After a loss, there is no point throughout your pregnancy that you feel “safe.” Sure, that milestone of making it further than you ever did before is a big one. Making it to 12 weeks feels amazing. Making it out of the first trimester and watching your bump grow is unreal. But no matter how much joy you feel one day, the next day might be filled with dread and doubt. I hesitated announcing our pregnancy at all because I know how painful it was for me to see countless pregnancy announcements while I was struggling to make sense of my own journey. But I shared this blog for a reason- to help others on a similar path to mine. For those of you who are still struggling to conceive after loss, or struggling to conceive for the first time, I am not writing here to tell you that “it’s all about the journey” or to “take heart because your rainbow is on its way.” I had someone tell me that it was “all about the journey” when I felt completely frustrated with ttc, and I wanted to slap her. I knew how much she hated being on that journey until she was on the other side of it, baby growing in her belly- and I was far from enjoying myself in that year after two miscarriages trying to achieve pregnancy again. And still, I do not feel safe. Being a NICU nurse, I know hundreds of things that can go wrong during pregnancy and during childbirth. Its been 7 years of actual hands on clinical experience that has made me aware of these unpleasant realities. I can only hope and pray that this little one is actually on her way to heal our hearts, and that we will get to meet her and take her home with us. Until I know for sure, I thought I would share the thoughts of a person who is hopeful and simultaneously fearful, so that if you’re in my shoes you know that you are not alone.
Week 4: We find out in Ireland at 4 weeks 4 days. Disbelief. Joy. Relief. Fear. Hope. Uncertainty. You name it, I felt it. On those winding roads in Ireland, I experienced more car sickness than I normally experience, but overall, I felt great. We landed back in the U.S. at 4 weeks 6 days. I called my doctor and heard the plan, as well as a big congratulations. I was to get labs drawn the next morning and begin Heparin injections after picking them up from the pharmacy. I re-download the app that I had downloaded twice before and then deleted, telling me how big my baby was and how far along I was each day.
Week 5: Baby is the size of a peppercorn. Labs are drawn, Heparin injections begun. Tony had an odd desire to give me my injections, and I gladly agreed. He ended up being way better at it then me. It’s one thing to inject someone else- it’s a whole new ball game to inject yourself. Moving day arrived. Driving across the country to our new home, far away from my doctor, leaving my health insurance benefits, and the comfort of our old home and all of its familiarity behind. I am hopeful: hcG results at 5 weeks: 1,022! (My previous pregnancies never made it to 200.) But I am also terrified. Every trip to the bathroom I search for any evidence of spotting. I breathe a sigh of relief and say a prayer of thanks each time that I find nothing. We arrive in Kansas City late that night- me barely being able to keep my eyes open. A 9 hour solo car trip (Tony was driving the second car) without coffee? Yikes. It wasn’t pretty, but we made it. We celebrated by picking up a local pizza and eating it right out of the box on camper chairs that we brought with us. The next day we unpack our new house on what is the hottest day during the hottest weeks that Kansas City would see in the summer of 2017. Tony does ALL of the heavy lifting and I unpack indoors. We keep busy, settling into our new home and hoping for the best. At 5 weeks, 4 days I decide to take that second pregnancy test exactly one week later from the first one. It was another digital Clearblue test with week predictors. Last week it said 2-3 weeks, so this week it should say 3+, right? It wasn’t my first pee of the day, but the doubtful part of me said to take it anyways. My heart sank. It still read 2-3 weeks. Was this the first sign that the baby wasn’t growing? I was a mess. Solution? Go buy more Clearblue digital with week predictors and take it again in a few days. The problem? After running to CVS, Walgreens and Target and finally doing a google search I learned that they don’t sell those types of tests in the U.S. They have been outlawed due to the fact that too many women were getting confused that the weeks meant weeks pregnant versus weeks past ovulation. The only place to find them was on ebay, for about $30/test and shipping from the UK. I felt incredible anxious as I learned this on my drive home. I took some deep breaths at a stop light and looked up. The car directly in front of me had a license plate frame that read “IRELAND” with an Irish flag. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I thought of this baby’s story. The impossible amount of stress that we faced around the time that we conceived, the fact that I vowed to never get on a plane if I ever conceived again- and that this baby had been on not one, but four flights already, the monumental inconvenience of not having health insurance at this time, and the fact that we found out, unexpectedly in Ireland. How could this story end with another early miscarriage? In that moment, I felt reassured.
Week 6: Baby is the size of a Maine blueberry. We both start work. By 6 weeks + 1 day, I have officially made it further than I had the last two times. Could this be the one? Still I’m so doubtful. No real symptoms to report. I’m tired, but I am also living without caffiene. My boobs are slightly tender at times, but not the screaming “don’t touch me” sore that I have heard so much about. Nausea? Maybe once or twice per week? At 6 weeks + 4 days my mom and sister came to visit. Within hours, they had figured out that I was pregnant. There were tears of JOY, and talk of HOPE. They celebrated the fact that I had never made it this far. As far as not having symptoms? My mom reassured me that she had such easy pregnancies that she felt guilty compared to her friends who had severe morning sickness, fatigue and other symptoms. She told me it was totally normal, and very genetic that I have such a mild beginning to my pregnancy. By the end of their visit, I remember having these waves of “crazy kate” wash over me. I felt rage out of no where, and for no reason. I felt full of emotion and teary the next moment. Mood swings? Check. During this week I still prayed that I would start throwing up, to reassure myself that things were okay. God laughed, and continued to only bless me with intense hunger.
Week 7: Baby is the size of a wee raspberry. Our insurance nightmare comes to an end. Tony’s internship at the V.A. allowed us to not only have access to federal health benefits, but gave us so many options, and the reassurance that benefits would begin as early as his next pay cycle. Hallelujah! I did not have to go the COBRA route which not only cost a lot, but my health insurance plan from South Bend proved to not have any providers in-network in the Kansas City area. I would have paid $600/month for COBRA and still paid out of pocket fees for services. Thank you federal employee benefits!! I’m feeling okay this week- hopeful that I made it past the dreaded 6 week mark. I schedule an appointment with a practice in town who delivers at my new hospital, and pray that they will do an early ultrasound on my first visit.
Week 8: Baby is the size of a wild strawberry. I begin working night shift again. I work Monday night, with the HOPE that I will get to see our baby the next day. On Tuesday, August 8th, Tony takes a half day from work and meets me at the OB appointment. My doctor is 100% okay with doing an ultrasound that day. Praise God. After an exam, blood pressure and weight check, we are escorted back into the sonogram room. I’m instructed to lie back, and prepare for cold gel on my belly. I hold Tony’s hand and realize that my heart is pounding. I’ve been here before. At 6 weeks with our first, they found an empty uterus. I had already lost whatever part of baby was in there the day before and I remember seeing this empty screen. With the second, I never made it into the sonogram room because I started bleeding so early. Then there were all of the follicle studies. All of these were transvaginal sonograms, looking far into the uterus to see the tiniest follicles. This one? A traditional gel on your belly sono. I asked the tech if it would work this early, and she said that we would always try this first, and if we didn’t see anything then we could switch to vaginal.
Before I could think anymore about it, I looked up, beginning to see speckles of gray tissue on the screen. Suddenly there it was: a little black sack with a tiny white thing inside. And the tiny white thing? It had a little head, and an arm, and the most beautiful beating heart. I started bawling. What was the heart rate? 163. One hundred and sixty-three perfect beats per minute. This was our little fighter. Our little Irish surprise baby who beat all odds and hung in there with us. I felt so blessed. I was on cloud 9. We sit down with our doctor and talk about future appointments, where I want to deliver and get handed a folder of many brochures full of genetic testing information. I admit that I wasn’t able to focus on a whole lot of this. I can’t believe it. Our little one is okay! Our little one is thriving! My body is actually doing what it is designed by God to do this time. I’m told that my next appointment will be at 12 weeks for a doppler heart rate check. “Okay!” I say.
The next day: I wake up in a panic! 4 more weeks until my next appointment? How could I possibly wait that long? What if I go the next month thinking that things are okay when they might not be? What if I find out at my 12 week appointment that our baby is no longer thriving? I pray, and I meditate, I begin yoga and hold onto that beautiful sound in my head: the sound of our baby’s little heart beating. I can wait 4 weeks.
Week 9: Baby is the size of a southern pecan. Revisiting last week’s dilemma, I concluded that there is NO way that I can wait until 12 weeks to know if baby is okay. I call the office and they agree to let me come in at 10 weeks + 3 days for a doppler heart rate check. I’m relieved. I only have a little over a week to go. I have somewhat adjusted to working night shift again, but some of the bad things about it come flooding back. Waking up at 1pm and not being able to go back to sleep? Check. Having to get up many times to pee once your head does hit the pillow in the morning? Check. That nauseating feeling you get after 2am while you are at work? Check. The mood swings and overly emotional reactions that you have to just about anything? Check. Oh, and that feeling of being hung over all of the time? Double check. But what is interesting about this time around working nights is that these are also all pregnancy symptoms. Poor Tony. I tried my hardest to not give into the tired, cranky emotional person that I felt I was becoming. One evening after sleeping as much as I could, we went on a walk around the neighborhood. I remember feeling like walking was difficult. Walking up a hill was overwhelmingly hard. I felt tired down to my bones on this walk. And then I got home and had my first pregnancy migraine. I never get migraines. Pregnancy? Or night shift? Who knows.
Week 10: Baby is the size of a Kumquat. I had to google just how big and also what exactly a kumquat even was. 🙂 Friday August 25th arrives, and I find myself in the doctor’s office waiting to hear the heart beat via doppler. Before we even got started, the nurse practitioner told me that I might not be able to hear the heartbeat because I was so early. And I couldn’t. After 30 seconds she gave up and told me that I would be able to have an ultrasound as soon as the room was free. Okay. I can wait. I went back out into the waiting room and prayed, texting a select few people to pray as well. I felt an odd sense of calm wash over me. This baby was fine. I would get to see that in a matter of moments. But looking back, I’m not sure that it was a sense of calm so much as it was a sense of numbness. This wasn’t happening again. Our baby is going to be OK. 30 minutes later, and I’m finally in the ultrasound room. I see the baby, but it isn’t moving much, and I don’t notice the heart beating until the tech says to me, “there? do you see the heart beating?” And then I can. And then I hear that beautiful noise of my baby’s heart beating. The heartbeat? 173. Still strong. Still fighting. Our little Irish fighter babe. I’m so tired that I don’t seem relieved and the tech comments on this. “Where is your smile?” she says to me. My smile? It’s in there… way deep in there under a furious amount of worry and fear. Still I am so grateful for another ultrasound proving that things were okay.
Also during this week, my best friend sends me some weeks blocks to commemorate each week as it passes! I place the ultrasound picture next to these blocks, and next to a little picture frame where I have written “grateful for each day.” And I am. I work up the courage to finally work some light exercise in to my routine, although the fatigue makes it very hard to find motivation. I begin the light exercise with walking on the elliptical at a high resistance setting.
Week 11: Baby is the size of a brussel sprout. The bump is really starting to appear. I embrace it, but decided that it’s time to evaluate my nutrition a bit. I’ve been eating a lot of “protein pancakes” and other carbs that I have avoided for the last couple of years. I needed more veggies in my life. Cravings? Or is it just my “IFG” (that’s inner fat girl) coming out? But the Irish baby loves Thai Peanut Chicken (also comes on a pizza) and peaches + cottage cheese, and eggs & bacon every day! This week I began to elliptical more. I’ve neglected workouts for months and just want to feel healthy!
Week 12: Baby is the size of a ripe apricot. 12 weeks! I can hardly believe that I made it to week 12! Per my old and new doctor’s recommendation, I was to stop my twice daily Heparin injections and slowly wean off my Progesterone. I was excited but nervous to do both. Tony had been giving me my shots twice each day and let me tell you… my abdomen was bruised. We couldn’t figure out why some injections bruised more than others, but one thing was for sure… my non-medical husband was better at them than I was. I get to hear baby’s heartbeat (168 bpm) again at my appointment and decide to have the Harmony test drawn. It is a simple blood draw that serves as an early detection of the three biggest trisomy abnormalities and the overall risk of having something chromosomally wrong. It also has the perk of revealing the gender before the 20 week ultrasound. I was in. Within a few days, the office called and told me that my results were negative for chromosomal abnormalities and the gender was waiting for me to pick up in an envelope as requested! I also treated myself to this onesie that I originally saw on Instagram and excitedly found it at Target!
Week 13: (baby is the size of a “hot jalapeno”) I picked up the envelope from the doctor’s office that contained the verdict whether we were having a girl or a boy. Tony probably could have waited until delivery day to find out, but I felt like I needed as much information as possible to be able to bond with this baby. I had such an underlying fear of it all being a dream that I would wake up from. The envelope sat on my kitchen table for a week until we figured out exactly how we wanted to find out. We decided on a confetti cannon which my friend would order from Etsy and ship it to us!
Onto the 2nd trimester and gender reveal we go!
