Sunday, March 29, 2020

Finding Joy in the Uncertainty

  We had an ultrasound last week. The reminder call informed me that I was allowed one visitor, and no children. A few hours later, they called to tell me I wasn’t allowed to have any visitors.

Knowing that this was all precautionary measure during these crazy pandemic times, I was annoyed but knew that it wouldn’t be a huge deal. It’s not like I was going to have to give birth alone (which, IMHO, is something no one should ever have to do, even during a pandemic. Just because there’s a pandemic, doesn’t mean that life is going to stop coming into the world. Again, I understand the concerns and precautionary measures and yada yada, but no one should have to go through that alone. End rant.). Still, I was irked because I don’t see my husband as a visitor. He is the father of my child and has every right to be there in that room that I do. 

When we arrived, the sign outside the building with the many offices said that each patient was allowed one visitor, so we both entered the building. The door to the office I would be going into reiterated that NO visitors were allowed. Still, it seemed perfectly allowable that he would be able to wait with me. 

Or so we thought until a receptionist stuck her head out and quite rudely said, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the building NOW.” Which honestly seemed uncalled for, especially given the contradictory signs. So I waited alone, and I went in alone. The ultrasound tech asked if I wanted to find out the gender that day and I said, still slightly salty, “No, I’d really rather wait and find out when my husband can be here with me.”

As it turned out, the baby was also salty about their dad getting kicked out, because he/she was lounging upside down with their back to us, as if to say, “I’ll show you social distancing!” I was weirdly proud.

Everything showed up fairly normal as far as I was told. The hematoma was still there, but had shifted from a 4 cm clot to a 6 cm line. I hoped that meant it was getting ready to be reabsorbed into my body. But the baby’s heartbeat was good as always, and seemed to be growing normally, though we couldn’t see much except the very defined spine and a foot.

They told me everything looked stable, and that I should contact the doctor if I had any more bleeding, otherwise they would see me in four weeks for the anatomy scan.

It wasn’t until later that evening after watching the news and worrying about the health and safety of the whole world that the fear began to sink in. I thought back to the comment that everything looked “stable.” As in, at any moment, everything could suddenly not be stable. The hemorrhage was still there. My uterus is still a mess. At any moment, all could be lost.

I couldn’t help spiraling into the dark hole that this subchorionic hemorrhage is like a period from hell—again, it’s funny to me now that I thought pregnancy would be a vacation from my period. Haha.

With a subchorionic hemorrhage, you just never know what kind of bleeding you will have and when. At least for me, there is ALWAYS some level of it—often it’s just spotting or a very light flow. 

But then there are times when it comes heavily out of nowhere.  One minute you’re trying to decide what to eat for dinner, the next minute, your pants are soaking wet. The gushes come and you wait and wonder:  is it just going to gush for a little bit and then taper off? When will it stop? Is this the end of it all? Sometimes it does stop or slow down relatively quickly, and sometimes it keeps going until there is no question that we should go to the ER because the health of both the baby and me is at risk.

And oftentimes it’s just a random little gush here and there. But every time, you wonder:  is this the beginning of more? Is this normal? What is normal?

It’s hard to see the beauty of growing another life. It’s hard to even find real joy amid the anxiety and uncertainty.

I shared my fears with my husband and he understood but also helped me to refocus on the gift, the gratitude, the hope we have in front of us.

I felt better and turned to do my Bible study for the day. The verse that stuck out to me was from Luke 9:23, “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”

Daily. Every single day. As we’ve learned during this pregnancy journey, it’s vital to take each day as it comes, to not get too ahead of ourselves, to celebrate the little victories and be grateful for each moment. It was a profoundly helpful moment for me to remember this daily surrender to the cross. Every day, I must re-take up this cross of high-risk pregnancy during a pandemic. Every day, I must take up these worries and fears and uncertainties and surrender all my expectations by embracing my situation and uniting my suffering to Jesus. And when I am too weak to carry them alongside Jesus—which I always am unless by a gift of grace—I simply surrender, express my desire to follow Him, and He picks us both up—my cross and me.

Remembering to practice this in the morning daily has helped immensely. I find that I am able to be more grateful and joyful throughout the day, rather than going through my days anxiously and then merely sighing a prayer of relieved thanks as I sink into bed.

It has definitely helped as I’ve gone back to work this past week. I only went a few days—my original plans to return as a grocery cashier were thankfully shot down by my doctor, who recommended I try to find a more isolated position with limited interactions. I’ve eased back in by doing behind the scenes work where I work alone and only occasionally have to be in any sort of close contact with others. This work situation alleviates a lot of my anxiety about working in a grocery store during a pandemic, and my renewed spiritual practice of picking up my cross daily has helped even more for me to find the beauty and joy amid the uncertainty.


I continue to be thankful for this little life, for the fact that I have work to go to these days, and again for the continued love and support from our family and friends. Know that I am here praying for the health and safety of you all during these crazy times!

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Recap at 16 Weeks


To recap my last few posts:  we had three separate occasions of heavy bleeding that sent us to the ER, one which ended with an overnight stay. All were thankfully due to subchorionic hematoma/hemorrhage, which did not harm the baby (and eventually shrank significantly, hopefully meaning that it’s on its way out completely!). They were just truly terrifying, exhausting, and uncomfortable experiences where we constantly feared we might be losing the baby. 

My uterus is still a mystery—is it septate? Bicornuate? Both? Either way, will it continue to cause problems, or will things level out as the pregnancy progresses and the baby continues to grow normally? Why are there no answers?

On the bright side, every time we’ve checked in on the baby (which has been at least once a week), we have seen that little heartbeat—our flicker of hope—beating away. He or she is growing right on schedule. Generally uncooperative for snapping good pictures and always bouncing around or lounging in a weird position (definitely our kid), we have gotten to see our little nugget grow exponentially, and we are thankful for every opportunity.

It’s still a slightly terrifying experience, because we don’t know what will happen or how it will happen. But honestly, this is true in any pregnancy. There is never any guarantee. Just add in the bonuses of a really difficult first trimester and a world pandemic. The anxiety is real. 

Only time will tell what our situation is, but as we learned in our struggles to conceive, it’s all in God’s perfect (though sometimes befuddling) timing. We trust that He allowed us this Christmas miracle for a reason, and He will see us through this journey. We have hope that the worst is behind us, but even if it’s not, we know we have the love and support we need to make it through anything.


It took a lot for us to get here, but we made it to week 16. We continue to be so incredibly thankful for every minute of this little life who is the most perfect gift to us, especially after several years of struggling to get pregnant. I will continue to post on here as we have updates, so feel free to subscribe for email updates. 

Thank you again for your support!

Friday, March 20, 2020

Mayday (Part 3)


Hopefully for the last time, I want to reiterate the warning I offered in my last post:  if you’re squeamish at all, or if a story about extremely heavy bleeding in pregnancy that includes a threatened miscarriage might be triggering, or you don’t like to hear about blood or bodily functions, save yourself now. Trust me, I will not be offended. It’s weird enough for me to put these details out on the Internet as it is, so I understand if it’s not your cup of tea. Also, I promise a recap in the next post that doesn’t include all the gory details.

After our last ER ordeal, we found that the emotions caught up to us over the next few days. While we were incredibly thankful that our experience had a  happy ending, we knew perfectly well that it could have gone another way. That combined with the fear and anxiety that it could all happen again was a lot for us to process.

I attempted to go back to work later that week, but I was still exhausted and having issues sleeping. I realized quickly that working in coffee in such a fast-paced environment was going to be too physically demanding with everything I had going on. Thankfully the higher ups at work were very understanding and willing to work with me to find a quieter position for the time being. My last two shifts in coffee for the foreseeable future were going to be a Friday and Saturday, and I was determined to work them all the way through.

Work them I did, and though I was exhausted, I felt better mentally. Knowing I had done my best, and that I would be doing more low-key work and not have to be on my feet as much in the near future helped ease my anxiety. But in the last few hours of my shift, I started to feel weirdly crampy. 

I didn’t think too much of it, and assumed it was due to the stress of being on my feet and doing more physical activity in the last two days than I had in nearly two weeks. I went home after my shift and laid down, and shortly after, the bleeding started again. It wasn’t as heavy as the last time, but it was still right around the ER-worthy bleeding I had been warned against (i.e. two pads in an hour), and this time I was having weird cramps and stomach pains. I called me doctor and she advised that I could wait another hour to see if the bleeding continued, and if so to head to the ER.

An hour later we headed to the ER. We knew the drill at this point. This time, the bleeding wasn’t coming in huge gushes, but was more of a constant, heavy flow. And the cramps and stomach pains I had made me wonder if there were blood clots to come, and of course the constant fear of a miscarriage. The ultrasound showed our baby looking great again, but the subchorionic hematoma (from my understanding, a hematoma is the pooling of blood or clot that collects in the uterus, whereas a hemorrhage is the active bleeding of that hematoma.) had grown significantly. Between that and the UTI we found, we left feel exhausted and slightly defeated.

We decided it would be best for me to take the next week off work to let the bleeding clear up and the pain go away, and to make sure I didn’t have any more issues. Which was a good thing, because two days later, I began to pass unthinkably ginormous blood clots. 

Over the course of an evening, I passed at least a dozen huge, dark clots—one was the size of the palm of my hand, others were the size of my fist, a few the size of golf balls, you get the picture. It was weird, and weirder that I wasn’t overly afraid. Each time though, I felt the crampy pain in my abdomen lessen, so I felt relieved that those were the cause of the pain. I texted my doctor, and she said that because they were dark and not bright red, they were likely not a cause for concern, but to let her know if anything changed.

Overnight, I had another sleepless night with periodic heavy red bleeding and continued to pass smaller clots. By morning, I felt optimistic that I had likely passed the bulk of the hematoma during that time. I contacted my doctor, and she agreed that was likely the case. She told me to schedule an ultrasound for that day and put in an order for me to get blood drawn to check my levels again.

Once again the ultrasound showed our sweet baby looking completely fine. And the hematoma had shrunk significantly. It had gone down from 10 cm to 4 cm, which meant that I had passed more than half of the hematoma. It had been unpleasant, but at least it had been worth it. My blood levels were a little lower than before, but still totally fine. 

We saw the doctor again a few days later, and she agreed that it would be good for me to take another week off from work, but that as long as I didn’t have anymore issues with bleeding, work would be a good idea for me mentally. (I agreed, but with my job working in the public at a time of pandemic proportions, I admit the anxiety about going back is a lot for me right now. She expressed that as long as I was taking all the necessary precautions, I should have little to worry about. We’re going to take it one day at a time.) 

At the time I had also developed a superficial blood clot near a varicose vein behind my knee. I’ve had bad varicose veins for years, well before I got pregnant, so this was not super surprising to me, but because of the location, it was incredibly painful. Because of my bleeding issues, she did not recommend blood thinners unless it got worse, so I’ve been sticking with warm compresses and trying gentle walks to try to break it down. It seems to be working.

I also continued to have residual black/brown spotting (and occasionally it’s more of a flow with a reddish tint) and I know that at any time it could all escalate again. I’ve heard that in the majority of cases, subchorionic hematoma/hemorrhages resolve themselves (either by bleeding out or reabsorbing into the body) by week 20. We pray that is the case for us, but we’ve also heard stories of women who had bleeding throughout their entire pregnancy. Their babies were totally fine, but what a constant nightmare of fear and wondering!


Only time will tell what our situation is going to look like, so we are trying to take it all as it comes, day by day. Again, we are so incredibly thankful for our awesome doctor and all the amazing healthcare people we’ve encountered who have helped us feel more comfortable on this difficult road. And we are always so thankful for the love and prayers from our family and friends. So, thank you!

Thursday, March 19, 2020

Mayday (Part 2)


Before I begin this post, I want to reiterate the warning I offered in my last post:  if you’re squeamish at all, or if a story about extremely heavy bleeding in pregnancy that includes a threatened miscarriage might be triggering, or you don’t like to hear about blood or bodily functions, save yourself now. Trust me, I will not be offended. It’s weird enough for me to put these details out on the Internet as it is, so I understand if it’s not your cup of tea. Also, I promise a recap to follow up these three Mayday posts, without all the ugly details.

After a full day of laying on the couch watching my new favorite show, I was feeling really proud of how easy I had taken it that day. My husband had gotten home from work and we were just sitting there trying to decide what to do for dinner, when I felt it starting again. The gushing. It was doing what it had done two days ago, where it filled a pad in a matter of minutes. I called the doctor, and she told us to go to the ER closest to us.

I went to the bathroom to change pads, and this is where it began to take on the face of a crime scene. Like two days prior, I couldn’t even stand up because there was so much blood gushing. I was beginning to panic, and my husband was calmly rushing around to get things ready to go. Between his soothing, “Stay with me”s, he asked what I needed from him, what clothes I needed, and he tried to urge me to get up and get moving. I panicked because I literally couldn’t stand up for all the blood, and in my vanity I didn’t want to be seen with blood soaking through my clothes. I passed a blood clot the size of my fist,  and for a horrifying moment I thought maybe it was tissue—would the baby be next? Would this be it? Would this be the time we lost it all? My husband, bless him, examined it as well and confirmed that it just looked like a blood clot. I found it hard to believe that a clot could be that big if I wasn’t miscarrying, but I wasn’t having any real pain, and I knew that would be a key factor. I tried to focus on that. 

Eventually I pulled myself up (because my husband was about to throw a towel around me and carry me out of there, which I would NOT allow as long as I was conscious) cleaned up the best I could, and with two pairs of underwear and two pairs of pants, we headed to the ER. We had left the bathroom a total crime scene, and I couldn’t stop picturing it. I was already traumatized by all that blood and that monstrous clot, and I dreaded my husband having to clean it all up (because goodness knows I couldn’t do it). Thankfully, an angel came to our rescue that night and cleaned up the mess for us while we were in the hospital. You know who you are and I am eternally grateful!

Since we had just been through the ER drill for the same thing two days ago, we knew better what to expect. This time, though, the bleeding was much more intense and we had decided we weren’t leaving until there was an explanation for this horrific bleeding.  Because I’d been watching Gilmore Girls all day, I was feeling extra snarky and witty, cracking jokes to fill the space while waiting.

This time, I was thankfully surrounded by female doctors, but before they did an ultrasound and checked to make sure the baby was okay, they wanted to do a pelvic exam first.

This was a pelvic exam from hell. First of all, I didn’t know if my baby was okay, and every second I feared losing it. I couldn’t see what was going on, but I could feel it and it was ten minutes of torture. It took three of them working together to clear all the clots, and in the end they weren’t able to see much because there was so much blood. My husband held my hand and worked to dry the tears that were streaming into my ears. Ultimately, I don’t think they really got much information from that horrible process, except that they thought my cervix was still closed. And I came to the conclusion that if by some miracle I don’t end up needing a c-section when this baby comes, I will most definitely be getting an epidural. 

After they had cleared all that out, the bleeding slowed significantly. They rolled me out to get an ultrasound, and the tech that night was precious and balm for our war-torn souls. She seemed to know what we had just experienced, and she took every care to be respectful and gentle. We were once again amazed to see that the baby looked totally fine on the ultrasound. Their little fists were up near their face punching out, and they were kicking their legs—our little fighter!

We were informed a short while later that the ER physicians had contacted my doctor, and she had requested that I stay overnight (because I had lost so much blood, they wanted to monitor me) but at a different hospital, where she and her partners had privileges and would be around to check in the next day. I was transferred in a van while my husband went home to grab a few things we would need before meeting us at the hospital.

It was the first time for either one of us staying overnight in a hospital, so what a special treat that we got to experience it together. Of course, he can sleep anywhere, so while he gently snored on the fold-out couch, I laid awake, reliving the horrors of the evening and trying to form words to pray. Every time I was close to sleep, someone came in to check my temperature or blood pressure or take a blood sample. 

When day finally came, my doctor came in to check on us before doing her rounds. She was working in a different field that day, but she promised one of her colleagues would be in to see us. Apparently I had lost two units of blood, but my hemoglobins levels were still good though, so I wouldn’t need a transfusion.

Her colleague arrived a short while later and explained that I did appear to have another subchorionic hemorrhage, which had caused the bleeding. He said that at this point it could really go either way. He’d seen people in the same situation go on to have normal pregnancies for the remainder of the time and then perfectly healthy babies. Sometimes it doesn’t work out so well. Either way, there’s nothing to do but wait. I asked if it could happen again, and he said it was a definite possibility. He told us that bed rest does not seem to be an effective treatment, but pelvic rest and to continue to take it easy would be my best bet. 

He said a lot of other things too, about what might happen if they had to deliver early, or the specialist he would send us to if I did miscarry. To be honest, I didn’t feel great physically, so I sort of picked and chose which bits of information to hold onto. He said he would put the order in for another ultrasound to check the baby’s heartbeat before we were released.

Six long hours later, the ultrasound showed our wiggling baby hanging out upside down with a strong heartbeat, seemingly oblivious to the trauma that we’d felt in the last 24 hours. But it was another major relief, like always, to see how resilient our little baby is. 

I was given the order to stay off work for at least several days, unless I had more bleeding in the meantime. So we left the hospital completely exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically, so thankful for our caring doctors and loving family who had been surrounding us with prayers (and a few visits) the whole time. 

We felt encouraged that we had survived the harrowing experience, and felt the palpable effects of growing stronger together in this whole pregnancy experience. We had known that parenthood would be hard, but we had hoped we’d have that nine month cushion to prepare for it! 


(To be continued...) 

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

Mayday (Part 1)


     Those were three very long days with my husband gone and a fresh bout of light bleeding combined with perpetual nausea at the peak of my morning sickness. I was on the fence over whether to call the doctor about the bleeding—after all, just that Monday the ultrasound with the specialist had shown nothing but our baby looking totally fine, and we had a follow-up with the primary OB on Friday. Ultimately, the bleeding was disconcerting but never seemed to reach an urgent level, so I decided to wait.


That Friday, my primary doctor said that the spotting was likely nothing, but she disagreed with the specialist, insisting that I did have a septate uterus and that we should continue to get weekly or at least bi-weekly ultrasounds. Our happy bubble of being completely out of the woods deflated slightly, but we knew it would be better to err on the side of caution.

Several days later, I had one glorious day with no spotting or brown discharge. For one glorious day, I thought the worst was over. Then the brown spotting picked back up and began to look a little more reddish, like a rust colored discharge. We had an ultrasound when I was at 12 weeks, and despite all my spotting, the baby still looked great. We started to talk seriously about when we were going to tell everyone our exciting news.

This is the point in the story, my friends, when things get really ugly. I am going to give detailed accounts of our first two ER visits and overnight hospital stay, and if you’re squeamish at all, or if a story about extremely heavy bleeding in pregnancy that includes a threatened miscarriage might be triggering, or if you don’t like to hear about blood or bodily functions, save yourself now. Trust me, I will not be offended. It’s weird enough for me to put these details out on the Internet as it is, so I understand if it’s not your cup of tea. You have been warned.

Two days after the ultrasound, in the last hour of my shift while I was daydreaming about what kind of fun announcement we could do for our family and friends, I noticed some bright red spotting while I was in the bathroom. I sighed and returned to work, trying to tell myself once again that it was nothing. But in the last twenty minutes, when my co-worker had gone to take a break and I was left alone, and I could smell freedom, I began to feel the gushing start.

Seriously, I can’t express how uncomfortable it is to be taking someone’s order for mocha frappes and asking them if they want whipped cream all while feeling like you’re completely wetting your pants. Thankfully, I was busy enough by myself that I didn’t have much time to think about it other than—you just have to make it until she gets back, any minute now... As soon as she returned, I bailed.  I discovered that I had filled a pad in half an hour, and I couldn’t tell if it was really slowing down or not. When we had gotten home and realized it was still going steady, I called the doctor.

She put an order in for us to get an emergency ultrasound at the hospital. I was told to drink 32 ounces of water and hold it until the scan. My husband had just chugged a bunch of water as well, and he told me he would hold it in solidarity. Major husband points. After waiting in the busy waiting room for an hour, and my husband bugging the receptionist at least once to see if they were going to get me in any time soon, I sent him to the bathroom, and then I finally went myself.

That was when the really heavy bleeding began. I thought maybe it had something to do with the pressure of holding my bladder for so long, but I was gushing blood like I never had before. When I finally thought I would be okay, and was able to mostly clean myself up, I stood up and went three steps to the sink to wash my hands, and immediately filled up another pad with blood. I retreated back to the toilet and heard my phone go off in my purse on the other side of the bathroom. I knew it was my husband asking if I was okay, and that they were probably (finally) waiting to take me back for the ultrasound, but what could I do?

I sat there and waited until I had calmed down and the bleeding had slowed down a little bit more. By the time I opened the door, my husband was standing right outside looking concerned and clearly extremely vexed that the ultrasound tech had taken so long. I felt wobbly, because I was traumatized by the intense gushing that had just occurred. I mean, thank goodness we were in a hospital, but seriously. 

We did the ultrasound, and once again the baby looked totally fine, bouncing around doing baby things. The tech couldn’t give us anymore information or insight into the bleeding. I called my doctor and explained to her about the terrifying bleeding experience I’d had, and she put me on the schedule to come in to the office first thing in the morning. She also told me that if the bleeding worsened or continued heavily for another hour or two that we should go to the emergency room.

Two hours later, we went to the emergency room. They did a quick ultrasound to check the baby’s heartbeat since we had done a full scale ultrasound earlier, and the baby entertained them for a couple minutes with its acrobatic antics. The young doctor did an exam, which was quite painful because of the bleeding, but he said that the active bleeding had stopped and all he could see was old blood. He apologized that the exam was so uncomfortable and told me that the exam had hurt him too, to which my husband responded after all the doctors and nurses left the room, “I can make it hurt for him.” I include this anecdote because 1) I found it hilariously exasperating, 2) my husband is my hero, and 3) this is an example of a doctor who does not take women seriously. If you find yourself with such a doctor in a non-emergency situation, find another one!

His supervisor came in shortly after and gave us quite a bit of comfort. He said that they see many pregnant women with bleeding like this, and some much worse. He said it can go either way, but in our situation, since there was no sign of miscarriage, and that I was not crippled with cramps or severe abdominal pain, odds were, everything would turn okay in the end and our baby would be just fine.


The next day, my doctor told me that there was no obvious reason for the bleeding, which was insanely frustrating. She said it was possible though that I had been overdoing it, and that I should take at least the next four or five days off, find a good show or movie marathon and do nothing but relax. 

I’d always wanted to watch Gilmore Girls, and now seemed like the perfect time. For the rest of that day and all day Saturday, I binged, forcing myself to watch another episode rather than get up and clean something like I wanted to do. It inspired a level of snark and sass that would be useful in what lay ahead. 

(To be continued...)

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

Constant Vigilance

  The day after our doctor’s appointment, we received results from my initial blood work. My progesterone levels were at 10.9, and my doctor had said they should be at least at 11. Again, since it had been drilled into me in the past from my previous doctor that my low progesterone could potentially cause miscarriage, I contacted my doctor.

Because I was high risk, she had given me her cell phone number so I could contact her at any time with questions or issues. Even though it was a Saturday, I decided to text her and ask about putting me on progesterone ASAP. She was not as familiar with the practice as my previous doctor, but she’s open-minded and loves to learn things, so she told me she would look into it. After spending her Saturday afternoon reading up on it and reaching out to more experienced OBs, she came up with a prescription for me. She admitted that the information she found did not reveal convincing evidence that it would help, but she was confident that it certainly wouldn’t hurt.

[I was so glad that I took that pro-active step, and that my doctor was so willing to look into a treatment option that she was not familiar with. I knew that she wouldn’t prescribe it to me if she truly didn’t believe in it, which I also respected. I’ve heard so many stories about women being talked down to by their doctors, or written off for various concerns. I am here to tell you that good doctors who care about your health do exist, and they are worth searching for. We should never be afraid to bring up a concern or ask a question that might seem stupid. If your doctor makes you feel uncomfortable, talks down to you, or never seems to really hear what you have to say, find another one. You deserve to be treated well and fairly. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.]

So we went along, me feeling relieved that though I couldn’t do much for my baby other than stay alive and attempt to stay healthy, I was able to advocate for myself and take the progesterone that had at least a chance of assisting in maintaining my pregnancy. We began our weekly ultrasounds, and every time, my anxiety would build up like crazy. I had moments of peace, and moments of going out of my mind with worry that we would show up to our next ultrasound and there would be no heart beat. Then I would pray and find some peace and a giddiness that frightened me. Hello, mood swings.

Despite my worries, the ultrasounds continued to show that our baby was growing at exactly the rate it should be. The heart beat was always strong, and by week 8 (week 6 was when the bleeding had begun) the hemorrhage had completely disappeared. It was also encouraging and very cool to see our baby’s progress week by week. We knew that our situation wasn’t ideal, but we chose to look at the bright side that we got to sneak a peek at our little one so often.

Now, even though the hemorrhage had cleared up, and I hadn’t had any bright red blood since that scary week 6, I had some sort of dark red, brown, or black spotting or discharge every single day. It was always worse when I was at work (just from moving around so much and being on my feet constantly) and in the days following an ultrasound. (Up to about week 11 or 12, most ultrasounds are transvaginal, which is invasive and irritates the cervix, causing discharge like this to be somewhat normal, or at least not a cause for alarm.)

I learned that some bleeding in the first 12 weeks occurs in about 20% of pregnancies. There are different types of bleeding to look out for. Bright red bleeding means it’s fresh, which is often more concerning. The dark red/brown/black stuff that I experienced was believed to be old blood working its way out of my system. Not pleasant, but not worrisome. I was told to keep an eye out for bright red blood, and that if bleeding was heavy enough to fill two pads in an hour, or if I passed anything resembling actual tissue, I would need to call the doctor immediately or get to the ER. 

I was constantly vigilant, over-analyzing everything every time I went to the bathroom (which was many times a day), and anxiously awaiting our visit with the perinatal specialist, which occurred on week 10. My husband was set to fly out for a business trip that afternoon, and we had already agreed that if the news was concerning in any way, that he would stay back from his trip. At the time, I had only had a brief moment of red spotting about ten days before, but it had followed an ultrasound, so I wasn’t overly concerned about it.

The appointment went really well. So well, in fact, that the doctor told us she didn’t believe that I had a septate uterus after all, that it was just bicornuate, which was less concerning, and that she thought we were out of the woods and our risk was minimal. Because of my bicornuate uterus, they would continue ultrasounds every four weeks or so. 

We left the office feeling amazingly relieved and so happy. I didn’t want my husband to go on his trip so we could revel in our relief, but we both knew it would be good for him to go. He got on a plane that afternoon, and we shared the good news with our families, feeling like finally we were ready to experience a “normal” pregnancy. 


The next day, when I was at work and my husband was almost 1,000 miles away, I started having another light flow of bright red blood.

Monday, March 16, 2020

Answers?

With intense relief at having seen our baby’s heart beating, we quickly shared the news (and first pictures of our baby!) with our parents (who had been worried sick and praying relentlessly with us) and decided to tell our siblings as well. Ultimately, we knew that whichever way this all went for us, we would need all of their support no matter what.

Shortly after sharing the good and relieving news of finding our baby’s heartbeat, we received the rest of the less assuring results from the ultrasound. I was told that I had a possible partial septate uterus. (A septate uterus is a uterine deformity that happens during fetal development. The uterus is divided in some degree by a membrane called a septum. Some are separated almost completely, but mine was just partial.) The scan showed that the gestational sac had implanted on the left side of the uterus, and there was a subchorionic hemorrhage (active bleeding) on the right side.

This was a lot of new information to digest and we approached our doctor’s visit two days later hoping for an explanation and some answers. We sort of got those things.

It was all found to be confusing that the septate had not appeared as a result in any previous tests. In October of 2017, I had a hysterosalpingography (HSG) performed, where the doctor was able to check for uterine abnormalities and to see if my Fallopian tubes were clear or not. It’s a common procedure for women who have had difficulties trying to conceive. It was a more invasive and painful experience for me than I had expected, but my doctor had informed me (in a non-creepy way) that my uterus looked beautiful and she was able to clear the bit of blockage in my tubes. She hadn’t noticed anything abnormal in my uterus at that time, or during a laparoscopy to remove endometriosis a few months later. 

It wasn’t until an ultrasound looking for cysts and fibroids in December 2018 that she noticed I had a slight bicornuate (or heart-shaped) uterus. She had said that it shouldn’t make it more difficult to conceive, but that it could potentially cause complications in pregnancy, and would need to be monitored. At the time, I wrote it off, because getting pregnant was the current issue. Complications could come later.

Fast forward to later when complications did in fact come: my new doctor explained that septate uteri can be misdiagnosed as bicornuate, but she definitely saw a small, partial septate that was causing bleeding and could threaten the entire pregnancy. She said that basically the left side of my uterus was growing a baby and the right side was bleeding like I was having a period. We were told that the bleeding would likely stop—either by bleeding out or being reabsorbed into my body. 

For the time being, the bleeding itself was not harming the baby. The real threat was that as the baby continued to grow and the pregnancy progressed, my uterus may not have the strength (because of the septate) to allow the baby to grow as it needed to, which could lead to miscarriage, low birth weight, preterm labor, or bleeding complications after delivery. However, the doctor assured us that as long as the baby grew normally, it could even out the sagging caused by the septate and everything could progress normally from there on out. 

A septate uterus can easily be fixed with a small surgery, but obviously not once I was already pregnant. All we could do at the time was wait and see what happened. My doctor ordered weekly ultrasounds to monitor the baby, the hemorrhage, and the growth of my uterus. She declared me high-risk, referred us to a perinatal specialist, and put me on work restrictions.

We left feeling overwhelmed by the new information, but slightly better for at least having a sense of what was going on. We accepted that day that nothing about our pregnancy journey was likely going to be normal or easy or what we had long expected. We had hope that all would turn out just fine and come September 1ish we would get to me our healthy baby, but we knew that no matter what happened, we would be okay.

Sunday, March 15, 2020

A Flicker of Hope


One of the things that I was weirdly excited about for pregnancy was not having my period for nine months. For nine glorious months, even while my body did other wild, unspeakable things to cause me aches and pains and grief, I would not have to deal with the painful, heavy periods that endometriosis has graced me with over the years.

Not only that, but when you’re trying to conceive, periods take on a whole new level of evil. They are the physical death of all your hopes and dreams being flushed down the toilet, month after month. Maybe that sounds dramatic, but hormones make everything feel dramatic.

Perhaps because of this crazed enthusiasm for no periods during pregnancy, fate hath dealt me an ironic blow. Like I said in my last post, a little over a week after that beautiful positive pregnancy test, I started having more pink spotting. I knew that this could be normal, so though I had my moments of panic (including one where I took another pregnancy test before realizing that you can still get a positive result up to weeks after miscarrying), I had a deep peace about it all. After all, unexplained spotting between cycles was not exactly unusual for me.

After a few days of spotting, I was at work in the early morning, going about my business serving customers coffee, when I began to feel like I was peeing my pants a little bit. Attempting to remain professional, I rushed off to the bathroom as soon as I could, only to discover bright red blood in my panty liner. Thankfully, I had a pad handy just in case so I used that and returned to work like nothing was wrong, though I texted my husband who I knew was up and getting ready to come into work (thankfully we work in the same place). He told me that he would be there soon and that we should call the doctor as soon as they opened. 

I could feel the bleeding continuing and getting heavier, like a steady gush. I tried to maintain my cheerful Monday morning face for my customers and very new coworker until my man arrived. We went to his office where I cried and we agreed that we should both leave work in order to handle this. I called my boss and we left.

As we made our way home, I called my mom crying. She cried too and assured me that it could be nothing, and that she would be praying hard. I hated more than anything that that was how my parents had to find out.

It took awhile to get a call through to the doctor and the earliest they were able to get us in was late that afternoon. The bleeding had stopped after about an hour or two, so we felt relieved by that, but it was a miserable day sitting around waiting and wondering what was going on.  Fearing that this was perhaps the beginning of the end.

My personal doctor was out that day, so we saw a doctor we were unfamiliar with. She was very kind and had been through infertility and miscarriage herself, so she understood a little of what we were experiencing. She did an ultrasound and we saw the gestational sac and what looked like a little peanut—our baby! She seemed confused by the positioning of it, as it had implanted far up in the left corner of my uterus. She said my cervix was closed though, and there was no sign of an active miscarriage or bleeding. 

They drew some blood for hormone levels, and we left feeling cautiously optimistic about our first scheduled appointment with my actual doctor on Friday, where we hoped we might have some more answers. For the time being though, we had seen our little peanut, and that gave us the strength to continue hoping.

Two days later, I received a call from the doctor explaining that my HCG levels had come back relatively high, so she thought we should have seen more on the ultrasound. She ordered us to get an ultrasound from a tech that day, stating that she believed either I was miscarrying after all, or it was an ectopic pregnancy (when the baby implants outside the uterus, often in a Fallopian tube. In these situations, the pregnancy is not viable, and can threaten the life of the mother if left undetected and untreated). 

With this news combined with the fact that I had had another similar bleeding episode again the day before, we were suddenly feeling very defeated. We left work and called to schedule the ultrasound. For two hours we sat around and prayed and didn’t talk, both experiencing the fear and uncertainty in our own ways.

When we arrived at the tech’s office, we felt quickly at ease. It was a young woman and her trainee, and they were both friendly and caring when we explained why the doctor had sent us there.

As she began the ultrasound, the tech said, “This here is the gestational sac, and it’s in the uterus, so that’s good” —so we knew it was not ectopic—“and see that little flicker there? That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

The weight of the world lifted off our shoulders and we laughed and I cried in relief. There it was—a little tiny heartbeat in our little tiny peanut. Our baby had a heartbeat. Our little flicker of hope. 

Saturday, March 14, 2020

In the Beginning


It was Christmas Eve, and I was home from work early, having a meltdown. I was getting ready for our evening festivities, when I discovered a small amount of pink spotting. 

Once again, my hopes and dreams of a baby were dashed by the imminent arrival of my period. For the last two weeks I had been wondering if I was pregnant, and hoping desperately that I was. I was nothing but irritable and crabby (though between losing my grandmother and dealing with the holidays while working in retail with new, inexperienced coworkers, some level of irritability was inevitable), but this was like PMS on steroids. I’d also been having cramps and wicked breast tenderness off and on for at least a week, but that was fairly normal for me.

So when that bit of spotting appeared, I dreaded it more intensely for several reasons: 

  1.  Christmas is about celebrating a baby, and I was beginning to doubt that God wanted me to have a baby. I never doubted that He could give me one, but I had begun to doubt that He would.
  2. With the loss of my grandma so fresh, I felt like I couldn’t take anymore disappointment this Christmas.
  3. If my level of irritability and rage over the last two weeks wasn’t related to pregnancy, it meant that I was likely certifiably crazy and should have my head examined.
Eventually I pulled myself together and we had an enjoyable Christmas Eve despite our silent disappointment. During Mass I felt very close to my grandma, and felt a deep sense of peace, and an oddly renewed sense of hope. I went from thinking there was a 1% chance I was pregnant to a 2% chance, which may not seem like a lot, but trust me, was significant. The evening ended on a high note, with several unexpected but great gifts, and a lot of laughter.

Christmas morning I decided to quietly take a pregnancy test. My period still hadn’t come on full force, and I didn’t want to waste the holiday away wondering if it would come or not.

Almost immediately, the single line became a plus sign. Freaking out, I set the test on the side of the sink and went and sat on the couch for the allotted three minutes. You know, in case it decided to change its mind. 

Shaking, I got up after three minutes to find that no, in fact, the test had NOT changed its mind. I was pregnant. It said so. That holy little plus sign. The perfect Christmas gift. The gift I had begun to imagine I would never receive. I woke my husband up and shared the news and we embraced in disbelief. 

It all felt too good to be true. 

For years we had tried. We had done tests and I had done minor procedures and taken hormone suppositories and injections, all in an attempt to help our chances. After being referred to an infertility specialist who essentially told us he could make our babies FOR us AND THEN FREEZE THEM and then THAW them before INJECTING them into me, where they would *maybe* survive, we knew more than ever with a passionate conviction that if we couldn’t have kids on our own, then we wouldn’t have them. 

We decided to take a breather from all things fertility. And a few months later, there we were: pregnant.
             
Having been through “infertility” (I hesitate to put us in that category because, honestly, I hate that word. A lot of “infertile” people are actually fertile, it’s just not as quick and easy for them to get pregnant, e.g. us. But the emotions and struggles we experienced over almost three years of trying to conceive were, I believe, universal in the “infertility” world.), I always hated to hear people say, “If you just relax and stop trying, it will happen.” Which I hated and thought was stupid. But then we stopped “trying” and it happened. 

Like I said earlier, it seemed too good to be true. I could hardly believe it. As fun as it would have been to break the news to family on Christmas, I still had a nagging feeling that any day now I could still get my period and it would all be over, so we decided to wait at least until after our first doctor’s appointment.

I had been told that with my low progesterone and endometriosis and whatnot, I was at a higher risk for miscarriage. My more holistic NaPro doctor who had so often prescribed me progesterone and had my blood drawn regularly to check my levels had coincidentally taken a year of leave (which was why we ended up at the dreaded fertility specialist in the first place), and I was left with a more modern OB. I decided to trust, even as the anxiety crept in. 

All these years, we’d known it was all part of God’s timing. Even when things had seemed perfect in our minds, like they should totally work out, God had other plans. We trusted Him with this as well.

When I hadn’t gotten my period a week later and began to have some intense food aversions, I let it sink in. I’m really pregnant. This is really happening. There’s a little person in there.

Two days later, I started spotting.