On Friday, May 1st I lost a pregnancy. Well, to be clear, we chose to end the pregnancy, but it only felt of tremendous loss. Just that Monday, at the very start of the second trimester, my OB called to tell me the results of a fetal DNA test we'd had done the previous week. Her hushed, sympathetic voice informed me ours tested positive for one of the big trisomies. It was obvious that she hated delivering this news. I don't think it was obvious then how much it hurt to receive it. My mind clicked into rational mode. I don't remember pausing, or any immediate feelings, only asking about next steps. The sadness and crying part came later -- like seconds after hitting End Call.
My doc advised that we have a CVS and to have it soon. We were fortunate enough to get in the next day, and the FISH results on Wednesday confirmed what we already knew to be true. We had all the evidence needed to make a decision. I can't call it a decision at that point, really. We'd talked about possibilities like this before even getting pregnant, agreeing about what we'd do. More talking quickly showed that we remained bonded in that choice. Another phone call for another appointment. In just five short days, I went from being one thing to something completely different.
I am different. I'm no longer a pregnant woman. I'm not in my third trimester anticipating the upcoming due date (which also happens to be our wedding anniversary - ouch). After the procedure, we immediately went away for a couple of days to recover. We burned a memorial candle our dear friend had given us throughout our retreat. We took walks and talked and rested and allowed the sadness. We began processing a loss we'd never known. We came home and returned to our jobs. I talked to my many supportive people. I sipped wine and ate chocolate. My body de-poofed right away, and I returned to my pre-pregnancy clothes, almost like nothing happened. I cried sometimes, and took anti-anxiety medicine sometimes, and just went through the motions of being present sometimes.
And then my sister's partner was diagnosed with melanoma. Such a totally crummy situation for a young father and family. Not only were they dealing with overwhelming medical uncertainty, but also significant financial concerns. I was terrified for him, my sister, and baby nephew. Helping to put together supports for them provided a welcome distraction. During both my own loss and his health crisis, so many people rallied to offer pure love and generous help. Sometimes this arrived in the form of delicious meals, which is my kind of love language. Luckily, the surgery to remove the offending mole on his temple, and a big chunk of skin around it, proved successful. After a scary period of waiting and procedures and more waiting, the verdict came in at Stage 2. He's cancer-free right now.
After that, our lease came to an end, and The Husband and I realized it's time to hightail it back to Seattle. We found a 1950s brick house to rent in a great neighborhood that still feels like old Seattle. Sadly, though, one week before we moved, our challenging but lovable cat went outside one evening and didn't return. We searched and searched and found no trace of him. Just the weekend before, he'd finally sat on my lap for, like, a half hour. This was huge. He wasn't a lap cat EVER, but he had curled up on my stomach once for a few minutes while I was pregnant. I thought we'd turned a corner on the affection, but now I wonder if he was saying goodbye? We moved away without our kitty.
There have been other little upheavals, losses, and missed opportunities, but I'll give it a rest before violins start tuning. My point is that 2015 hasn't been the best year overall. I think you've got it.
My long ago last post was all about baby ambivalence. Wasn't I about 90% sure I didn't want kids? Yes, I was...and then I changed. As our end of 2014 deadline to decide approached, I started having an inkling (if you call a month of hanging at the edge of a panic attack an inkling) that maybe I wasn't so sure after all. I realized I wanted the possibility of parenthood. The Husband agreed. The panic disappeared.
It would be dishonest to give the impression that we marched determinedly toward conceiving and never looked back. Nah, ambivalence didn't make a swift exit. We decided without making an effort. Our approach: Let's pull the goalie and see what happens! I stressed to the Husband that we would be lucky if I wound up pregnant in a year (or, of course, at all). We should just have fun with the process.
Instead, I got pregnant straight away. We were shocked. I yelled "holy shit!" when I glanced at the pregnancy test I had taken while working at home one afternoon, just to be sure that my barely late period didn't mean baby. Ta-da! It did. I broke the news to The Husband that night after handing him a glass of whiskey.
The first trimester was difficult. It felt unreal at first, until we saw the little bean on a screen and named it Garbanzo Seahorse. That's what the little blip looked like. Garb for short. I was scared sometimes. Money, careers, daycare, how would we make it happen? Eating became difficult. I hate cucumbers! I love cucumbers! I HATE cucumbers! I went through a phase of despising the smell of the kitchen. I had a particularly upsetting incident of extreme side pain while at a work event. Examinations and test results always showed that everything was fine. I always heard that things looked good.
I started feeling better as the end of the first trimester approached. We'd gotten used to the idea of a baby, and shifted from mostly freaked out to mostly excited. Except that I sometimes felt uneasy, especially during those later ultrasounds when Garb appeared minimally active and wouldn't cooperate for key measurements. We had to return for follow up appointments to see if Garb would kick it up a notch and change positions. Movement looked like a struggle.
I'm not claiming that I sensed something was off. How would I know anything the first time around? Mainly, I think unease came from hormones and the resulting mass of confusing emotions most of the time. Learning about Garb's genetic condition was a terrible blow; the decision was heartbreaking. Physically I've recovered, and emotionally I'm better. Mostly normal, I guess. Now I think about other things more often than not. Yet, grief still clutches on to me with its grimy nails every once in a while.
We remain at complete peace with our decision. We wish what was hadn't been, but we wouldn't do it differently if given another chance. I'm just different after everything that's happened. How could I possibly be the same? My heart has a Garb in permanent residence as we prepare to open ourselves up to possibility again.
No comments:
Post a Comment