Straits of Hell

Last post

2007-07-18T12:35:00.000-07:00

I'm still in hell, but no longer in the absolute straits.

The nine week ultrasound went well, so I'm having a "normal" pregnancy, as far as we know right now (short of any genetic test results).

So I'm coming out of the gestational closet.

Nervewracked

2007-07-16T04:20:00.000-07:00

It's just so nervewracking.

On Saturday, I would have been 8w3d -- the anniversary of the last baby's in utero death.

It's Monday morning and it's 4am and I am waking up NOT nauseated. What the hell is this? Has the baby died? Every night this past week, I've woken up in the middle of the night feeling like absolute shit. Now, I don't feel sick, I can walk around my house upright instead of hunched over, and to top it off, I have some neat lower abdominal cramps to consider. Is this IT?

I don't have an ultrasound scheduled until Wednesday. Wednesday is a significant day because it would be (should the baby still be alive) the beginning of the mythical Week 9. Dr. W. says that if we can just make it to Week 9, then we should all be able to breathe more easily. But as it is, we're just at the beginning of 8w5d (hypothetically), with more than two days to go before that ultrasound.

And just in case I should ever "relax" about this pregnancy, I have the horrible realization that I felt sick throughout my last pregnancy, even after the baby had died. Now I'm wondering, in a brief trip toward "vaguely reassuring" if that might have been an effect of the progesterone supplements. Perhaps they made me sicker than I would have been?

I can't remember when/if I stopped taking those progesterone supplements during that pregnancy. If I didn't stop taking them, then perhaps that explains why I had nausea the entire time.

I think about my friend A., who is also pregnant now. She accidentally skipped a dose of her progesterone supplements and she felt GREAT.

Oh, here comes a wave of nausea. Meaningless, but reassuring in its own way.

Well, this is the week we find out. This is the week that the baby either is found to be gone, or that we are reclassified as a "normal" pregnancy rather than a "high-risk" pregnancy.

Oh, to make the days fly by between now and then!

Cursed

2007-07-11T08:48:00.000-07:00

Lately I feel like Sleeping Beauty's dad.

Remember how, at her baptism, the evil witch Maleficent curses her, that "on her 16th birthday, she will prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel... AND DIE!"

Although a good fairy works to alter the spell, such that she'll only sleep, not die, her parents are mortified by this curse, and they wonder what they can do to reverse it.

Her dad then orders for every spinning wheel in the land to be BURNED in a big bonfire. His logic is adequate -- if there are no spinning wheels available, then his beautiful daughter can't possibly prick her finger on one! Right? Right???

I'm the same way. Basically, either my new in-utero-child is cursed by Maleficent, or he's not. He's either suitable for life outside the womb, or he's not. But that doesn't stop me from trying everything in my Muggle-like power to keep him alive.

For example, white underwear. EVERYONE knows that if you put on white underwear, you're just asking to get your period. So I'm wearing dark underwear with a pantyliner every single day. If I never wear white underwear, then I can't start bleeding, yes?

And I do this with 1,000 things. I am not telling anyone I'm pregnant, just in case the volume of people's expectations might do something to keep this embryo down. I'm not even looking at infant clothing (or infants, if I can help it), so that I don't burden him with expectations of my own.

I'm not pulling out my maternity clothes. None of my normal pants fit me anymore, but I'll be damned if I'm going to unload those boxes in the pursuit of something comfortable to wear. That's a sure way to sign up for another miscarriage, right? So I'm wearing long sweaters draped over my open flies.

I'm not thinking about birth or nursing or all of those things that I enjoyed contemplating when I was pregnant with Chebbles. I just think, OK, if he shows up, he shows up. I don't have anything new to learn on the subject of newborns, so let's not run around assuming that I'll ever have one again.

It's so damn TRICKY, being at this perilous eight-week mark. It's just long enough to start potentially anticipating a baby, but not long enough to be out of the "danger zone."

Is the baby cursed by Maleficent? JUST IN CASE, you won't find me planning for other alternatives.

D-Day approaches

2007-07-11T08:41:00.001-07:00

I have to keep reminding myself that we are NOT there yet. One can have a hearbeat one day, and NOT have one the next day, particularly if one is an 8-week-old embryo.

I find myself having dreams about baby names ("Sierra???") and accidentally figuring out the logistics ("After the baby is born...")

Therein lies DANGEROUS thinking. It is so perilous to go down those roads, because you have to walk BACK UP them once you find out that the baby has died, and you will be lying there in the surgical center thinking, "No, this child will not need a name," and "Are we ever going to conceive a normal baby?"

Yes, if you go down those fun roads of thought, anticipating a real baby at the end of a pregnancy, you have to walk BACK UPHILL and it's a horrible trudge. It's lonely and shitty and I don't want to do it again.

So every time I see myself blithely start down a path of excitement or anticipation, I yank myself back up. No! Do NOT be happy about this pregnancy, because the last baby died at 8w3d or thereabouts, and we aren't even past that point yet!

Today, if the baby is still alive, it's 8 weeks. So Saturday is "D-Day," kind of -- the anniversary of it's sister's death.

The doctor said that sometimes a baby who is going to die in utero will still have a heartbeat for awhile, but it will stop growing once it begins to die. It's kind of like patients on life support, I guess. Once you unplug all of the machines, the heart can keep beating for a good long time. It's just in the habit, I guess.

So even if we have a heartbeat, the trick is to see growth too. You've got to see that kid getting bigger and bigger, or else it's time to prepare yourself for its demise. So the heartbeat isn't my major concern anymore -- once we see it, we then have to measure the embryo and make sure it GREW. And if it doesn't, well, then it's just the wait for it to die, or to hope for a miracle? Ugh, pathetic. I don't want that to happen.

Can we fast-forward time, please, and tell me what happens on the other end?

Good ultrasound

2007-07-10T06:30:00.001-07:00

I don't want to think about it.

Yesterday's ultrasound indicated that the baby's heart was still beating, and he was still growing. But it's only at 7w5d. I keep accidentally getting excited, almost like the old guy at the beginning of "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," who has been put in a wheelbarrow as a dead victim of The Plague... the baby's looking out at me and saying with a Cockney accent, "But I'm not dead yet!"

YET. YET. YET. The last pregnancy ended at 8w3d, only to be discovered as such at 10w3d. So why in the HELL am I getting excited? These are the killing times! These are the danger times! This is the week of DOOM, and yet I sit here looking out the window, thinking about its darling little body and thrumming little heart.

Mystery cramps

2007-07-08T04:34:00.000-07:00

I don't think I can stand it anymore. It's Sunday morning at 4:35am, and my next ultrasound isn't until Monday at 3:30pm. The last ultrasound was on Tuesday and I can't help but interpret every small symptom as the end of this pregnancy.

I keep thinking about it, what my blog entry would be ("Strike Three") and how I'd have to get a D&C at the faraway hospital where my OB-GYN has privileges. Or maybe he'll say I shouldn't have a D&C because the pregnancy is still too early, and I'll have to wait it out until I lose it naturally.

Welcome to my HELL!! I just felt so foolish after the last pregnancy -- the baby had been dead for two weeks and I just didn't pick up on it. How could I have not known something that terrible had happened in my own uterus? And there were only the vaguest signs, in retrospect, that something had happened.

But the thing is, I threw up until the very last day. The day before the Ultrasound of Doom, I was vomiting into a gas station toilet near the Pittsburgh Airport, feeling the lowest of low. How could I have known that it was the placenta responsible for the continuation of the pregnancy hormones, not an actual, live, in utero baby. That baby had given up the ghost two weeks before and given no noticeable indication of its departure.

So when I feel sick now, it is absolutely no consolation. I don't think, "Well gee, I'm SO SICK, there is no way I could have lost this baby." No, I think, "I could be vomiting for no good reason."

Worse yet are the times that I don't feel sick. That was the only small indicator that something had gone wrong with my last pregnancy. I felt less sick. I was still sick, but something had taken the edge off. I attributed it to my having taken Robitussin DM -- it must have kept the excess mucus at bay, allowing me some good mornings.

Basically, last time I lost a baby, the only indication was that I didn't feel quite so sick anymore. I was still very sick, and holed up on the sofa, craving and barfing and sleeping. But I was ever-so-slightly less so.

Talk about a recipe for paranoia! Now that I'm almost 8 weeks pregnant, and the last baby died in the 8th week, I am feeling powerless to determine whether this pregnancy is continuing. My only true indication of a continuing pregnancy is watching a hearbeat on an ultrasound machine. That's it. And I won't have that luxury for another day and a half.

I woke up in the middle of the night tonight with cramps. They seemed to be rhythmic, these cramps, not digestive but menstrual in nature. So of course that ended my night of sleep. Perhaps I could have continued sleeping under normal circumstances, but my mind went crazy when I felt those cramps. Is this it?

Is it any consolation for me to look at the statistics, that 1 in 3 pregnancies end in miscarriage, so I'm now "due" for a healthy pregnancy? Or that even when a woman has recurrent miscarriages, her chances of another healthy pregnancy are still about 66%?

No, those numbers are not nearly high enough -- even if I knew my chances were 90%, I would still be dwelling in the straits of hell.

So, as I sit here cramping (was it the minstrone soup I ate yesterday? or my body expelling a deceased embryo???), perhaps I will find some consolation in the worst case scenario? Perhaps by embracing the potential bad outcome, I can live through the next day and a half?

So, if I miscarry...

I will have my energy back within a week. I will be able to do all the fun summertime activities I wanted to do with Chebbles. I can reclaim my ramshackle house and re-organize it to my specifications. I can lose all of these pregnancy hormones that are making me aggressive and impatient. I can stand for long amounts of time.

I get to go to a nice hotel with Hub-D, and probably Chebbles and my mom. He has very nicely acquiesced to this "consolation prize," so that I might fantasize about it. I will frolic on the beach at this hotel and drink wine at night with my husband and chat about the future.

I should also admit that I will be in a dead reproductive panic if I lose a third pregnancy in a row. I have a friend who lost four pregnancies in a row after having two healthy kids -- so it happens, and it kind of ends your reproductive career, particularly if it's a damn mystery as to why you're losing the babies.

Then again, my OB said that some couples just have to roll the dice more than other couples -- "rolling the dice" meaning get pregnancy several times before producing an actual baby. So we just might be people that have to roll the dice more often.

It just sucks that rolling the dice for me means losing my mind. It means obsessing over my fertility cycle, bullying my husband into uterine servitude and feeling LOW when I get my period. THEN when I finally do get pregnant, after the initial five minutes of celebration, I hunker down immediately into war mode... I am at war with my own expectations and love for this potential child. I bleed excessively, even when I'm not miscarrying, so I'm in a perpetual state of thinking I'm miscarrying due to the blood in my underwear.

Then there is the nausea. It can be very strong, like with my pregnancy with Chebbles and my December pregnancy, or it can be a lighter but still overpowering, as with this pregnancy. I have a little more than a month of worrying my ass off, cordoning myself off in my house and limiting all of my activities. And at any time, I could lose the baby and not know it.

The trick, according to my OB, is making it to the magical 9 weeks. Every so often, with this pregnancy, I fantasize that we WILL get there -- that I will still be pregnant with a live embryo at 9 weeks, and we can turn the corner to a more optimistic outlook for this pregnancy.

But then I get mad at myself for having a feeling like that. Optimism is the pathway to extreme heartbreak -- I know it sounds negative and terrible and possibly unloving, but I'm speaking from experience here -- there is no reason to count on a pregnancy until it's at 9 weeks. Until then it's a source of potential future joy, but something to be dismissed and denied until it's a "fact."

Two weeks to go

2007-07-04T07:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had another ultrasound, which indicated that this embryo still has a heartbeat, but I'm not impressed. It's hard for me to be impressed with a 7 week old embryo that has a hearbeat, because I've seen a heartbeat then before, then it stopped and I had to have a D&C to remove the embryo from my body.

The best guess, last time, is that the baby died at 8.5 weeks. Now I'd like to know these things more precisely... was it eight weeks five days? Eight weeks and three-and-a-half days? So today I'm at about 7w2d, give or take a few days one way or another.

So these are the straits of hell. This is the two weeks wait. Dr. W said that we can be more confident about this pregnancy, and treat it as a "normal pregnancy" once we hit the 9 week mark. It would be a great thing for us to still have a heartbeat then, but I just can't look forward to that eventuality. I am safest assuming that something will go wrong.

When we went in for that fateful checkup last December, I didn't have any inkling that something could be wrong. I was still throwing up every day -- I had felt a *little* better, but there was still the barf and the fatigue. As it turns out, my body was still interacting with the placenta, which was working its ass off to nurture a baby who had died. Dumb placenta!

Well, I'm being a little harsh with the placenta here. It was probably the best thing that it kept doing its job. It made me know that I did everything I could to keep that baby alive, and the fact I didn't miscarry before then meant that we could test the dead embryo's tissue and discover that it was a "normal" girl.

I've learned more in the last few weeks about what that "normal" diagnosis means, by the way. I asked the doctor (practically with my worried hands around his neck) what the heck might have killed the last baby. Now that I'm pregnant with another one, it is absolutely essential that someone explain this to me better than, "We don't know."

Thank goodness he had a better answer for me. He explained that the only thing that can kill a baby before 9 weeks is a genetic defect -- an assembly of DNA that is not compatible with life. So, what of the "normal" diagnosis? Get this... when a lab tests the tissue of a deceased embryo, they are simply counting chromosomes. That's it. They add them all up, and if they get the "normal" number, then they declare it normal.

This does not mean that the child is genetically normal -- it just means that the number of chromosomes is correct. The chromosomes can do a lot of things to screw it up from there. They can be half-assed, not doing their job, not connecting right, split apart. Basically, they can pull all kind of tricks, particularly when these chromosomes are issuing from people in their mid-30's and older. And the lab can't test for these things yet. All they can do at this point is count.

So how will I spend the next two weeks? How can I avoid being subsumed by worry? I can't. I can write about it here, and I can do my best to "escape" from these straits of hell. I can think about the things I can do if/when I lose another baby (wine, running, eating, cleaning, clothing, hormonal normalcy) and I can just try not to think about it. It's hard not to think about it when you're feeling so nauseated and tired, but that's what I have to do or else I'm going to lose my mind.

YOU ARE ALONE

2007-06-30T07:11:00.000-07:00

At about one o'clock in the morning, that statement pounded through my head, "YOU ARE ALONE." I instantly associated it with my pregnancy, as in, I am alone in my body now. Had the baby died? Impossible to tell. Ultrasound on Tuesday morning at 10:15am.

The sheer terror that dominates every day is sometimes too difficult to withstand. Although I haven't calculated exactly, and Dr. W's measurements have been inconsistent (he says it's because it's tough to consistently measure an embryo this small), I think I'm at about seven weeks, with at least two weeks of this hell of uncertaintly.

I find solace in not telling people. Everyone is on a need-to-know basis, and the more I forget that I'm pregnant, the happier I am. But then again, I'm in a constant state of checking myself for symptoms -- the emergence or subsidence thereof. And although the bleeding has abated, I still check several times a day, just to make sure.

The vexing thing is that with my last pregnancy, I had nausea, a heartbeat at seven weeks, all of the symptoms, no indication of anything, then it died at 8.5 weeks, only to be discovered at 10.5 weeks. It was this mysterious event that happened within my body and was completely out of my control, and escaped my notice entirely, as I continued vomiting throughout the time after the baby died.

So of course I'm extremely paranoid. And a voice like that in the middle of the night is enough to send me into spasms of fear. I didn't sleep for most of the night, wondering, wondering, did it die? Do I need to have another D&C?

And the oddest thing is that I'm comfortable here. This land of fear, dread, and a terrible certainty that my newest baby has died -- is familiar. And it's safe. It's much safer to live in a land of unfettered skepticism and to be shocked by good news, rather than allow a kind of effervescent optimism, which forever threatens to bring me up into the highly dangerous land of hope, to take over.

If I can just make it to Tuesday morning, skittering along in my pessimistic state, dulling my senses and ignoring my own body as much as possible, then maybe I'll be OK. As for the baby, well, perhaps I am "alone" now, which would really make me sad.

Thank God for Princey

2007-06-28T07:09:00.000-07:00

We have three cats.

(1) Stanley, the old three-legged tabby who has all but moved in with the neighbors because toddlers piss him off.
(2) Otto, our chubby tuxedo cat, a majestic mama's boy
and
(3) Prince, Otto's identical twin, a wanderer and serial killer

Prince has turned over a new leaf, though, as I've weathered this pregnancy drama. He is suddenly my shadow. He sleeps on the bed with me all night long. He's on my lap as I type this -- very unlike him. This has always been Otto's position, but Prince seems to have adopted me in my time of need.

My grief counselor told me that cats seems to know that women are pregnant before they even know. You could chalk this up to some superior cat intelligence or intuition, but I think it's the heat. Pregnant ladies are simply the hottest people in the house, and cats gravitate to them like iguanas to heated rocks.

But I want to give Prince more credit than that. He's been a stalwart champ through all of my coughing and moaning and bad feelings, and he also makes me feel better. When I'm petting Prince, I forget that I may be on the brink of miscarriage. I'm just a very important person in this cat's life, and would I PLEASE continue scratching the back of his neck?

It's come to the point that when I'm having an anxiety attack, I seek him out. I call to him from our porches and I rejoice when I see him saunter up. He lets me lift him up and maul him. Chebbles also mauls him, as gently as she can, and he tolerates her ministrations like a champ.

Since he has become the Minister of Affection in the house, he has not killed one bird, rat or mole (to our knowledge). He no longer wanders all night long, coming home smelling of other women's perfume and/or covered with burrs.

He is suddenly my very best friend.

Now, I wonder if the OB will let me bring him to the ultrasound?

I hope I'm wrong

2007-06-27T07:07:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning I go in for another ultrasound, and I'm very afraid that this will be the Ultrasound of Doom.

This is because my symptoms have stopped. I am no longer nauseated and tired, but fairly chipper, eating like a horse, and taking an interest in the cleanliness of my home. Those three attributes have never coincided with a pregnancy for me before.

To be fair, I'm not completely without a tiny bit of nausea, but I'm used to crippling attacks. My theory is that the baby died shortly after my Monday ultrasound, as that is when I started feeling mysteriously so much better. I saw the big single-chambered heart and then it gave up the ghost.

I hope I'm wrong. I really do, but as much as it's possible, I've reconciled myself to either outcome. Either the baby is still alive and I have two more long weeks of agonizing through until we're "safe," or the baby is not still alive and I will endeavor to end the remaining "pregnancy" as fast as possible, so I can start cycling and "throw the dice" another time.

It's just a terrible world to live in, checking myself for pregnancy symptoms that aren't cropping up. At least the spotting has slowed down, but it did that when the other baby died as well, so that does nothing to assuage my fears. As I type this, I am feeling increasingly nauseated, but that's just nerves. It is absolutely nothing like the real morning sickness I felt with my pregnancy with Chebbles and my December pregnancy.

I had a conversation with myself in the mirror this evening, which I found oddly comforting:

Me: So am I OK?

Me: Yes.

Me: Am I going to get everything I want in life? (meaning more children)

Me: No.

Me: Am I still going to lead a happy life?

Me: Yes.

It was nice to release myself from this harsh obligation -- the obligation to gestate another child into the world. If this is gestational Strike Three, then one wonders if Strike Four can't be far behind. Perhaps we've got some DNA wires permanently crossed now. We have a friend who suffered her fourth miscarriage last year, and now they're headed down the adoption route.

So anyway, it's not unheard of, to have a bazillion miscarriages for no apparent reason. And it's not unheard of to raise a happy, only child.

Tomorrow morning's ultrasound will reveal to me whether it's possible for me to be pregnant and not vomiting all of the time, or if this cessation of symptoms is always indicative of embryo loss for me. I was feeling pretty darn sick over the weekend and throughout Monday, but then I started feeling GREAT. Too great.

I talked to the nurse today, and she told me not to worry, that I was under no obligation to be sick every day of my pregnancy. But I know my body. When it's pregnant, it wants to vomit all of the time. It manufactures gallons of extra mucus and I spew it every morning. Sorry that's so gross, but that's precisely what my body does when it's pregnant.

And now? I'm happily cooking and cleaning and dancing around with Chebbles. So it doesn't feel like a pregnancy at all. It feels like an ended pregnancy, which blows. Don't get me wrong, it blows a LOT. But I feel a kind of (denial?) peace about the whole situation.

I haven't ever really believed in this pregnancy. Despite that heartbeat at Monday's ultrasound, I've kept the whole thing at bay. It's as though I've kept this tiny flicker of hope hidden amidst a massive ball of skepticism. And when the flame goes out, I won't be shocked as I've been before. I'll be mad and disappointed, but I won't be shocked. It will be sad, it will be another loss. It will be another calendar minefield, whereas certain dates will pop up forever, reminding me of another pregnancy that didn't result in a live child. But I feel more "in control" of this loss.

And as I write that, I think, why am I considering this loss a forgone conclusion? To protect myself. That's the only reason -- to protect myself from the massive waves of pain that will result. I'll still feel them, but I can at least remove the "shock" element from the situation.

This way, if by some miracle there is still a heartbeat (and if there is, I still have two more weeks of holding my breath before it's a "real" pregnancy), it will be a big, unexpected prize. And if there is no heartbeat, just a little floater in there, waiting for permission from his mama to leave her body, well I can be just as sad as I thought I would be, which is a lot.

If the spotting would just stop

2007-06-26T07:06:00.000-07:00

If the spotting would just stop, I could feel better about this pregnancy. And if the nausea would be more reliable, and if I had an ultrasound machine next to my bed.

I am not sure how I should best weather these times between ultrasounds, and the time until mid-July, by which, if I'm still pregnant, we would have a much better chance of a successful pregnancy.

Inside me, if he's still there, he's developing a four-chambered heart, which is even more complicated than it sounds. That's how his sister tripped up last December, the miscarriage I had then. That baby's particular chromosomes just didn't push past the four-chambered heart hurdle. She had a heartbeat at seven weeks, but that was a single-chambered heart. As she endeavored to add the three extra chambers, the renovation just did her in.

So I'm hoping that this baby fords through and develops chambers like a champ. Because if he doesn't, I'll be laid up at Alta Bates Hospital surgical center, getting another dreary D&C. No thanks!

Still no symptoms

2007-06-20T07:04:00.000-07:00

I'm going crazy, what with the lack of symptoms. C'mon folks, lay some symptoms on me so I can know this is a potentially "real" pregnancy.

And I have that same feeling I had last time, which is, if this pregnancy is NOT going to continue for some reason, I wish it would just end now, before I become even more attached to the idea of it, and it would give us more time to conceive another baby before I turn 40. Just shit or get off the pot, pregnancies. Honestly.

If for some reason this pregnancy doesn't work out, I feel like I want to do IVF with PGD for the next one, since presumably, we're conceiving children wtih genetic defects that result in miscarriage. And I don't want to do that route. No, I want this pregnancy to work out.

I talked with an acupuncturist this morning and she pissed me off. I had called her a week ago to schedule an appointment, and she's been calling back relentlessly. I haven't called her back because I'm experiencing what feels like an exceedingly precarious pregnancy, and I no longer need any fertility treatments, at least for the time being.

And she was very unhelpful, as she recommended I use Chinese medicine to get this pregnancy to continue. Her insinuation was that if I don't use Chinese medicine, I'm not giving this baby every chance I can. I mean, for Christ's sake, lady, you've clearly never had a miscarriage.

I don't know what to do. When I take a walk, I feel better, my head is cleared, but then the asinine acupuncturist told me that the best thing I can do is get as much rest as possible throughout my first trimester. I didn't even bother telling her I have a toddler. What was the point? Caring for Chebbles and "getting rest" are not commensurate activities.

OK, I'm off to Google Chinese medicine and miscarriage.

No symptoms

2007-06-19T07:02:00.000-07:00

I am starting to fret big-time over my lack of symptoms. I don't feel remotely pregnant. Not that having symptoms helped my last pregnancy, it would just be reassuring right now, so I know I'm not having another "chemical" pregnancy.

It's also interesting how no one says "congratulations" yet. I don't want anyone to say congratulations, so it's a nice confluence of events.

Yesterday I had some dark bleeding while The Chebs and I were at Gymboree. A moment after I discovered it, a lady started banging on the door because her son was about to pee his pants. I'm still pretty mad at her, and am making a mental note never to bang on a bathroom door, because you don't know if there is a lady in there who has suffered two miscarriages and took six months to get pregnant again discovering dark blood in her underwear.

Anyway, I called our new OB-GYN, Dr. W., and his office was so incredible, so adept at handling my nervousness. They fit me in RIGHT AWAY, and I chucked Chebbles in the car ("Say goodbye to Gymboree! RIGHT NOW.") and drove down there as carefully as I could. Chebbles sat on my lap while he administered an ultrasound. At first she was excited because she saw the ultrasound monitor and said, "Thomas!", thinking we were going to watch some Thomas the Tank Engine videos.

I told her that no, we were going to look at some pictures live from Mama's popo. That was pretty exciting too. And the most exciting part was that the gestational sac was sitting in the right place, and it even seemed to have a speck inside of it, a little embryo speck.

So all good news for now, but I would like to have some reassuring symptoms, please.

Fantasy Pregnancy

2007-06-19T06:59:00.000-07:00

One piece of advice I've read is that women who are experiencing high anxiety pregnancies should map out their dream pregnancy -- what would be the best possible experience?

Well, I'll tell you.

First, I'll go to tomorrow's ultrasound, and the doctor will exclaim with delight as she sees either one perfectly formed gestational sac in there, or maybe even twins!

They will test my beta numbers, and they will be sky high, dividing like crazy.

I will be having one boy or twin boys, because, in this fantasy, I do not become nauseated when I am pregnant with boys. And Hub-D will have his wee football playerI may be a little tired, but otherwise I'll feel OK, and Chebbles and I can keep up our active, fun life, and we can eat nutritious foods together and have some good laughs.

I will grow big and round, but not extremely rotund -- it will be manageable. And Hub-D will get me a $1000 gift certificate to a "Motherhood" store, where I will go positively insane buying fun new maternity outfits, because, after all, I'm pregnant in different seasons than I was with Chebbles.

They will do the nuchal fold test on the earliest day possible, and it will be conclusively negative for any signs of Down's. Then I will be treated to weekly ultrasounds, up to and through the day we conclusively find out the gender(s), and I will feel the baby (or babies) kicking like crazy all of the time, which will be fun and reassuring.

Chebbles will get more excited about having a baby brother or sister, and we'll talk about it all of the time. She and Hub-D will delight in feeling the little kicks emanating from my belly.

I will go into labor naturally and on my due date, and it will be so surprisingly quick! Any child who issues forth from my body will score a solid TEN on the Apgar test, and did I mention they'll come out laughing?

I'll stay in the hospital as long as I'm allowed, stretching it until the last possible second, then we'll all drive home together, clucking and cooing to the latest Music Together CD.

Oh, and THEN I get pregnant shortly thereafter, with an even EASIER pregnancy, just so you know.

Will you dance?

2007-06-18T06:55:00.000-07:00

It's a comfort to know that so many other women who have experienced miscarriages also experience this sky-high level of anxiety surrounding a subsequent pregnancy.

I found this article about this peculiar anxiety, and it made me feel somewhat better.

So I'm not the only woman who interprets every tiny twinge of her body as a potential miscarriage. I'm not the only one who runs to the bathroom with such regularity, certain of seeing the telltale "red streak."

I bet I get double anxiety points because I had two distinct miscarriages following the birth of Chebbles. The first was my "chemical pregnancy," at 5w3d, the second was my mysterious "normal girl" who died at 8w3d, and was discovered as such at a nighmarish 10w3d.

So when can I relax?

Probably never. OK.

So instead, I secretly cherish the joy of this pregnancy. I haven't told a soul, other than our doctor, my grief counselor, and Hub-D. And I spend a lot of time pretending I'm not pregnant. I'm happiest that way -- where I have the vague sense that I'm happy about something, but I don't really FOCUS on it.

It's like in middle school, when the boy I had a crush on would enter the room -- I could feel his presence, and I followed him in my peripheral vision, all the while pretending that I didn't care. That's precisely what I'm doing now. I'm thrilled that my new baby is "in the room," but I'm not giving this pregnancy the focus I have with the others.

If it wants to continue, and turn into a big, whole baby, I will love him or her for the rest of my life with every cell in my being. And if it wants to quit this whole business early, clocking out at 5w3d, 8w3d, or whenever -- I'll still love it for the rest of my life.

I just want to protect myself from the massive heartbreak I experienced.

I had dedicated my whole life to caring for that last pregnancy, ignoring my extant child, letting everything in my life go absolutely to hell while I obsessed over every aspect of that particular pregnancy after miscarriage. And it didn't help. The baby still died.

So for now, we're just going to mind our own business as much as possible, this new baby and I. He or she will continue to divide its darling little cells, and I'll continue to goof off with Chebbles and grocery shop and kind of let the new baby do whatever it wants.

So, the truth be told, in middle school, when I was ignoring that boy I liked so much, I wanted nothing more than for him to come up to me, hug me tight and kiss me full on the lips, then probably drop to one knee and ask me to marry him. Then maybe he would lift me up and carry me out of the room like Richard Gere in "An Officer And A Gentleman."

The same goes for this new baby. I want this child to grow massive like his/her sister did, then soldier through birth along with me, slipping straight out of me in one great push. Then the child will grow tall and funny like his/her parents. And one day, in middle school, they will approach the person on whom they have a crush, and ask that person to dance.

The Day After

2007-06-18T06:53:00.000-07:00

I found out I was pregnant yesterday, or rather, I am pregnant as of this moment. This is one of he most nervewracking experiences of my life.

In my calmer moments, I'm thinking of this time as a seven week course in patience and fortitude. I'm learning that I don't have control of this situation, and if I can just make it to twelve weeks with a normal pregnancy, I will have passed the course.

In my less calm moments, I think, "AAAH! My body is out of my control! Am I bleeding? Am I bleeding? Am I bleeding? What was that? Was that a cramp? That was definitely a cramp. Am I bleeding with cramps? Is this the end? Will all of my pregnancies end in miscarriage? What's wrong with me? "

I worry that I have too much energy. I don't really feel nauseated or tired or any of the symptoms I experienced with my pregnancy with Chebbles at this point, I think? No wait, I remember bragging at the outset that I didn't feel nauseated with her, which I paid for (in SPADES) later. But one thing that distinguished my June miscarriage was that I never felt pregnant, never felt exhausted, and, in fact, had a strange burst of energy.

So yesterday, when I was horsing around with Chebbles, she was shrieking with laughter and we were having this nice moment in the backyard when I stopped, and seized up with paralyzed worry... Oh Christ, I thought, I am not acting pregnant right now.

My pregnancy with Chebbles and my December pregnancy (the second miscarriage, with the D&C at 10.5 weeks) were notable by how awful they made me feel. They both ruined separate Christmasses because I was so wrought with barfing, nausea and exhaustion. My house turned into a junk pit and I was attached to the sofa the entire time. During my December pregnancy, I spent the whole time begging people to take my child elsewhere so I could marinate in the awful pregnancy in peace.

I had a terrible time grocery shopping during those pregnancies -- the grocery store devolved into a panoply of disgusting odors. Even shopping ONLINE grossed me out -- just the suggestion of all of those various foods skeeved me to the core.

But I'm OK so far with this pregnancy, which is yet another things to worry about.

I try to be happy about the pregnancy, and I am. We tried for six months to get pregnant, and I was worried that we wouldn't even have a pregnancy to lose this time around. So we are pregnant, and it feels good so far -- I feel like there really is a child on his way to us. But it also feels terrifying from moment to moment. If I lose this one, I turn into a three-time loser, and I will be even more bitter and bereft.

Stick around, kid. Stay in there, grow strong and hearty and join your sister, who is now rolling around in her crib, waiting to be joined in her merriment. You're going to like her, too. I want to meet you, baby, stay put, be healthy, and don't you dare come out until you're fully baked.