Thursday, April 12 ~
It feels odd writing about what's been happening over the last few weeks, only because as I type out this opening sentence, I still don't know how it's all going to end. But I feel an urging within me to begin this story anyway, and I trust that God will give me the words to finish it once He reveals the ending to me.
Toward the end of March, I began experiencing symptoms that just screamed "you're pregnant!" I was tired, more tired than I remembered being with any previous pregnancy, and just a bit nauseous in the mornings. I had no energy and started crying at commercials on TV. So I took a pregnancy test on March 19, and it was negative. I was disappointed but knew that this situation was all in God's hands. That was a Monday. By Friday I felt the same, if not worse, and by then my monthly visitor was more than just fashionably late. So as soon as Caleb woke up from his nap, I gave him a snack and we ran out for another pregnancy test (and yeah, we got milk and bananas too. I'm not a complete psychopath!). I waited until Caleb went to bed to take it, and it came out positive. I actually yelled out "I KNEW it!!!" and sent a picture of the test to Randall, who was at the house of prayer that night and wouldn't be home till late. We were both excited, but undeniably nervous since the pain of our last miscarriage was still very fresh.
I finally got the nerve to call the doctor's office the following Monday afternoon. I considered holding off for a week or so, just to postpone the inevitable string of blood tests and the nerve-wracking waiting by the phone. But I decided to trust God and start the whole process then, just in case. I was glad I did; my progesterone was low just like it had been with Caleb. A quick (although expensive) trip to the pharmacy remedied that, but I ended up bursting into tears on the way home. I was just so scared that this pregnancy wouldn't stick. It was encouraging that my levels of HcG were right where they needed to be, and doubled steadily over the next couple of weeks.
Finally my doctor said the "U" word. Ultrasound. Let me just say that I have more bad memories attached to ultrasounds than good ones. I have two wonderful ultrasound memories from my pregnancy with Caleb; the one we had at 8 weeks when we finally saw his tiny little form and I could breathe again, and the really exciting one later on where we found out his gender and I realized that he was not only healthy, but was actually going to be OURS when he was born. However, for the most part, even just being around the ultrasound equipment makes me nervous. Just makes me remember all the times I've had ultrasounds and they haven't gone so well. I had reminded the nurse this time around that with previous pregnancies, we never saw anything at 6 weeks, and that it would be better to wait until 8 weeks. She must have taken me seriously because we scheduled the ultrasound when I was technically 7 weeks and 5 days. Surely we'd see something by then.
I was a wreck that Tuesday morning. It was April 10 and a beautiful sunny day. I had barely slept the night before and all that anxiety wasn't helping the nausea that was already there. Caleb and I met Randall at the doctor's office and we all sat in the waiting room. All the while, I prayed for certainty. Of course, I pleaded with God to let my baby be okay, but I also wanted to know for sure either way. No what-if's or maybe's. Finally my name was called and we went on back.
They do the ultrasounds in the same wing as diagnostics, and Caleb ran right to one of the rooms where they had done all my blood tests; the path involved a few twists and turns, but he remembered where everything was. I remember that it both amused and saddened me that my two-year-old knew his way around back there. Between this pregnancy and the baby we lost last fall, Caleb had tagged along with me on most of my appointments. He seemed excited that today we were going to the fun dark room with the TV screen instead of the boring one where he has to sit still while my arm gets poked with a needle!
Once I was ready for the ultrasound, the tech glanced at my records and sympathetically commented, "I guess this is a pretty nerve-wracking appointment for you." I admitted that it was, and she said "Well, I won't keep you waiting, let's get to it!" I was so thankful that she was so no-nonsense yet caring at the same time. I stared at the screen and strained my eyes for any evidence of a baby.
All I saw was the sac, filled with black. Just like before. I kept quiet, though, hoping maybe I was missing something. After all, I'm not the professional here. And in the back of my mind, something else looked strange up there on the screen, but I was so focused on looking for signs of life I didn't immediately realize what was so different about this ultrasound. It was only when the tech asked if we had done in-vitro fertilization when I realized what was different.
There were three separate sacs.
And no, I told her, we hadn't had any in-vitro done. I was tempted to add, my problem isn't getting pregnant, it's staying pregnant.
I felt like two different realities were hitting me at once. One, this pregnancy didn't look promising, and two, it was possible that I had just lost triplets. I started crying and the tech took pity on me. She told me there was no way of knowing if three separate embryos were really in there. But something in me snapped when I saw those three sacs. I started to think in terms of "babies" and not just "baby." To me, each sac was an opportunity for life, and based on that ultrasound, none of the three had worked out. The picture of it still haunts me a little.
She finished the exam and told me I could get dressed again. Once I was done she informed me that my doctor was on call at the hospital that morning, but I could either see someone else, or else just wait for him to call me later. We opted for the phone call; I felt that my doctor knew more about my history, plus I just wanted to get out of there.
I drove home in a blur. Randall stopped by the office to let his boss know what was going on, and to take some work home with him. He stayed at home with us for the rest of the day. I felt numb and didn't really cry again. Part of me was making peace with the fact that I had possibly three more children in Heaven (and I was praying all the while that if I was mistaken with the number, that God would reveal to me how many there had been).
My doctor called me late that afternoon. I was all prepared to ask him if I could get some tests done since this was my third miscarriage and I wanted to know if we could prevent any more from happening. Plus I was more than curious about why (and HOW) my body had managed to release three eggs at once; the tech had said that the sacs were so well-formed they looked as though they each came from a separate egg, and multiples like that are pretty much unheard of in my family. But the doctor caught me off guard before I could ask him anything. He told me, yes, my ultrasound looked troubling, but just in case we were off on the dates, he wanted me to stay on the progesterone and get another ultrasound the following week. I was almost angry at first; why was he making me drag this out? I told him that I was under the impression that the pregnancy had failed based on the ultrasound and what the tech had said. He said he wasn't totally encouraged by the ultrasound either, but my HcG levels were high, where they needed to be, and the sacs looked well-formed. And, after all, based on the timings of my other pregnancies, I tend to ovulate later than what is average, so maybe I wasn't as far along as we thought. He admitted most doctors would probably just pull the plug now, but it was just his personality to rule everything out to make sure. I relaxed and said okay.
I told Randall, and he appeared to be as annoyed as I was. Maybe "annoyed" isn't a good word, but I think he could tell that I had already been trying to move on and he didn't like that the doctor was asking me to hold off on that. I asked Randall what he thought of all this, and he said he felt that the ultrasound looked correct, but if he was wrong and there was still life inside of me, he of course would be ecstatic.
So this is where I am. I am still four days away from my next scheduled ultrasound. Teetering between a seemingly-unreal fantasy world where God intervenes and I am a mother of triplets, and an admittedly more realistic vision of mourning another loss. Should I believe that God released three eggs to ensure that at least one baby would survive, or should I believe that He's allowing me to experience my biggest loss yet in order to teach me something? Do I pray for a miracle, or do I pray for the strength to endure yet another miscarriage? Should I see this delay as simply a time for prayer and reflection to better prepare myself for the bad news to come, or do I dare hope that God allowed the delay in order to give the babies more time to grow and become visible on the ultrasound?
I have no idea.
All I know is I'm praying for ALL OF IT. I believe in miracles (and have seen some take place firsthand), but first and foremost I believe in God. I believe He knows what's best for me and even if I may never understand it, I will trust Him and in His love. I believe He will intervene in a way that is best for me and our little family, and that this divine intervention may not result in a full-term pregnancy this time.
Ever since I found out I was pregnant, I've had the words "CHOOSE PEACE" written on my bathroom mirror in dry erase marker. And they're still up there. Choosing peace is something I've had to do more of lately, sometimes on a minute-by-minute basis. And however this all turns out, I pray that I will still choose peace.
April 18, 2012 ~
It's almost 1 a.m. and I just can't sleep. Our second (and final) ultrasound was almost two days ago and my mind refuses to shut down. I prayed for a miracle up until the very last second, but God had other plans. What we saw on the screen was very much like what we had seen the week before; three empty, though slightly larger, sacs. I barely cried this time. My most immediate reaction was anger, but that passed relatively quickly. The ultrasound tech said my doctor was on call again, but wanted to see me that afternoon. I didn't relish the thought of coming back when all I wanted to do was go home and lay down for the rest of the day, but I figured I'd just get it over with.
Since my appointment was during Caleb's naptime, my in-laws offered to stay at the house with him. Randall picked me up and we went together. Fortunately there were no pregnant ladies in the waiting room, but I couldn't help but be annoyed that when the nurse called me back, she seemed to be in the dark about my situation. She knew my pregnancy was ending, but still weighed me, took my blood pressure and temperature, made me pee in a cup....I wanted to say "Seriously??" I know she was doing all that just in case my doctor thought it was necessary, but I found the whole thing was stupid. It did help that she was very sympathetic about the whole thing. Then a different nurse called us back to an exam room, and instructed me to prepare for an actual exam "just in case" the doctor needed to look me over (ladies, you know what this entails). I think this time I actually said "Really?" out loud because I seriously doubted my doctor wanted to do an exam. Last time all he wanted to do was talk with me. But I complied.
Turns out I was right. My doctor came in and all he wanted to do was talk it out. He told me he was sorry. He also said he saw no reason why we couldn't let nature take its course, since the largest sac was no larger than a thumbnail. I was thankful for that; while it's a painful experience, I would rather miscarry at home than get a D and C. He also tried to comfort me by saying there was no way of knowing if this pregnancy would have resulted in triplets. And I know he's right, but I did say it FELT like I had lost triplets. I think in a way he understood. We agreed that I would call him in a couple of weeks to update him on my situation. I was glad I didn't have to schedule a follow-up appointment right then; it seemed pointless to come back until I had actually gone through the miscarriage process.
So here I am. I feel like I'm handling this miscarriage a little better emotionally, but it still sucks. And I'm wondering if the extra sacs I'm carrying have anything to do with the increased amount of nausea and fatigue I've been battling in the last week. I never remember feeling this bad with my other pregnancies. And now I'm playing the all-too-familiar waiting game while my body figures out what to do and I can move on a little more. But I'm trying SO hard to be thankful anyway.
It's crossed my mind more than once since that ultrasound that I didn't get the miracle I prayed for. But then I look at my beautiful two-year-old son and realize how much of a miracle he really is. We conceived him a month after our first miscarriage; he wasn't planned and the beginning of my pregnancy with him was very hard for me. The first ultrasound I had with him was very much like the early ultrasounds of my other pregnancies (very unclear and scary), so really things could have gone the same way. But I know God wanted him to be born. Caleb is a walking testimony of how faithful God really is. And I know there are other testimonies of this faithfulness in Heaven with Him now; they're my babies whom I've carried but never held. I won't ever fully understand why they weren't destined for life here on earth with me, but I'll rest in knowing that we'll be together again one day.
