby shape on the screen. There should be a flickering heart. But there's not. There's just a grey, shapeless mass. Under which the tech types "gestational sack?" At that point she leaves the room. She hasn't said one word. Except, "You can get dressed now." She is gone just long enough for you to pull on your pants and look at your husband and say, "There is no baby." You marvel that you could say that precise combination of words without faltering. Without tears. When she returns, she can't look you in the eye and she tells you that your doctor will call you with more information. But you already know everything you need to know. In the car your husband says, "Maybe the baby was just being shy. Maybe the tech just didn't do it right." "No," you say. You love him for his optimism. For his wanting to protect you. But you have to repeat the truth. The words that the trained professional couldn't manage. "There is no baby." He is sweet and sad. So sweet and sad. And at that moment you are struck by how much you wanted to have his baby. And that you aren't.
That's far from the end, but I'll stop there for now. You probably understand now why going back there might smart a little. But I imagine that the alternate ending (wouldn't it be lovely if, like those stories from grade school, you could choose your own ending? Mine would always involve babies. And potato chips. And pretty shoes.), the ending I was hoping for the last time, the ending that I'm hoping for this time will go a good way in healing what hurts. Though I admit I'll never totally forgive that building. And I'll never be completely over that loss. One baby can't replace another. But it can (and does and will) get a little farther away and hurt just a little less. And ok, maybe we get sad news again. I guess it's a risk we're willing to take. But maybe, just maybe, this time we'll see that little heart flutter.
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