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We were so lucky that our sweet boy only needed to be in the special care unit for a little over a week. On Friday the week after he was born, we were given the all clear to head home.

It was a huge relief, because we were way over being in the hospital. The only reason he had stayed as long as he did was that he was struggling to keep up his own body temperature. He had gained back almost all his weight from birth, and was only one ounce less when we left the hospital.

We knew it was a miracle he was doing so well. The special care nurses kept saying that he was a little guy acting like a big boy. The worst had been the two days they had him on the special lights to try and lower his bilirubin levels (to fend off jaundice). He looked like a super cute glow worm/rockstar in the little sunglasses they had made for him. But we weren’t allowed to hold him much. 

It broke my heart to see him hooked up to all the monitors and off-limits. It was difficult to find time to hold him or do skin-to-skin between him being in there and the fact that I was pumping around the clock.

In the early days after my own discharge, which happened on the Monday after he was born, the “weepies” as I called them had set in as my hormones shifted. I was perpetually crying at every little thing. It became even more difficult when my husband had to return to work (it made more sense for him to take extra time off work after we got home. At the hospital our boy was being taken excellent care of whether or not we were there.) and I was left alone in my hospital room without either of my boys for the first time. 

On the first day of being there alone, the doctors came in and talked to me about the possibility of taking our little guy home in a matter of days, which left me overwhelmed by the enormity of caring for him. I hadn’t been able to breastfeed him much, which had been our plan. How would I manage to figure that out at home alone? Would we have to give him formula too? Would he be able to keep his temperature up? How would I know if he was okay without being able to see his vitals at all times? 

Thankfully the nurses could see the overwhelm in my face and made sure to reassure me that they would not send him home until we were all sure he would be taken good care of. Those nurses were incredible, taking such good care of our boy, but also teaching us so much about the special care that a preterm baby required. They made sure we understood the feeding technique with a bottle, and they, along with the lactation consultants, assisted me in becoming more comfortable with breastfeeding (something I didn’t realize about preterm babies is that breastfeeding can easily wear them out. It’s something they have to work up to, hence my need to pump around the clock to keep my supply up. I will be writing a whole post in the future about that learning experience!). They encouraged my husband and I to help change our little guy’s diapers and clothes and be as involved as possible in his care.

My emotions kept my brain swirling with anxieties and doubts about my abilities to care for my baby. At first I was just immensely self-conscious by how little I knew about preterm baby care. I was overthinking things and afraid to become involved. I quickly realized that I needed to get over myself and accept with humility that I was new at this and I would be clumsy at first, but the more I practiced and the more I learned, the better and more confidently I would be able to take care of my baby at home. I eventually decided to bring my pump into our baby’s room during the day so I could spend most of the day in there, going back to my room only to eat and sleep. That helped me spend more time with him, and also learn more and gain more confidence in my ability to care for him. 

At one point I worried that he wouldn’t know I was his mother because of how little we’d been able to bond and all the wonderful nurses who had seemed to care for him better than I could. My husband gently made sure I knew how ridiculous that thought was. Still, I had to remind myself frequently that though I was not an expert at feeding him or changing him or bathing him, I was an expert at loving him. Yes, I would inevitably make mistakes while trying to do what was best for him, but I would always love the crap out of him. And even though the nurses were all enamored by his cuteness and genuinely cared for his well being, they couldn’t and wouldn’t ever love him like I do.

By the time the day came to take him home, we were so ready. Ready to be free of the hospital. Ready to start our new chapter as a family of three. We were nervous like any new parents, but so ready.

As my husband went to pull the car around, the nurse who had accompanied us out asked, “So will we be seeing you all again in another year or two?” It took me a minute to realize she was referring to us having another kid. I laughed and answered, “We’ll see. We need to figure out what went wrong this time and see what we can do to prevent it from happening again.”

When we were all safely in the car and heading home, my husband in the driver’s seat, our baby boy in the middle seat sleeping soundly as if he were made for a car seat, and me next to him on the passenger side, I relayed the interaction with the nurse.

My husband immediately replied, “Nothing went wrong! Everything that happened brought us this perfect kid and we wouldn’t trade that for anything, right?” He was right, and the beauty of the moment made me tear up as I gazed at the face of our perfect, sleeping miracle.

When I saw the doctor this week for my two-week follow-up, we gained some more insight into what caused my complications. During my C-section, I remember being on the table and hearing my doctor asking the surgeon if she could take a picture of my uterus, which was clearly bicornuate, or heart-shaped. (She shared it with us later and it looked like a creepy valentine.) I heard them examining the placenta and discussing my innards, but at the moment I was way too preoccupied with the little life that had been living in there for the last 8 months. I knew she would fill us in with details later.

Fill us in she did. We had expected that I had a septum in my uterus (an extra piece of muscle separating my uterus into two sides) that could be removed simply in an outpatient procedure to help prevent future miscarriage and possible complications. As it turns out, there was no septum, just a clearly bicornuate uterus, which means two clearly separate horns, or cavities. That was why very early on when I started bleeding, the two sides appeared to be functioning independently of each other—our little boy was implanted and growing on the left, and the lining on the right was shedding almost like a normal period as if I wasn’t pregnant.

That initial bleed led to the subsequent hematomas, the hematomas led to the placental abruption, the abruption led to the premature rupturing of my water. The doctor told me that there was no surgery, no interventions that could be done to prevent it all happening again. Any subsequent pregnancies of mine would be high risk. Everything could happen like it did this time, or it could be completely fine with no complications, or it could be way worse and end in greater complications or even a loss. She even told me something she didn’t want to tell me before—when she initially reached out to MFM (maternal fetal medicine, the specialists who monitor high risk pregnancies) they told her straight up that I would have a loss in the second trimester.

That information hit heavily. I looked at our baby boy and said with more certainty than ever before, “So he really is a true miracle.” It’s been a lot to let sink in, and I think we’re still processing it, but for now we are even more incredibly grateful for our sweet boy and even more thoroughly enjoying our time with him. We are even more convinced that all of the prayers and support of all of you who have shared this journey with us are what carried us as far as we did and brought our sweet boy home safely!  THANK YOU!

It’s still a lot to take in, and I don’t think we’ll really fully process it until we reach a point of wanting to try for another baby. It will be something that will require a whole lot of thought, prayer, and consideration with the knowledge we have now of how things could possibly turn out. We are nowhere near that point right now though. For now, we are incredibly relieved that I am no longer pregnant, and that our baby is in our arms and no longer in my belly.

Our little miracle is home and adjusting well to his new life here as he grows before our very eyes (he gained half a pound in his first four days at home!) and I am slowly adjusting to life outside a hospital again. In the first 24 hours I was afraid to leave him alone in case he suddenly stopped breathing (again, I was used to having him monitored constantly!), and every time I went to leave the bedroom, I reached to put my mask on my face before remembering that I was home and I didn’t need to. #pandemiclife

It’s all a little surreal how it all turned out. Because my emotions are still somewhat unstable, I’m trying not to think about it all too much right now, and instead focusing on our baby boy and taking in each beautiful day with him.

We’re Still Here

   We were supposed to spring out of the hospital today after our 31 week ultrasound, assuming the ultrasound went well. Thankfully, the ultrasound did go well—our baby boy is still looking good, the placenta is still doing its job, and the bleed is smaller. BUT shortly before we were led to the ultrasound, I had more red spotting.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. At this point, any amount of red equals at least 72 more hours of monitoring. It’s frustrating—we were so close!—but ultimately for the best. By keeping us longer, they can continue to keep a close watch on baby in case any signs of distress from him may indicate a problem. Also, if the bleeding increases, at least we’re already here.

At this point, we are checking his heart via fetal monitor three times a day for twenty minutes each. Other than that, we mostly sit here and wait and wonder will happen. We’ve had long talks about what might happen depending on when our baby needs to be delivered. It’s scary to think about all the possible scenarios, but it’s been good for us to talk it out and sort through the various challenges we might have to deal with. 

That’s probably the most stressful part—knowing that today things are looking good, but any moment they could take a turn for the worse, and no matter how this plays out, it is not likely to be an easy, breezy recovery/postpartum/newborn period (is there such a thing, though?!). 

There’s not much else to say, other than that today is day 5 and we are in our third room. We had to switch rooms in the middle of the night Sunday night due to a toilet issue. Then when it was learned we would be here another few days (at least), it worked out better for us to be moved out of Labor and Delivery and over to the Mother and Baby ward (which is where we were on our last visit). It’s more comfortable over here, and we have a better view (we can watch people in the parking lot rather than stare at the roof) which makes me feel a little bit like a part of the world again.

It’s just all been very surreal, as I feel like this whole year has been for most people. It’s hard to believe that we we were just here three weeks ago—those 72 hours feel like a lifetime ago. They were followed by days of stress and uncertainty that eventually calmed into hope and optimism, and quickly led us back here. 

Even though we knew in the first week of January with the first bit of bleeding that this was not going to be an easy pregnancy, we never imagined just how it would all play out. The poor nurses keep asking, “So this is your second round of bleeding this pregnancy?” And we laugh and say, “No, but it’s the second round this trimester.”

It’s been tough, to feel like a lot of joy has been sucked out of this experience for us and replaced with worry and fear. Still, we say it every day, that this baby is 100% worth it. After years of hoping and praying for this baby, then being threatened by loss so early on, we have made sure to be thankful for every minute of his life, and we continue to hold onto that. 25 weeks ago we were heading into an ultrasound fearing that I was miscarrying our coffee bean-sized baby, and here we are today—watching the bizarre rolling of my belly as our several pound son stretches and wiggles and kicks and listening to the sound of his beating heart fill the room. Just that alone has made it all worth it, and we wouldn’t trade it for anything.

We are very excited to meet this boy, and admittedly ready for this drama-filled rollercoaster of a pregnancy to be over, but we are trying to be patient, knowing the longer he can stay in there the healthier he can be when he comes out into the world. So we are trying to wait patiently here, amid the tired and the stress and the fearing of the worst. At the end of the day, the patience isn’t always there, but the gratitude is.

A Light in the Darkness

Everyone has their own concerns and uncertainties about the present and the future in this pandemic. It’s a lot for anyone. And for me, an often irrationally angry pregnant lady, it’s extremely overwhelming. My feelings are all over the place, but I try to always come back to that one central thing that I know is constant and won’t ever change: the love that surrounds us. The love of God and family and friends is always there for us, and I am thankful for it every day.

The weight and darkness of the world and our year so far has been weighing on me more lately, but we received quite a bit of good news in the last couple weeks, so I’m trying to stay focused on these flickers and flashes of hope:

—My husband was allowed to accompany me to the 24 week appointment and 25 week ultrasound. We both had to wear masks, which has just become normal and no longer fazes us. The people working at the doctor’s office also seemed much more comfortable with the extra precautionary measures in place. When I was there a month ago, everyone seemed on edge. But this time, the medical professionals seemed confident that their new protective measures and screening process were working, which helped ease our anxiety a bit as well. 

—At 24 weeks, our baby boy reached the point of viability! Of course, 24 weeks is never an ideal time to deliver, and the chances of survival outside the womb increase every week from here on out. But with all the troubles we had early on, an early delivery has always been a possible necessity to get ahead of any complications. The doctors have told us that 24 weeks is good, but 28 weeks and beyond is the most ideal. We’re getting there!

—Our doctor said that my pregnancy is looking mostly “normal.” The septum in my uterus appears to be so minor that the baby has plenty of room to grow and move around, at least for now. Again, it’s something that we’ll keep an eye on, as it could be a reason for needing an early delivery at some point, but for now, all appears to be progressing just fine.

—The placenta has also moved so that it is no longer previa. I don’t even know if I ever mentioned this is any of my posts, but a couple months ago we were told I had placenta previa, which is when the placenta blocks the cervix. With the placenta blocking the cervix, a natural birth  would mean that the placenta would come out before the baby and deprive the baby of nutrients, not to mention cause other complications for the mother. Complications are usually avoided altogether by performing a C-section. But my placenta has moved out of the way completely. It’s nice to know that that is one less thing I’ll need to worry about, and it gives me hope that I may be able to have a vaginal birth after all.

—Our ultrasound showed our baby boy being as stubborn as ever. No matter how much the ultrasound tech tried to poke at him to get him to move so she could get a better angle, all he really offered were a few big kicks telling her to leave him alone. It was a new and incredible experience getting to feel those kicks at the same time I saw them! She was able to get all the measurements she needed and reported that he was measuring five days ahead of his due date. He is definitely going to be a big boy!

—We also learned that the subchorionic hematoma has completely resolved! It was such a relief to hear that. Even though everyone told us while it was happening that the bleeding we experienced early on was usually harmless to the baby, and that these things usually resolve by week 20 and after that most people go on to have a normal pregnancy, it didn’t prevent us from being anxious and traumatized as we lived through it. 

There’s been lots of good news these couple of weeks, and I’ve loved feeling our growing boy’s movements become more and more pronounced. A part of me is still anxious, because I can’t shake the memory of being told that we were “out of the woods” at 10 weeks only to wind up in the hospital three times in the next few weeks.  

It’s been a rough year, from bleeding and fearing miscarriage almost from the get-go, to months of appointments and ultrasounds and feeling sick most of the time, to multiple traumatizing ER visits, to life in a pandemic, to the stress of moving from the only home we have known together, to wondering if this pandemic will ever end. Sometimes I wonder how it might all be different, if we hadn’t had such a rough first half of this pregnancy, or if we were pregnant in a time that wasn’t a pandemic. 

What I always come back to, though, is how in our years of trying to get pregnant, we learned to have a much greater reliance on God and His perfect timing. The word that keeps coming back to me these days is Esther 4:14, “Perhaps you were born for such a time as this.” I’m starting to really believe that. Like Esther, I’m not particularly thrilled by all the circumstances of my situation, but I trust that it is all part of God’s plan and He will give me the strength to see it through. And I believe that our years-long wait for our son were because he will be born at exactly the time he is meant to be. 

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!

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!

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...)

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.