I had planned to write a post about how relieved and happy and positive I felt after our first meeting with our OB on Wednesday. I didn't write it sooner because my sister, her husband and their three children were here and we were busy enjoying their company. So, by the time I did sit down to put my thoughts on "paper," I had a lot of catching up to do with all of you out there in blogland. And, that's when I saw Rebecca's post over at The Road Less Traveled. Unspeakable grief and heartache. Lillian Grace born at 22weeks6days.
My mind can't fathom it. My heart is heavy. Rebecca, if you are out there, just know that I'm keeping you in my prayers and my heart goes out to you.
As much as I hate to admit it, this news makes me selfishly focus on my own pregnancy and how perilous it all seems. I don't know that I've ever experienced such highs and lows. On Wednesday, I was on top of the world. We were surprised to have an ultrasound (which we'd been told wouldn't happen until the next appointment since we have already had four) and we were amazed to see our little baby from a different perspective. The baby even appeared to be waving at us. To put it simply, we were over joyed.
We'd been warned by our RE that an OB might be a little freaked out by our means of conception (an FET) but Dr. Carter wasn't freaked out. In fact, he seemed to relish in this miracle of modern medicine. "You're 33 years old and you've never been pregnant before?" he asked. "No sir," I said. "Well, this is just wonderful. This is fantastic!"
And he's right. It is fantastic, but so is tightrope walking and truth be told, that's a little how I feel these days -- like a tight rope walker working without a net.
Dr. Carter said all the right things. He said exactly what we needed to hear. He said that there is nothing I could do barring jumping from a building that would lead to pregnancy loss. He said the statistics show that once a pregnancy reaches this point, only 1 to 2 percent of pregnancies are lost and that includes losses related to car accidents, murders and the like.
He said that the next few weeks will be difficult for me because I won't be getting the ultrasound every two weeks like I've been used to and because I can't yet feel the baby moving (apparently, what I've been feeling is digestion, doh!). Even so, he insisted that I stop worrying and advised me to do all the things I normally would. He told me to get on that plane on Sunday and fly home to N.C. and let my Mama pamper me. He told me everything looks great. The baby is "beautiful," and that there is absolutely nothing wrong with my "mama parts."
He said all these things and more and I felt like I could finally exhale. I foolishly drank the Kool-Aid. Even though the pap smear caused some heavy spotting because my cervix was inflamed from the Progesterone, I still felt more peaceful than I have since that positive HPT.
And, then, this heartbreaking news. Now, I feel like the balance pole in my hands has shifted in the opposite direction and it's a long, long way down.