Guardian Angel

I want to tell you about Lexie's Guardian Angel. It's a cliche, I know. But hear me out.

October 21, 2007, would have been the due date for pregnancy #1, our first loss. That pregnancy only lasted a couple of weeks, but we didn't know to be scared/wary/worried. We knew only that you shouldn't tell people about a pregnancy until 12 weeks or so, once you were past the risk period. (Now, the thought of this almost makes me laugh.) Nobody knew about it except for me and Steve and a couple of close friends. I spontaneously miscarried, and the doctor termed it a chemical pregnancy. When my brother called us a week after my miscarriage to announce that his wife was pregnant, he didn't know about our loss. To this day, he doesn't know. I didn't know what to say. We hadn't announced the pregnancy, and somehow it didn't seem appropriate to say, "Hey, congratulations! We were expecting too, but then I started bleeding like crazy! Our baby would have been born two weeks before yours! Isn't that a funny coincidence? Ha ha!"

January 5th, 2008, would have been the due date for pregnancy #2, our second loss. With this one, we saw a heartbeat at 7 weeks, and the doctor smiled and said "it looks viable." But the egg had implanted way too low, and although that doesn't *always* mean things will go badly, it did for us. At the next appointment there was no heartbeat. I waited to miscarry on my own, but nothing happened. A classic "missed abortion." I had a D&C a couple of long weeks later.

I still think about the babies that weren't, especially around their due dates. My doctor said we'd just had bad luck. At the time, we didn't know about my uterine anomaly. I believed that our first miscarriage was probably just a bad egg, but the circumstances surrounding our second miscarriage were not normal, and we wanted answers. We fired that doctor and went to a specialist. After a barrage of testing, the specialist diagnosed a unicornuate uterus. He noted that most women with this condition have normal pregnancies, but a higher percentage than normal experience preterm labor.

I did my own research and became highly educated on the subject. It seemed to me that implantation in a good spot was key to making it through the first trimester; there is some evidence that the shape of a unicornuate uterus creates far fewer healthy places for implantation in the uterine wall. We'd have no control over where an egg implanted. I didn't know how many more pregnancies it would take, but we would keep trying. More importantly, though, we now knew to be hypervigilant for complications when we finally made it past the first trimester. That's where the new information would make a difference.

If we hadn't had the second miscarriage and started investigating, my pregnancy with Lexie could have had a terrible ending. I wouldn't have already signed on with a perinatology (high-risk pregnancy) practice for all my OB care. We wouldn't have known to call immediately when I started having symptoms of preterm labor. A regular OB probably would have told me to lie down and take it easy for the weekend. Instead, my perinatologist had me report immediately to the hospital, where I stayed for 9 weeks. I was 22 weeks pregnant at the time. Without prior knowledge of my condition, we would likely have lost Lexie in devastating fashion.

We couldn't save the baby who would have been due in January 2008, the baby who had no chance because of my unicornuate uterus.

But by helping to lead us to the answers we needed, that baby saved Lexie.

Why Is It That...

...people who announce their pregnancies to the world (via email spam to distant acquaintances to whom they haven't spoken in months and months) when the pee is barely dry on the HPT stick *rarely* seem to have to follow up with a sad announcement? None of the early public announcers I have known have had any kind of adversity in the following weeks.

One-third of confirmed pregnancies end in losses, but it seems to me that the one-third must sit disproportionately with certain people.

I guess some of us are just freaking lucky.

Moving On

My D and C on Thursday apparently went fine. I'm tired and crampy, but ok. I bled a LOT the evening after the procedure -- like pour a pitcher of red kool-aid in the toilet bleeding -- but since then it's been minor.

I waver between believing the line about bad luck, and wanting to know what went wrong. Since Dr. Mango turned out to be a huge @sshole, I won't be finding out any information from the procedure. (It's often possible to determine if there were genetic abnormalities in the embryo, which would mean the miscarriage wasn't due to anything my body did.) Dr. Mango also refused to provide me with any painkillers after the procedure. HATE him.

So what's next? I have no idea. So much for a "miracle of life" blog.

The Waiting Continues

Had another appointment with Dr. Mango. He didn't seem to check any new blood tests (although he ordered another one) and he didn't do another ultrasound. He suggested a D&C and I agreed. He gave me the same lame speech about getting pregnant again, and I interrupted. "I know the schpiel." Just let me out of here.

Then I walked around all day with my cell phone, waiting to hear when the D&C would be scheduled. Of course, they never called.

I'm getting tired of even writing about this. It's been two weeks since it stopped growing. Time to get it out.

So Much for the Second Opinion

The ultrasound place can't schedule me for that second opinion scan until June 7. I declined that appointment -- this needs to be over before then.

Tomorrow is my follow-up appointment with Dr. Mango. I'm really hoping to have my next steps laid out for me at that point.

Still Waiting

I still haven't started bleeding and I haven't gotten my second opinion. I will call for that tomorrow, but my next appointment with Dr. Mango is Thursday. I believe at that point we will schedule a D&C. I am very much ready to have this situation behind me.

It is so strange to go from being terrified of finding blood to actually hoping for it.

Dr. Mango behaved as if this was my first miscarriage. I had shown him my chart from the first pregnancy, showing a 24-day-long luteal phase. He had no explanation for that, but still said he couldn't confirm that I was pregnant because I never had a positive blood test (because my last doctor wouldn't see me until I made it to 8 weeks). I am so frustrated about this. I am planning to go to a fertility specialist/reproductive endocrinologist in a couple of months. In the meantime, we'll be taking time off from the babymaking attempts.

Two classic statements by Dr. Mango made me think he might not be the doctor for me:
"It's nature's quality control." That does not help. Also: "At least we do better than cows! 50% of cow pregnancies end in miscarriages!"

Again, not helping.

14 things that suck about miscarriages

1. Pregnancy becomes frightening instead of exciting.
2. You have to start all over again.
3. You worry you might not be able to get pregnant again.
4. Suddenly the number of pregnant women in your world seems to rise exponentially.
5. Inevitably, a close family member will announce her pregnancy when her pee is barely dry on the stick. Of course, her pregnancy will go swimmingly. She will opine that her pregnancy is God's will.
   
6. Your doctor assures you that miscarriages are very common. (Then why do you feel so alone?)
7. You wonder what's wrong with you.
8. You want to know why. Why can't you have a baby? Why do kids huffing glue under the boardwalk have no problem, and you were eating your vegetables and exercising and taking your prenatal vitamins ... why didn't it matter?
9. You study statistics, even though they don't mean anything.
10. You wonder if overuse of your laptop could have caused it.
11. You wonder if your prescription eye drops could have caused it.
12. You wonder if you caused it by not being hopeful enough.
13. You wonder how you will handle another pregnancy and the worry that will come with it.
14. You wonder if the worry will cause this to happen again.

It's All Over but the Bleeding

Well, that sucked.

Today Dr. Mango couldn't find a heartbeat at all. It should have been 8 weeks, and it was measuring only 7. It wasn't moving on screen and it looked like a crumpled piece of paper. This apparently is what is clinically known as a "missed abortion." The doctor said to go for another ultrasound, and he gave me a referral, but I don't know if I'm going to bother. I know it's over and I don't need to lie there being violated by a plastic wand and see it on the screen again.

Now I have to wait to bleed, and if it doesn't happen then I have to go through the D&C routine next week.

I wonder if I knew on some primal level that it wasn't going to make it, or if I was just randomly pessimistic and happened to be right. I guess I'll never know.

I haven't been able to talk to Steve yet. He's been away from his desk. It is going to be so hard to disappoint him like this again.

I feel like I have this trusted position of bearing us a child and I can't get it done. I know it's irrational, but there it is.