So, DW’s office never called with Monday’s beta results. You’d think it wouldn’t really matter. It’s only the difference between dead and dying, right? end result will be the same. Except, the fact that I was clinging to SOME hope was never more real than at 6pm today when I realized they weren’t going to call and I really needed to know. Even though I keep saying I know and I keep saying it’s hopeless, I still take the prenatals and the baby aspirin and the prometrium. Damn I’m setting myself up for a fall. Oh Nora, if you make it through this, baby girl, you’re gonna give Ladybug a run for her money on the drama mama front. Hell, you already are!
The Plot, She Thickens February 27, 2012
DW called back. He admits it’s a Hail Mary, but wants me to do the prometrium, anyway until the follow-up ultrasound he had scheduled for Friday. He has not lost hope. How that’s possible, I do not know… But, I’ll let him hope enough for both of us. Oh Nora, you are a little drama queen, aren’t you?
Roller Coaster February 27, 2012
So, I got the call on my beta from Friday. 652. Six hundred and fifty two. It was 111 on 2/9. It should be in the thousands upon thousands at this point. the only number that would have given me ANY hope would have been above 10,000. 652. Don’t get me wrong, I KNEW it was over. But, part of me still wanted to hope for a miracle.
Progesterone was a whopping 6.8. It is falling fast.
Note to self: don’t read a bunch of “oh, my miscarriage was misdiagnosed, and even though there was no baby at 7w and beta numbers were falling I still ended up with a baby” bullshit stories on the internet… Fucking internet.
So, the nurse that called says that DW wrote me a progesterone scrip and wants a repeat ultrasound in a week. Really? I asked her point blank if she thought that was the right call given how low the numbers are. She said she thought maybe he wasn’t looking at the dates correctly and would call me back, or he would call me back. If there is any chance at all, I’ll do anything to save this thing, but… I still don’t think there’s a chance. This may sound bad, but I just don’t have it in me to deal with the drama of a touch and go pregnancy right now. It needs to either be or not be. I can handle that. Gray doesn’t work for me.
It’s Early Folks February 27, 2012
Before I start my bitching/pissing/whining/moaning, I would like to give a huge thanks to my awesome bloggity friends. Seriously, you guys rock. Your words really stick with me and I so wish I could apparate so we could hang out in person, sometimes 
And now, some random thoughts…
Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I was gonna talk about it not being fair that I still feel the same and if this pregnancy isn’t going to be viable it could at least have the decency to not make me feel so pregnant. (Nausea and all this a.m.) But, as I was typing the first paragraph Baby G woke up.
Try though I might, I just can’t be bitter when I listen to him shout “blocks, blocks, blocks, QUACK.” Hmm, wonder what he’s thinking about? Now he’s singing “e-i-e-i-o” except it sounds more like “e-yo!” It is the most beautiful sound in the world. His little chatters keep me grounded. Losing another sucks, but I have him. If we never get another, we have him.
OK, now a funny story before I go get him…
G took him over to Aunt C’s last weekend (a whole other topic I skipped during miscarriage-gate, but will fill-in soon) where he was bitten by their bird. Which “grrr” but he wasn’t injured, just a little shocked. So, ever since then, he points at pictures of birds and says “ow!” and holds his finger. Then I ask him what happened and he says “birdie bite! birdie bite!” and I say “oh, no!” or “bad birdie” then we both laugh. In seemingly unrelated news, G frequently refers to a penis as a “bird.” So, last night while Lil G was having a bath and he stood up, put one finger on his penis and said “ow!” Naturally, I asked him what happened and he said “birdie bite! birdie bite!” then proceeded to CRACK UP. Of course, I cracked up as well. He knew he made a joke. (Further proof that he is his father’s child, it was a dick joke…)
Goodbye Nora February 24, 2012
I don’t suppose more details are really necessary other than “empty sac” at nearly 7 weeks, but I’m an oversharer, so you’re getting so much more than you ever bargained for. And, you’re getting sentences that end in prepositions. Because, grammar be damned.
Honestly, it wasn’t that big of a shock to me that things weren’t right. I wasn’t nauseous, my boobs don’t hurt, and other than feeling really hungry and tired I’ve been feeling surprisingly normal. Surprisingly normal isn’t a good thing in the first trimester. You WANT to feel like death. You WANT to puke. Those are the signs that you’re gestating a tiny human that will one day live outside of your body.
But, I wasn’t feeling that way and went to my appointment at way-too-fucking-early-o’clock this morning braced for the worst, but hoping to hear hear a teensy tiny heartbeat. I then proceeded to wait for some ungodly long time before finally getting called back. The ultrasound tech was either new or just unused to patients that have had trans-vag ultrasounds before, because she made sure to tell me the probe was going IN MY VAGINA like three times. I finally had to tell her that I am a fertility clinic graduate and am used to strangers sticking probes up my cooch. She then decided to check my ovaries first. Because that’s what every RPL suffering preggo wants to see when all they can think about is whether or not their baby has a heartbeat.
My left ovary popped straight up, looked perfectly normal, and was just generally A-OK. Ms. Right… not so much. It was lopsided and a bit flat. When I asked about it she blew me off and showed me the corpus luteum. I wanted to say “duh, bitch, I see that, I’m asking why my ovary looks like a pancake.” But I actually said, “Oh, OK.” Then she went looking for the goods. I knew it was all bad when she switched the ute and it looked empty. I could see the lining was good and thick and my cervix looked long and good, but there was no big black circle in the middle. Just a lot of ute. So, she went digging and poking and probing and found the sac. It was minuscule. Maybe half a cm. Tiny. Too tiny for 6w5d. Then she zoomed in and it was clearly not only small, but also empty (duh). Fuck. So, she said “Let me page the doctor to talk about what we’re seeing here.” This time I couldn’t hold it back and said “I know what we’re looking at here, we’re looking at an empty sac that is much closer to 4 weeks in size than nearly 7.” She was saved from having to answer my rudeness by the doctor walking through the door.
He of course thought my dates were off. By three weeks? He ordered betas and another ultrasound in a week. Waste.of.time. An empty sac at this point is a non-baby. I might have had some hope if this had been 5weeks, but not almost 7. Missed miscarriage strikes again. He sent me upstairs to DW, who was very sweet and kind and agrees with me, and the other doctor. He wants to order the tests to be sure before taking any action, but he agrees that it’s a missed miscarriage. So, I had to go BACK DOWNSTAIRS to get my blood drawn in the clinic in the women’s health building. Guess how many pregnant teenagers were waiting on their glucose tolerance test? Guess! Three! And, one adult. So, I sat there with the 4 pregnant bitches who were complaining about the orange stuff and being hungry and waited for my blood test that will determine how long I have to wait to miscarry this baby. I didn’t smack anyone, so that was good. But, it wasn’t fun at all.
DW’s office only works a half day on Friday, so they’ll call on Monday with the results. That’ll be fun. As will dragging all these kids to the lab to get the second beta drawn.
Telling G and my mom was hard. G cried. Telling the kids was really hard. I didn’t want them to know I was pregnant. I only wanted to tell my mom and sister. For appointment planning purposes. We ended up telling lots of people. It wasn’t FB official, but most family knew.
In summary, missed miscarriage sucks.
Hello Old Friend February 22, 2012
Raise your hand if you predicted my little sanguine attitude re: pregnancy #88,931 wasn’t gonna last.
** am assuming all hands are raised **
Yesterday I had myself convinced (CONVINCED) that the baby was dead. I am not nearly as nauseous as I’ve been at this point in other pregnancies. I am zombie-like tired, and for too long I’ve been parched of thirst and unable to quench it. But, I’m not nauseous “like I should be.” So, I convinced myself the baby was dead. I was certain we’d show up Friday morning for the u/s and find nothing but an empty sac or a small fetus with no heartbeat or a good sized fetus with a heartbeat in a tube. Of course, Friday isn’t here, yet and those things still may happen. I’m not as freaked as yesterday, but not feeling so laid back, either.
Hello Fear. I didn’t miss you.
Part of this is normal, right? Everyone goes through some level of worry about viability until a heartbeat is confirmed. Part of it is fear over starting in the OB’s office. I’ve already been told there won’t be bi-weekly u/s’s in the first tri. There will be no ultrasounds between Friday and the 20 week scan unless something is wrong, or I want to pay out of pocket for it. It is entirely possible there will be 2 maybe, 3 u/s’s during the entire pregnancy! WHAT?!?!?!? So, I’m a little nervous about that. And part of it is the fact that I’ve lost. I know that missed miscarriage can feel like everything is fine, when it isn’t. I really didn’t know Bean was gone until the scan. When I think back, sure maybe I was a little less tired and a smidgen less nauseous, but I thought it was normal moving into the second tri stuff. It didn’t occur to me that it was falling hcg levels…
Anyway, the peace is gone. I’m not nearly so freaked as I was yesterday, but Friday really could hurry up a little.
February 22, 2012
Dear Bean,
It’s been three years now since you came into our lives. I miss you so much. I can’t tell you how much I wish for a life that could include having you happy, healthy and alive with your brother. Sometimes when I look at him I wonder if you had the same eyes or nose or curls. I wish I knew the sound of your voice. I have your bunny on my dresser, with your puppy dog hat. Every night before I go to sleep I look at them and think about you. I love you so much.
Love Always,
Mama
Updates and such February 19, 2012
Hello… Yeah, I’m still here. Did you like how I dropped that “the sky is falling” post then went silent for a week? Sorry. Please accept my apologies and excuses which are something about hooking many, many boobies a day and feeling much like a zombie.
Here’s some news:
- So far, newest human seems to still be alive. Have an u/s scheduled for Friday (2/24) to “confirm viability.” Feeling dramatically less stressed about this pregnancy. I can’t really describe it. I’m just not obsessing and stressing over it. This will probably change when/if we see a heartbeat and things get a little more real.
- But, I am dreaming about the baby. The other night I dreamt the baby was a girl and my mom brought Lil G up to the hospital shortly after she (yeah, she, which is a point on which Daddy and I disagree) was born. I was sitting cross legged in the bed, holding the little baby and he came in and said “Mama, mama. Baby!” and crawled up into the bed with me. I showed him the baby and said “Look, Buddy, you have a new Sissy, her name is Nora. Nora Elise.” Then, he said, clear as anything, “Nora Sissy” and gave her a sugar. She had a ton of jet black hair, but otherwise looked very much like Lil G did when he was born (including the stunningly bright blue eyes).
- Nora Elise was not on our names list. At all.
- It is now.
- My son is still practically bald.
- My Brother came home from the hospital on Friday. His diagnosis’ were many… sleep apnea, high bp, and heart & kidney damage. He needs a c-pap machine and will be seeing a cardiologist who has agreed to see him on the cheap (and get him a proper sleep study). The hospital wrote him all $4 prescriptions (lasix and bp meds). Most of the people at the hospital treated him very well and I am so glad they were able to save him. He was truly in danger of death when he got there. Every time I went up there the nurses were all very sweet. They always asked me about why he kept his door closed (I always told them he is curmudgeonly like that). They all commented about how sweet he is and how little trouble he was to take care of. I had to ask for headache meds one night because he didn’t want to bother the nurse.
- There is one doctor, though, who I’d really beat the shit out of. This man was rude and did the absolute bare minimum for my brother. He even went as far as to say “You know, all these problems would go away if you lost weight, and then you could just keep on without insurance.” P said this man clearly thought of him as just another fat American and a complete waste of his time. When the nurse asked him if he was going to send P home with a c-pap scrip he said “Why? He’ll never get one without insurance.” Asshole.
OK, there will be more, but right now someone is yelling “Mom, mom!” from their bed.
Horrible Weekend February 13, 2012
What goes up must come down, right? Before I continue… everything appears to be just fine with gestating human child. All children for that matter. This is not another “well, that was short lived” post.
The weekend was pretty craptacular all the same. It started with a fight with my mother. I called her Saturday morning (my 12th wedding anniversary by the way) to make sure she was still babysitting for us so we could go on a birthday/anniversary date. She had forgotten all about it and was currently watching the C’s, and had plans to go out herself but she could cancel them if I wanted her to. Grr… And by the way, my brother’s dying. She’s really worried about him, but at the same time he chose to not take care of himself and she’s not draining her bank account now. Grr… And, I’m too fat, too. And I’m being very “Pollyanna” about this pregnancy and she hopes it doesn’t kill me. Because being too fat almost killed me last time (it was in fact pre-eclampsia, which also happens to thin people) and being too fat is causing my joints to hurt (hmm, here I thought it was the rheumatoid arthritis). So, that was a fun call. She admitted later that she was just being a bitch because she was worried about my brother and but still. Grrrr….
Oh, yeah, and my brother’s health is in bad shape. Like he’s currently in the ICU bad shape. Like his kidney’s are in failure bad shape. Like his blood pressure was 250/160 when he finally went into the ER last night. My brother is dying. His heart and kidneys are damaged, possibly beyond repair.
Mother did finally come and babysit so we could go out for a quick meal together. It sucked. The food wasn’t good, it was so late that I was falling asleep at the table. We ate, went to Walgreens and came home. Not a very awesome evening at all.
Did I mention being terrified for my brother?
When we got home, Mr. G was still up and we had to do the bedtime thing. One of the *best* parts of asthma is that the steroid inhaler causes yeast diaper rashes. Even in kids that don’t wear diapers. The treatment is plain ol’ Lotramin. He hates having gunk smeared around his junk and paws at it. Apparently, I missed it and he put his fingers in his mouth after pawing his Lotramin covered business. Gross. Or, according to G “I’m poisoning the baby.” Poisoning. the. baby. I just fought with him over the puffy. He’s fighting and kicking and squirming to avoid the diaper and the Lotramin and the pajamas. I’m doing all of this half asleep and BY MYSELF and he wants to chime in with “I’m poisoning the baby.” I’m sorry not “the” baby “his” baby. Needless to say, I went the fuck off. This shit is getting really old. So there’s that day ended just as well as it started.
Sunday was another beaut. Full of fighting and blame. Second guessing and criticism. So, I lost my shit again.
So far today is not shaping up much better.
