This CAN not be happening to me…AGAIN…

The excitement that set in after the results came back from my bloodwork with what we now refer to as Baby#3, was uncontrollable. We had no reason to doubt that this was a successful and healthy pregnancy. My hcG levels were increasing at a rapid rate, I was experiencing every pregnancy symptom in the book, and I was starting to show JUST a little. NOTHING could have prepared me for what I was going to hear from my doctor on July 11, 2011.

Due to my ever increasing and high levels, the nurse estimated that I was somewhere between 10 and 12 weeks along….HOLD THE PHONE….this was now July and I had taken a test in May that came back negative. And I thought I had a period in June…or did I?! Ten to twelve weeks would mean we would have conceived….around our anniversary in May?! Oh man…I was never going to live that down. You see, we know the exact date that Harper was conceived…Mike’s 22^nd birthday – August 22, 2008. I had yet to stop hearing the end of that one….

I had an ultrasound appointment scheduled for sometime in the morning (the exact time escapes me at the moment). My husband wasn’t able to get time off work to go with me so I enlisted my best friend. I didn’t see any reason that I would need Mike there so I sent him off to work that morning with a kiss, a smile, and an “I’ll text you a picture later”. Instead, my friend and I had planned to have lunch and spend the day shopping, after my appointment, of course.

I arrived at the doctor’s office fifteen minutes prior to my appointment time with a VERY full bladder and a skip in my step. I had waited two years to be pregnant again. After a minor setback in February, today was the day I was going to see our next miracle (again, always the eternal optimist). Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long to be called back into that tiny, very cheerful room. One of the things that I had come to love about my doctor’s office, at that point, was that a lot of the exam rooms reserved for expectant mothers and parents were plastered with pictures of babies: on the walls, the door, even in the ceiling tiles.

The ultrasound technician got all set up while I prepared my belly. I made sure that I had a talk with Baby#3 that morning about not being camera-shy as his or her big sister ALWAYS was on “picture day”. The ultrasound technician got started and confirmed that by the position of my uterus and size of my placenta and amniotic sac that I was 11 weeks, 5 days. That’s about where the good news stopped.

Now, I’ve had my fair share of ultrasounds to know that, by 11 weeks, things should be taking shape. I.didn’t.see….any…thing…in…there…NO! That couldn’t be! My uterus is tilted so it’s harder to see. The ultrasound technician just wasn’t looking in the right spot. We just have to look HARDER….

I could see it not only in the ultrasound technician’s eyes but in my best friends. This was a pregnancy with no baby. All of a sudden, I couldn’t see anything at all. My eyes were FILLED with tears.

“SERIOUSLY, God?! Why are you doing this to me?! I’m a good woman; I am a loving wife and would give the world to my daughter. Don’t you see that? Why won’t you give me any more children?”

I know that to be mad at God made no difference in the outcome, but for a minute I had somewhere to place my anger because I just couldn’t understand what was happening and why.  The ultrasound technician took a couple of more routine pictures and then explained to me that I had a perfectly healthy gestational sac but that a baby never made it to the “baby” stage. It was called a blighted ovum. She took everything out to my doctor who scheduled an emergency appointment as soon as she could squeeze me in about an hour later. In the meantime, my doctor ordered some bloodwork to see if there was anything abnormal in my panel.

My best friend was a Godsend! She cried with me and comforted me. She held my hand and dried my tears. She helped me make a VERY difficult phone call to my husband who was unable to speak. How could he say anything? He was 40 miles away from me, at work, and HAD to finish his day. Not only that, he had a mandatory meeting that night that he had no choice but to attend, knowing that he would be leaving me to grieve another loss alone. Trust me, neither of us wanted that, but food had to be put on the table and the roof over our heads had to be kept. So, he told me how much he loved me, said he would be home as soon as he could tonight, and that he would call in a little while to make sure I was okay.

And then we waited for what seemed like the longest hour of my life. When the nurse finally called me back to ANOTHER room filled with pictures of babies, I was far from finished crying. I was able to compose myself long enough to get the official diagnosis…a blighted ovum. My doctor explained that a lot of times this is the body’s way of fighting off an unhealthy pregnancy. I know that she also explained other reasons this could have happened but, in all honesty, I stopped listening after that. I had already experienced an unhealthy pregnancy that ended in loss; WHY WAS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?! I had a dream pregnancy with my daughter, not a single complication. This made no sense.

After a very confusing visit with the doctor and a lunch that my best friend FORCED me to eat, I returned home. That very same best friend convinced me that I needed to help her figure out how to make some custom hair pieces that afternoon (I think she just wanted to make sure I was okay and didn’t have to spend the afternoon alone; I love her more for coming up with an excuse to stay with me). Thanks to her, I was able to laugh, even if just for a moment, and get my mind off the rollercoaster I had spent the day on.

When she left, however, my world immediately turned upside down. You see, I am VERY good at putting on a brave face, even in times of adversity and pain. So, while I could have cried my eyes out and leaned on one of a few people in my life for support, I decided it best not to and quietly fall apart later.

Here’s the thing about this pregnancy: when I tell people about it, some have reacted with “Well, at least there was no baby”. REALLY?! I don’t care that there wasn’t a baby in there; this was just as much of a loss as my first miscarriage, second baby. This was a chance for another child, baby or no baby. The thing about women is, when they see those two pink or blue lines, that immediately signals a bonding period for them with their pregnancy. This was no different. I saw two pink lines, or well, six pink lines (I didn’t tell you about the pregnancy test I took after we came home from camping, test #3!), and immediately started “feeling” pregnant. I started the bonding process…

Let’s get one thing straight: this was a HUGE loss for my family and I. To all of you naysayers out there, baby or no baby, this was a missed chance at another child. For the time being, please stop telling me that this was not a “miscarriage” because there was no baby, you really aren’t helping. This was just as painful as my previous loss and I still count that baby (or lack thereof) as one of my guardian angels. There is a reason that God didn’t give me that third baby. Maybe one day I will understand it, maybe I won’t. We’ll just have to wait and see.

To my best friend: I dedicate this entry to you. Without you that day, I wouldn’t have made it home safely or realized that sometimes things have to happen for a reason. Without you, I wouldn’t have seen even the smallest light at the end of the tunnel. Without you, I wouldn’t have had a shoulder to cry on while I waited for my husband. Without you, I would have had no one to dry my tears or ask difficult questions of my doctor. Without you, I would have been lost. I love you more for being there for me that day and every day since!

To all of my loyal readers: thank you again for reading and stay tuned! My next post will be difficult to write, and most likely, difficult to read. But you all keep me going.