Friday, January 22, 2016

The Pregnancy That Never Was

It was there.  That faint second line.  I was pregnant.  I called my husband in, showed it to him.  We hugged, whispered our excitement.  Blood test confirmed that I was VERY newly pregnant with a repeat test ordered in a week to confirm.  We kept the news to ourselves and quietly and happily counted ahead to a September due date (Chris's birthday month!), Sabrina being a big sister, plans for a gender reveal party, and all the other things that came along with finding out you're expecting.  I of course worked myself up into my usual ball of anxiety over anything resembling change, especially a change this big.  But I was happy.

Then the repeat test came.  I had figured out what my numbers should have been (HCG is supposed to double every 2 days, as all mommies to be quickly learn in their pregnancy journey) and it should have been roughly 150.  It was 40.  Hardly doubled in a week, let alone every 2 days.  My progesterone was almost 0 (3), down from almost 12 the week before.  Something was wrong.  I got my results in a message on my patient portal with the attached note of "We need to see you for an appointment".  Not exactly the way I wanted to find out that there was obviously something very wrong with my pregnancy.

So my husband and I trudged into the office a few LONG hours later.  They asked for any symptoms I'd been having, spotting, one sided pain.  Talked about risks of ectopic pregnancy.  The doctor told me that with the numbers as low as they were, it likely was an egg that was fertilized but never implanted.  This pregnancy of mine never really was.

But to me, it was.  The pink line was there.  The subsequent tests all said pregnant.  I FELT pregnant.  My chest immediately grew twice its size (kinda like the Grinch's heart) and began to really hurt.  I remembered those early signs.  Peeing more.  Being more tired.  Just feeling off, like something was different.  I may not have been pregnant, but my body begged to differ.  

So now I'm in this state of limbo.  My body still thinks it's pregnant.  The tests I take all say pregnant.  But I guess I have to come to terms with the fact that I'm not.  I never really was to begin with, other than a slightly elevated blood result.  The ICD-10 code on my patient plan read "Missed Abortion".  Really?  Is that really the term we want to use when a mother to be has been told that her pregnancy isn't viable?  Upon further googling, I saw the words "early fetal death" and stopped reading there.  I just couldn't read any more.

I've read many heartbreaking stories of pregnancy loss.  But the question I can't really seem to answer is, have I had a pregnancy loss?  I've lost the idea behind being pregnant, that's unquestionable.  But I don't feel like I can really place myself in the same category as those women who've lost pregnancies much later. I only had the idea for really a week, and even then I knew it was early and I knew that ultimately something like this could happen.  

Many women choose to keep their miscarriages and nonviable pregnancies to themselves. After some soul searching, I decided that I needed to do just the opposite.  I needed to share my sadness, my disappointment, in an attempt to not feel alone or ashamed.  I know so many others have been through similar struggles and I take comfort in sharing my pain so that maybe someone else like me can know they aren't alone either.  

I don't know what to feel.  I am sad, but not shattered.  I am disappointed, but not defeated.  My heart is sad for what would have been, but is also hopeful for what hopefully will be in the future.  I hope that we are lucky enough to get pregnant again soon, and hopefully that this time it will stick.  But for now, I'll quietly mourn my baby that never was, hug my fiesty, sweetheart of a toddler that I am lucky enough to have by my side, and feel secure in the fact that I have my best friend, my rock, my husband by my side through all of it.

The Chinese Gender Predictor predicted that it would have been a boy.  So in my mind, I will always think of the son that never really was for me, and hope that he is somewhere out there smiling down on us.