pixi.bits

miscarriage #3

After a 7 month break from TTC, this past June I felt ready to try again. It happened suddenly, and I can't really say why. But, the baby urges had come back, and come back strong.

My doctor offered to connect me with a specialist this time around, but I didn't feel the need. My two miscarriages were explained and unrelated, and there was no real reason to think that either problem would happen again. So, I was happy to go with the assumption that it was double bad luck, and that everything could be just fine this time around.

We got pregnant in July. I was so relieved, because the first time it took me 8 months, and I HATE TTC. The waiting, the hoping, the being disappointed...you all know. So, that was a relief, but of course the worry wasn't over.

They put me on progesterone and scheduled me for an ultrasound at 8 weeks LMP. I was actually  7 weeks and 6 days when I went in for the scan. Right away, the tech confirmed a pregnancy with a good heartbeat. She told me that it measured 7 weeks 2 days (flag).

When we were leaving the clinic, my husband started with the, "I saw that look, I can tell you're worried, you shouldn't worry, it doesn't help," bit. Of course, I bristled. When we got home I went straight to the internet and started Googling "small for dates." I found a number of sources that said that a 2-5 day variation on the measurements is normal. I felt a little better. At a later appointment with my OB, I mentioned it, and she didn't seem concerned. At that point, I pretty much let it go.

And then optimism started to creep in. I had never made it to nine weeks without bleeding. I bought a couple of unisex sleepers. I picked out a color (apple green) for the nursery. Everyday I followed the baby's virtual development on visembryo.com.

One Friday afternoon at 10 weeks LMP,  I sat on the toilet to pee. Everything seemed fine. There was no blood on my underwear or when I wiped, but for some reason, I decided to swab up inside a bit. And I found it--the tiniest trace of blood.

I called the nurse at my OB's office. She felt since it was just a speck of blood, I didn't need to go in right away, so she made me a Monday morning ultrasound appointment. She told me to monitor things, and if they got worse to call the emergency number for the practice.

We cancelled plans to go to Maine, so we could stay home and monitor. It's a good thing we did, because the bleeding steadily increased. I started to soak through pads and pass clots. And, just like the last  two times, I refused to accept the signs. I didn't want to give up hope. I wasn't experiencing any pain, so I hung on to the possibility that it might not be that serious.

Since I was feeling fine, we decided to wait for the appointment rather than go to the clinic over the weekend.  On Monday I had to be squeezed in, so I got a doctor that I didn't know. He started with an "over the belly" kind of u/s, and he looked for a total of about 2 seconds, if that. He seemed annoyed. He asked me, "has this pregnancy been confirmed with a blood test?" I didn't understand what he was getting at, so I said, "No, just an HPT." Next, he did an internal ultrasound, and he said, "No, there's nothing there." He asked me how far along I thought I was. I told him ten weeks, and then I told him about the other ultrasound with the heartbeat, etc. Then he he got it--he wasn't looking to confirm a new pregancy, he was looking to see if my 10 week old fetus had died. He was apologetic, and I could tell he felt bad for being terse. He was very kind after that, and I don't really fault him. Those places are like mills.

As an aside, though, there have been a number of times during this entire struggle that I've had to deal with clinic/hospital/insurance company staff who were brusque or impatient--often at times when I've felt most vulnerable. Some day I'll write a post about that.

If there was any good news in all of this, it was that I didn't need to have a D & E. According to the ultrasound, I was completely cleared out. No pain, no procedure. There's something to be said for that.

In September, my husband and I went  to see a specialist. So far I like him. All we did was talk for the entire appointment, and I felt that he really listened. I told him about my super shit luck theory, but he was skeptical. "Yes, but why so many times in a row?" he asked. Well, if I only knew! Anyway, he ordered some tests, but we both agreed that we didn't expect to turn up much. One of the tests is for clotting disorders, but I've already had some tests around that, and they have come back negative. They will also be looking for chromosomal issues in both me and my husband. But, since the amnio on the middle pregnancy came back normal, we're not expecting much from that either. It doesn't hurt to be sure though. So the doc says that if everything comes back "reasonable," then the plan would be to go forward with progesterone, baby aspirin, and very close monitoring. I liked the close monitoring part. I go crazy with all of the not knowing.

After my appointment, I went across the hall to have my blood drawn. While we were waiting, I told my husband that I was fine with trying again, but if I were to have another loss, at that point I would feel that  something really is wrong with me. My husband said that he wouldn't feel that way until we've tried two more times. I thought about it for a second, and said "OK, that sounds good." Not that I want to go through it two more times, but it felt really good to set that limit--to know when plan B, whatever it might be, comes into play.

So that's where we are. Our next appointment is on Oct. 25th, and we'll discuss all of the test results then. We're in a holding pattern until then.

a hiatus from TTC, or trying and failing at other things

At my follow-up appointment for miscarriage #2, my OB told me that they had detected some irregularity in my uterus while they were doing the D & E, possibly a septum or a fibroid. She said she'd like me to have an HSG done to check it out. Once they got the information from that, they could decide to what steps to take from there.

I was supposed to schedule the HSG for a certain week after my period returned. My period came back in December, but I didn't make the call. I think I skipped the next month, too. While the things they were looking for were potentially quite fixable, I just didn't feel like facing any more problems in that area. Fixable or otherwise. I just wasn't up for it.

Also with both pregnancies I had put on 10+ pounds (and was already a bit heavy at the start), and I managed to hang on to the weight. I was feeling fat and defective and generally miserable. I couldn't take it anymore, so I decided to seek radical change and go after a life-long dream.

I have a degree in fine art, and have managed to do art-related work for most of my career. I had always hoped, though, to one day go back to school for my Master of Fine Arts and become a professional artist/art professor. I had put the dream aside temporarily when babymaking became my primary focus.

Well, since that wasn't going well, and I really wasn't ready to get back into trying again, I decided that I would apply  for my MFA. I made this decision in mid November. Applications were due in mid January, but I figured I could do it--make the art, write personal statement, take the slides, get the recommendations--all of it in two months. And I did.

On the last weekend of February, my husband and I went to NYC to visit his brother and to see The Gates. I know folks out there have differing opinions on this exhibit, but my feeling is that whether it was good, bad, or ugly (and I saw all of these things at different times), it was a transformation of a space and an interesting experience. On Saturday we also went to the MOMA and I saw art that I had been looking at in books and online photos for years and years. I felt like it was the kick-off to my new art-immersed life.

The first rejection letter was waiting in my foyer when we got home from NY that night. I would have the remaining three by the end of March. Even the school that I really thought would come through--the one I have an M.Ed. from with a 3.8 average--didn't. Rejections across the board. I was incredibly disappointed, but even more so I was mortified. I have always identified so strongly with being an artist, and I felt that I was being told that I didn't cut it. I swore my husband to secrecy and didn't tell any one for about a month.

Looking back, I know that it was entirely unrealistic for me to try to pull something together in two months. MFA programs take a very limited number of applicants. Without an exhibition history and a highly developed body of work, it wasn't gonna happen. But I couldn't see that then. I was just grasping for something to pull me out of my miscarriage misery.

Some rather dark days followed. I became increasingly bitter and resentful. I hated being around mothers and pregnant people. I hated being around sucessful people. I hated being around thin people. I just wanted to stay home in my pajamas.

Still there were times that I tried to pull myself out of it and make positive changes.

I applied for two jobs.

I never heard back.

I went on a diet.

By June I was five pounds more than my highest pregnancy weight.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, I did go in for that HSG. Found out my tubes were clear (wasn't really a concern since I'd been pregnant 2x in the past year) and that "there's a shadow in the upper right of your uterus that might be a septum or a fibroid." Didn't we know that already???? Isn't that why I had to endure that crappy procedure to begin with???? Ugh. So they sent me for a 3-D ultrasound to figure it out. An ultrasound. Couldn't we have just skipped right to that?

Well, they determined that the shadow is from a fibroid on the top of my uterus. It does not interfere with the cavity, so it's not a source of concern. That was a huge relief. No procedure. No future complications. At least not from that.

By June, it had been seven months since my second miscarriage. For those months, I had put babymaking out of my mind. I was mired in too much shit to even consider it. Then for some reason, the old inklings came back. Almost like *that*, once again, I was all about becoming a mom.

Anyway, here's a piece from my portfolio. I do believe that there was some OK stuff there.

next: miscarriage #3

miscarriage #2

We started trying again in mid-July--three months after I lost the baby. I was a little worried, because it had previously taken me eight months to get pregnant. My OB reassured me that if I didn't get pregnant by labor day, they would take steps to assist me. I didn't know what that meant, but it made me feel better.

At the end of August, I did a hpt, and it came out positive (I suppose I work better with a deadline). I was elated--a little worried, because of what happened with the first pregnancy--but mostly I was happy and optimistic that this one would work out. I was ready to put all of the unpleasantness behind me.

I bled throughout the first trimester. Each episode was terrifying. But each time I saw new blood, I went in for an ultrasound or a heartbeat check, and everything seemed fine. No hematomas and the heartbeat was strong. Then sometime around the 11th week things settled down, and we seemed to be moving ahead normally.

At week 12, I went on a cruise with my entire family. It was a little crazy, because none of my clothes fit me, but I wasn't ready for maternity stuff yet, either. But it was fun, and I was starting to relax a bit. I must have had some deep-down worry, though, because I dreamed three times that week that I was miscarrying. Still, during my waking hours I was able to let go and have a good time.

Passing into the second trimester was such a happy milestone. It really seemed that we were out of the woods then--no bleeding, no hematomas, and I was starting to show a little.

At 15+ weeks, we went in for amniocentesis. I was excited and hopeful. First we watched the baby on the ultrasound monitor, and we saw that it was probably a girl! She was moving around and looking perfect in every way. We got to see her in 3-D, too. After about 20 minutes the doctors came in to do the procedure. It was a little uncomfortable, but not too bad. It was quick and seemingly routine. We were off on our way about two minutes later.

We went home and I spent the remainder of the day resting. I was feeling just fine, but I welcomed the excuse to take the day off.  The next day was Saturday, and I was still feeling completely fine. On Sunday, I spent the day making root vegetable soup. By about four o' clock, I started feeling really tired and a little nauseous. I needed some of the water in the soup to cook down, so I turned it to low temp and went to lie down on the couch.  I fell asleep. Apparently, my husband did too.

I woke up a little while later to a horrible burning smell. I rushed into the kitchen and turned off the gas, but it was too late. The entire bottom of the soup was scorched, and the smoke had tainted the entire pot. By that time, I was feeling really terrible. My head was pounding, and the smell made me want to throw up.  There was also some slight pressure in my lower abdomen. I put the pot in the sink and went to bed.

The next morning, I was feeling better.  The  headache and the nausea were gone. The pressure was still there, but it was pretty minor. I wasn't particularly concerned, because I had experienced mild crampiness in earlier weeks, and nothing had happened. I decided that I might as well go to work.

Throughout most of the work day, the pressure stayed at the same low level. In the late afternoon, I decided that it was a bit more pronounced, so I called my OB. She told me to come in.  So off I went, still not feeling particularly concerned.  After my examination, my doctor wasn't particularly concerned, either. She said that my cervix was closed, and that the pressure might just be round ligament stretching. That sounded reasonable to me, so I headed home to rest.

I spent the evening on the couch.  As the hours passed, the pressure became progressively stronger. By early morning it was coming in waves. At that point I was also starting to pass some blood-tinged mucus. Even though I had just been through a miscarriage with painful contractions, I didn't recognize it as the same thing. I guess I didn't want it to be the same thing, and I was hanging on to the hope that they would stop. My husband and I timed the intervals, and tried to will them to be farther apart. They kept coming about every five minutes or so.

At 8:00 a.m. I called my OB's office, and we were told to get over there right away.  We got there quick, and we were brought right in. The nurse practitioner took out the doppler and started looking for a heartbeat. It took just a few seconds for one to come up loud and clear. Next she did a quick internal exam, after which she told me that this was definitely some type of process, and that she didn't know if it could be stopped. I knew what she was saying, but it still didn't really sink in. She then sent us over to the hospital to see my OB who was on call that day.

I don't remember much of what happened between our arrival at the hospital and my meeting with the OB in my hospital room. After she looked at me, she sat down to talk. She told me that I was a certain amount dilated and effaced (I can't remember how much), and that it was likely due to an infection introduced by the amnio. Then she laid out my options: 1) I could let nature take its course and deliver the fetus, or 2) they could do a D & E. I was stunned. Despite everything that was going on, I still didn't want to let go of hope. I asked her, "Is that it?" There are no other options? Is it definite that I'm going to lose the baby?" She said that she was 90% sure that I would. She supposed that by some slim chance the contractions could stop, and maybe with total bedrest...but she really didn't think so. I asked her if I needed to decide right then, and she said that I could have some time. And then she left. As she was walking out, I broke down in sobs.

When I calmed down a bit, my husband and I tried to figure out what to do. We had both heard the baby's heartbeat just a couple of hours ago, so we knew that she was probably still alive. We wanted to wait to see if there was any chance that the contractions would subside. But they didn't. They just kept getting worse and worse, and after an hour, I had to give in. We called the doctor back and told her to schedule the D & E. There was no way I could deal with the process of delivering a baby that wouldn't live.

It was going to be some time before they could get me into the operating room. In the meantime I had to deal with various people. One was an anesthesiologist who came in to help me manage my pain. He wasn't very successful. Another was the doctor who would be doing the procedure (not my OB). She was 4-5 months pregnant.

After a couple hours they wheeled me down to some type of pre-op area. I waited there with my husband and a very kind nurse. After a little while, another anesthesiologist came by and put something in my IV. Lights out, thank God.

When I woke up in my hospital bed, I felt as though I'd been run over by a truck. I was completely exhausted. All of my abdominal muscles ached. I couldn't even sit up. I needed my husband and a nurse to walk me to the toilet and stabilize me while I was on it. After I went to the bathroom and cleaned up, they helped me back to bed. I literally did not have the strength or balance to make it myself. There would be no going home right away this time. I was there for the night.

The next day I had visits from various professionals. My OB, the pregnant doc, the social worker, and the guy who did my amnio. He came in, put his hand on my knee, and said, "I'm so sorry, my friend." I could tell that he really was. I think I said, "I know, thank you," or something like that. I was still numb at that point.

I spent the whole day resting, moving the hospital bed up and down, trying to get comfortable. I had the tv on, and at one point an Oprah special about newborns came on. Of course. The reminders always seem to come at the worst times.

By dinner time, I was feeling a little better, so I decided to go home. With my husband's help, I got dressed and packed up, and we were on our way. On the drive home I felt every bump. And I started to think about the baby. I wondered where she was and what was happening to her. They weren't good thoughts.

A week later I got the amnio results. It was girl. Everything was normal.

next: a hiatus from trying to get pregnant

miscarriage #1

My husband and I got married in 2003, and we started trying right away. It was exciting at first--newlywed sex, counting the days, buying the tests . . . after four months it got old--friends calling to see if I got my period, suggesting that maybe I should go see someone, me saying that I would--if it didn't happen that month. The cycle of trying, waiting, hoping, and being disappointed was horribly draining. By the eighth month, I had pretty much stopped hoping and figured that I would make the call after the next test. That's when I got my first positive.

Fast forward to 7 weeks LMP. I was in the bathroom drying my hair, and suddenly I felt like I was peeing. I checked to see what was going on and found blood rushing out of me. I yelled for my husband; we cleaned up as best we could and took off for the hospital.

In the emergency room, I was a weepy mess. The nurses did their best to comfort me, telling me that it wasn't necessarily a loss. Eventually the tech came in to do the ultrasound, and once she got up and in there, she pointed to the monitor and said, "There's the heartbeat." Lo and behold, there was a bean on the screen with a sparkle in the middle. And in fact, when I went into the bathroom to clean up, I found that the bleeding had virtually stopped.

Still, we needed to hear what the doctor had to say. I joined my husband in the waiting room, and told him about the ultrasound. The doctor came in a while later. He confirmed that there was a heartbeat, yes, but said that I had something called a subchorionic hematoma--a bruise or a bloodclot that was threatening the pregnancy. While it was possible that I could carry the pregnancy to term, there was a 50% chance that I would miscarry.

We went home, and I immediately went to the internet. Subchorionic hematoma? Not much there. The best explanation that I could find was that the fertilized egg could bump up against a blood vessel during implantation. It could have just picked an unlucky spot. The beginning of my string of bad luck! Anyway, I discovered the real danger is that the blood clot can interfere with the placenta's ability to make a proper seal. If it can't do that, then it can't sustain the fetus. It all depends on the location of the clot.

That Monday I had my first visit with the OB. She basically reiterated what I had learned from the hospital staff & the internet. She quoted me the 50/50 chance thing. And, she ordered an ultrasound for the following week. That way they could compare the changes over time.

So, the following week, we went into the city for our U/S appointment. This time we saw a peanut with tiny flippers and a sparkle in the middle. Yay! That was good, but we were also there to look at the blood clot. Turns out I had two of them. Small ones, but still two.

Later, the nurse practitioner from my OB's office called. Good news! There were two clots, but neither of them seemed to be in a dangerous position. Things were looking up. She did warn me, however, that sometimes, the clots "resolve" by leaving the body with a rush of blood. If that were to happen, it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

So that was that. The next month went swimmingly along. Very little nausea, lots of happy chatter and dreaming about our baby-to-be.

At twelve weeks LMP, I went the bathroom and noticed a trace of red-brown on my underwear. Could this be the "resolving" that the nurse practitioner had mentioned? I wasn't too alarmed, but of course, I started checking every 15 minutes or so. Things stayed the same all day. A tiny bit of red/brown staining. Tiny. Next to nothing.

The next day, it went to more of a brick red, but still just staining. The next day it was a bit brighter, but it certainly wasn't flowing. And I felt fine--no cramps at all. When I woke up the next morning, however, I started to notice a bit of a twinge. Just for a few seconds then it went away. A little later I got another one. Then they started to happen every several minutes. Still, it was really just kind of a weird feeling, not pain. I decided, though, that I should probably call the clinic's emergency number (it was Patriots day, a holiday for some around these parts). When I was on the phone, trying to decide if I needed to be seen, I felt a pain in my cervix that made me go down on one knee.

So my husband and I jumped in the car and rushed off to the city, because the only open clinic was there. On the way the pain intensified. I huffed and puffed and writhed and moaned, and thankfully we made it there fast. In fact, we beat the nurse midwife with whom we had the appointment. We waited in her office. The pain came and went and came again, but I wasn't ready to believe that something might be terribly wrong.

When the nurse midwife made it in, she seemed annoyed that she already had someone waiting. She had me get up on the table while she got out the doppler. She put it on my belly and listened. She moved it and listened. She moved it again. She kept saying, "no, no, no." Then she told me matter-of-factly, "I'm not getting anything." Next she did an internal examination, noting that my cervix was still closed. She told me that I should be seen at the hospital and left the room to call over there. I got dressed and sat in a chair, but I soon had to get on the floor, because I couldn't sit up. The nurse midwife came back in and said flatly, "If you're having that much pain, I can call for a wheelchair." The wheelchair came, she gave us directions for how to get through the complex, and we were off to the emergency room.

At the emergency room they tried to take my information, but I could barely talk or sit still. I got down on my knees, and then things started to gush. From there it's a bit of a blur, but I know I got into the ER pretty quick.

I remember that the ER nurses were very kind, helping me with pads and making sure that I got hooked up with pain medication. Turns out, though, that morphine doesn't do much for me. I continued to have white-knuckle, moaning-groaning contractions every few minutes. Later they tried a second medication, and that helped a bit. Somewhere during that stretch, a social worker stop by, chatted with me briefly, and left me a pamphlet about miscarriage.

After much waiting, I was taken in for an ultrasound. It confirmed the obvious. I had miscarried, and the doctors could actually see the changes in my uterus taking place on the screen. They ordered a D&E.

I was taken up to a regular room to until an OR became available. I laid in the hospital bed, still contracting every few minutes. Various doctors and nurses stopped by with questions and forms for me to sign. Finally at around 7:00 pm, an orderly came and wheeled me to the OR. Thankfully, I don't remember much about what happened there. I was knocked out seconds after they administered the anesthesia.

When I came to, I was back in my hospital room. I know my husband was there; other details are a bit fuzzy. Eventually, I became more alert and started to realize that I was feeling fine. Fine! Hours of agonizing contractions + a D&E, and I was feeling fine--you could almost say great, since I was so relieved to no longer be feeling pain. Emotionally, I was sort of stunned, but at that moment, I was mostly thankful to be feeling better physically.

I stayed in bed for about an hour and had some crackers. It was clear that I was well enough, so the nurses told me that I could go home. We took care of some paperwork and appointment-making, then I got up, got dressed, looked around to see if I had everything, and we left.

I remember walking out of the hospital thinking, "I'm not pregnant anymore." But it seemed so weird, because everything we were doing was so very regular. Walking through the parking lot, getting in the car, driving through the city--just doing regular things, as if nothing had happened. But what else was there to do? The big feelings had yet to set in, and we weren't really ready to start processing, anyway. So when we arrived home, we got into bed, put on the tv, and fell asleep.

In the days that followed, I began to feel angry and frustrated about being back at square one after a year. The "trying, waiting, hoping, being disappointed" phase was supposed to be behind us, and I was pissed about having to go through it again. Still, I was ready to jump back into it, because I was desperate to be pregnant again ASAP.

However, at the follow-up appointment I found out that I wasn't even at square one. That's because after a miscarriage, you are taken off of the playing field for a while. You have to wait for your period to come back, and then you have to wait 1-3 cycles, so your body can get back to normal. I was told to wait for 2 cycles before trying again. So, I left the doctor's office and started with the loathesome waiting period. Little did I know that it was just the first one that I would have to endure on my quest to become a mother.

next: miscarriage #2

joining the club

Hi,

I'm pixi--37 and childless--not by choice.

I've been reading blogs by people who, like myself, are desperately trying to have a baby. Now, I'm here to do some unloading and hopefully make some connections.