Five on Friday (Baby #2 Edition)

As I said in my previous post, after an up and down year in the world of pregnancy and loss, Baby #2 is on its way. It's been a nerve wracking experience this time... just waiting for something to go wrong (that just sounds awful, but it's true). But each milestone, ultrasound, and successful appointment helps us breath a little easier, and start to be more excited than nervous.

Since I haven't posted here lately, I thought I'd devote this Five on Friday post to catch-up on Baby #2/the common questions people seem to want to know...

**ONE**
How far along are you/when are you due?
As of Sunday, I will be 16 weeks - so early in the 2nd trimester. Our official due date is July 12th (interesting factoid - my due dates have all been on the 12th of the month. Linnea was due August 12th (born on the 13th). The baby we lost was due on December 12th. This baby is due on July 12th). How's that for consistency??

**TWO**
When did you find out?
This part of the story makes me smile, and will always serve as a reminder for me to hold on to hope in what feels like hopeless situations. For those of you who have gone through pregnancy loss and/or waiting a long time to get pregnant, you will understand that you get to the point where your monthly cycle, timing of everything, and waiting game is just excruciating. (I fully acknowledge that my waiting game is NOTHING compared to others...but I fully believe that each person is on their own journey and has their own experience. I don't mean to offend).

I had definitely gotten to that excruciating point. The months were just a ongoing cycle of having my period, waiting for the right time, hoping we timed things right, and then waiting. I became obsessed with dates and timing and all of that.

I was so sick of waiting and then being disappointed. I got my hopes up every month, sometimes even being late for almost a week, and then being let down. I was so over it.

I also had a dream about taking a pregnancy test. No a whole lot of details that I remember...but there was definitely a pregnancy test involved. So on Halloween morning I woke up and decided I was just going to take a test. It was almost a week and a half before I would usually even test. I didn't tell Jeromy. I just took it. We had a fun weekend planned and I decided that I'd rather just know, and not be disappointed and sad in the midst of our weekend.

So I did my business, and then putzed on my phone a bit before I hopped in the shower, not even worrying about 3 minute wait, since I assumed it'd be negative. I glanced at the test as I got in the shower. "Positive" it read. And we're taking a digital test...so no trying to decipher the pink lines. Holy crap. A wave of excitement and fear came over me. Don't get your hopes up. Don't get your hopes up...but how can you not? It's positive. But what if it happens again?

I took a shower, mind completely racing.

When I got out of the shower Jeromy was just getting up and coming downstairs. All I could manage to do was hold out the test and say, "So, this happened..." He got a huge smile on his face and gave me a big hug. I love this man. He's always so chill, "in the moment," and "take each thing in stride," that fear wasn't even an emotion he was experiencing in that moment. He was just excited.

Over the next couple weeks I took several more tests. I had started getting the digital ones that predict how many weeks along you are, which helped to boost my confidence and make me feel more reassured, because I'd see the number of weeks along go up. We also got to see the doctor early this time (in the 6th week) to confirm everything looked good. It was nice not to have to wait so long.

As I said before, each test, each ultrasound, each little milestone helps to feel more reassured. I think I will be a bit more on edge this time around because of what we've been through, but I suppose that's to be expected.

**THREE**
How have you been feeling?
I'm not going to lie. It's been rough. This pregnancy has been very similar to the early parts of my pregnancy with Linnea. Around week 7 the symptoms started - bad nausea (though no vomiting, thankfully), extreme lack of appetite, and terrible fatigue. Similar to Linnea, I've finally started to get some relief within the last couple weeks.

This time around, I did resort to medication. It's hard to know if it got to that point because it was that much worse, or because it was harder to deal with due to having to mama to a 3-year-old as well. For a couple months I literally could not make it through my work day without a nap over my lunch break. I left work/took PTO a couple times because I was too sick to be productive in my job. Although I prayed for months to be pregnant again, I'd be lying if I said that all of it was totally welcomed and easy. I don't know. It's an odd mix of emotion.

Anyways, in terms of medication, I started first with a mix of unisom and B6 vitamins (which apparently is a fairly well known over the counter remedy for morning sickness). That worked really well for a few weeks (as in I could survive the day, and actually eat a bit more than saltines or dry cereal), and then suddenly didn't (not sure if I build up some sort of immunity or if the symptoms themselves got that much worse). Either way, at that point I resorted to Zofran, which is a commonly prescribed medication for morning sickness (more traditionally used for patients with cancer, but found to provide relief in these circumstances as well). I've been taking all three for the last couple weeks, and am feeling better.

Again, it's hard to know if the little bit of relief I started to feel was because of the medicine, or because I was starting to lose symptoms. If this pregnancy is true to mine with Linnea it will be until about 18 weeks before I fully am back to myself - appetite-wise, energy wise, etc.

I would say I'm about 70%-80% most days. I'm not needing a nap in the same way that I have. While I can tell my appetite is still limited, it is starting to come back. I (knock on wood) have not had the really bad waves of nausea in a couple weeks. I'm getting a bit more energy back so that I do more than work and sleep.

My dear husband has been a saint. I know it's not easy for him. He's had to shoulder most of the Linnea care, all of the cooking, and most of the house work. Not only that, but it's a bit like he's lost his wife as well - at my worst I would go straight to bed when I got home, and only resurface to put Linnea to bed (if that). I know it's been hard, and I'm so thankful for how well he's managed to hold things together. Wasn't always pretty, but we made it.

**FOUR**
What's Linnea's reaction been?
Seeing the pregnancy through Linnea's eyes, and watching her take on the role of big sister is something I've been REALLY excited about.

Before we told her about the baby, it was really hard. She didn't understand why I was eating, playing, or why I had to spend so much time on the couch or in bed. I know it worried her, but also probably just plain annoyed her.

We finally broke the news when I was around 11 weeks, which is earlier than I had planned (mostly because she's so talkative that I didn't trust her to keep the secret). Jeromy suggested we just tell her on one night when I was feeling cruddy (because she was so worried about me).

She seemed to at least sort of understand. She giggled with excitement, and asked some questions. I don't know if she REALLY understands the full extent of what's going on, but she does know mama has a baby in her belly and that she is going to be a big sister.

One really funny thing since we told her is that she has been convinced that she has a baby in her tummy too. It's a girl baby, and her name is Laura. She's even gone as far as telling me that I can have a boy baby (even though if you ask her if she wants a brother or sister she'll always answer sister) because she is having a girl baby. Fairly regularly she'll talk about Laura. Too funny.

Another thing that's been making me laugh... as I've started to show a little bit, Linnea will regularly greet me with, "Whoa, Mama! Look how big your baby has gotten." Oh honey, you have no idea! Just you wait.

She's been very sweet though. She asks to talk to the baby, and see the baby. She seems genuinely excited about the baby. I'm so excited to watch her become a big sister.

**FIVE**
Pregnancy after miscarriage?
So admittedly, not really a question that people ask, but something I think people wonder about, and something that's played a big part in the experience this time around.

As I mentioned a bit above, it's been such a nerve wracking experience. With the first two pregnancies, I never assumed anything would go wrong. Sure, you always worry. You wonder if everything is okay. But you don't really think that it's not going to end well.

This time around it's been really different. The first several weeks I was more nervous than excited. I went to the doctor fairly regularly, just to make sure the baby was still doing okay. And I think if I'm honest with myself, each time part of me assumed that I would find out I miscarried again.

It's been just recently that the bulk of that worry has subsided. Now that the news is out, and that I'm in the second trimester, excitement is starting to take over.

I really can't fully explain the mix and mess of emotions. I've thought a lot about this. After I miscarried, I hated seeing anything pregnancy related. Any announcements on Facebook, conversation in passing, even seeing people pregnant. It felt (completely irrationally, I might add) like the world was mocking me. I vowed at that time that I would not complain at all about anything pregnancy related, I would cut way back on posting anything about my pregnancy, etc.

But then I got pregnant again. And started to let myself get excited. And I wanted to talk to people about it. I wanted to post a cute Facebook announcement. I wanted to reach out on social media to get advice about my pregnancy woes. Because that's what I was living. And I was - am - excited.

I hate knowing the other side of it. I hate knowing that my posts (including this one probably) make people mad, sad, or otherwise. I hate the self-loathing that sneaks up on me when I feel I posted too much..or maybe worded something poorly.

It's a hard road to navigate, friends. I'm not sure I have much more to say that will truly express the mix and mess of emotions.

Happy Friday, everyone! Thank you for reading.

Why I've been MIA...

So I've sucked with a capital S at blogging as of late. I've tried to keep at it, but I just haven't had the energy or capacity to do it (or at least do it well).

Those of you who follow me on Facebook and/or Instagram know the main reason why this has been the case, but in case there's anyone reading who doesn't (which is doubtful, because I think I have like 5 readers, but whatevs)...

Yup. After a very bumpy road this year in terms of pregnancy and loss, I am pregnant again. This time around has been very different...lots of different emotions being pregnant after miscarriage. But things are going well, and looking good.

Lots more on this to come, I'm sure...

The Grief That Worsens

Shit's about to get real, my friends.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and am taking to my blog to "talk it out" a bit more.

As a side note, I'm so behind with blogging. This is what happened before with my failed blogger attempt - I get behind, and it becomes overwhelming, and I just stop trying to catch up...just stop altogether. I don't want that to happen.

Anyways... as I've discussed on this blog, I miscarried in May. It still pains me to type that. And as I said early on, it feels like a bad dream.

When it first happened, I was surprised with how well I handled it. It was a painful (to say the least) blow, but I felt hopeful. And why wouldn't I? The doctor gave us no reason to assume that there is anything wrong. Miscarriages (sadly) are quite common, so I figured we'd get past it and be pregnant again fast.

That was 4 1/2 months ago.

Now I've been through a decent amount of grief and loss in my life. I lost two grandpas, two grandmas, a very close family friend, my sister, and a few other close family members before I was in junior high. Since then, I've lost others, and walked with friends as they've lost close family and friends. In other grieving experiences, it gets better. Of course the loss is always there...it never goes away...but time heals and you learn to live again and move forward.

Miscarriage is different. At least for me. Like other grieving experiences, some of it gets better. The trauma, shock, and pain of the loss lessens. But in many ways, it gets worse.

Each month that passes is another month that I'm not pregnant. Each month that passes brings more insecurity and fears (What if something's wrong? What if I can't get pregnant again?). Each month brings more announcements of other pregnancies. Of babies that would have been born after mine. Each month brings me closer to my would-have-been due date...such a dreaded day now. How can it be just a few months away?

By now I would have been in my 3rd trimester. We'd know if it was a boy or a girl. We'd be feeling kicks. Linnea, I'm sure, would be brimming with pride about being a big sister. The nursery would be near completion. All our friends and family would know, and strangers would know too because the bump would be obvious.

But instead... no baby. Fears. Uncertainity. Smiles through the pain when people who don't know ask about future kids. Private tears when I find out that someone else is pregnant and it's not me. Insecurities about any pains, oddities, symptoms that might mean something. Months that cycle obsessively from "waiting game...to trying...to waiting game...to "I not pregnant again?! FUCK!"...to waiting game).

I read a quote on a related blog that has really stuck with me... "Hope is hard." Amen. When the months pass, and there's less and less to put your hope on it is hard. Damn near impossible sometimes.

So what do you do?

Well, if you're me...you take baby steps forward (pun not intended...). You try to put things in perspective. You let yourself be happy for your friends who have babies in their bellies. You work on being thankful. You say (a lot) of prayers. And you get through it. Day by day.

If you are a believer, please say a little prayer for me. Most days are okay, but there have been some rough ones.

Hope is hard.

"I'm sorry..."

I'm sorry...

I'm sorry, body. I'm sorry that instead of being in awe of the amazingness you have already done for me, I focus on the one big way you have seemed to fail me. You have run marathons. You have grown and birthed 7 pounds, 13 ounces of pure awesome. You fed said bundle of awesome for an entire year. You deserve more than my anger and self consciousness towards you.

I'm sorry, stranger. I'm sorry if I stare a little longer than what is normally socially acceptable. I promise I'm not a creeper. I stare, remembering how awesome it felt to be pregnant like you. I stare, longing to be in that position again...hoping that it will be sooner rather than later, scared that (illogically) it will never happen to me again. I hope you are loving it, and thankful every day.

I'm sorry, Facebook friend. I'm sorry that when you announce you're pregnant my first reaction is jealousy. I hate it. It's not fair, and it's not how I want to react. But that's what's there. Of course there's happiness...and that's really most of what I'm feeling. It's just that first punch in the gut of jealousy comes first. When that subsides, the happiness takes over, and I like the post that I really do in fact...like. I'm sorry that the jealousy is first.

I'm sorry, friend. I'm sorry that I'm a little awkward talking about your pregnancy. I'm sorry if you feel like you need to walk on egg shells. Please share. Please be excited. Please know I'm excited and so happy for you. Thank you for your understanding. Thank you for your patience.

I'm sorry, husband. I'm sorry you sometimes get the brunt of the emotion. The breakdown of the brave face. The tears...the anger...the doubt... the quiet conversations in the dark when I say the things I'm too scared to say to anyone else. I'm sorry that sometimes I'm more negative than positive about all of it. I'm sorry if our intimacy feels like a means to an end sometimes. It never, ever is. I promise.

I'm sorry...

D&C

I appreciate you hanging with me for these less than fun posts. It's actually been incredibly cathartic to write about this whole process. I am, and have always been a big time feelings person. I have "big feelings" and am a total open book when it comes to my emotions. That's been particularly challenging during miscarriage, because it's generally such a hush-hush and taboo subject. I, quite frankly, think that's ridiculous. I think that miscarriage is something that NEEDS to be talked about. It's so much more common than it seems, and it's often a quiet pain for women. So I'm talking...or at least writing. I hope that these posts can provide at least a little comfort for women facing the same.

Rewind to Thursday. I was at work, trying my best to be productive to make up for my missed days earlier in the week. Thank God for super super supportive co-workers. I got lots of hugs, kind words, and even some chocolate delivered to my desk.

In the afternoon I got a voicemail from the surgery schedulers to confirm my appointment. When I called back I found out that they had me scheduled for check in at 6:30 AM the next morning. That really wasn't going to work. I couldn't imagine how I was going to get to the hospital (with a driver) by 6:30 with Linnea to think about. So I asked if there was anything later. After a little back and forth, we settled on 3:30, with a 2:00 check-in. This worked MUCH better time wise. The only unfortunate part is that it meant I couldn't eat anything after breakfast!

Friday morning I headed to my parents with Jeromy and Linnea to hang out there for the day (Jeromy had to work, but Linnea was there for her usual Friday). It was a long morning. It was hard to be happy and playful, when I was so scared and sad about what I had to face that afternoon. I managed to snooze a little on the couch, and enjoy some extra, much needed time with my sweet girl.

A little after 11:00 I got a call from the surgeon who would be doing the procedure. He explained that he was reviewing my record, and with the information he had, he did not feel comfortable going through with the surgery. What?! He explained more...the baby was measuring 6 weeks, 1 day. Even though the "numbers" (date of last period, positive pregnancy) clearly indicated I was 9 weeks, if something did happen to be "off," a 6 week, 1 day baby would not necessarily have a visible heartbeat. Since he didn't have any information beyond the ultrasound and those dates, he indicated he did not have a clear diagnosis of miscarriage.

With a bit more conversation we decided I would go to the Chanhassen clinic to get my blood drawn to test for HSG (the pregnancy hormone). Our hope was that the results would point to a clear diagnosis (of course the real hope is that it would provide indication that there may actually be a healthy baby in there, but that was very slim). The surgeon said he would call with the results, but we may need to delay it until Monday.

So I ran to the clinic, got my blood drawn. and went back home to my parents. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. No call. It was getting close to 2:00, so my mom and I headed to the hospital. I got checked in, and was brought back to the surgery center. Enter the nerves. Got changed into a robe, and started talking with the nurse. At this point, I didn't even know if they'd be able to go through with the procedure, and no one else seemed to know either.

They tracked down the surgeon. He apologized profusely, and said he had just found out that the Chanhassen clinic doesn't test for HSG on site, so they didn't have the results. ARG! Rather than wait for them to send it across town, they decided to test it again. The doctor said that the lab said it would only take 15-20 minutes. We waited. And waited. And waited.

FINALLY the surgeon came back with the results. (I will say again that the doctor was so, so, so wonderful. He was so present. So compassionate. So kind.). He carefully explained that my HSG levels were very high.... more in line with being 9 weeks along. With those HSG levels, the baby should definitely have a visible heartbeat. So he was able to formally diagnosis miscarriage.

It hurt to have the final answer. To know this really was the end, and we really had lost our baby. With a deep breath, and a brave face, I prepped for surgery. My mom gave me one last hug, they hooked up my IV, and wheeled me back to the operating room.

I remember being introduced to the nurses, and seeing the surgeon come in. They had me move from the rolling bed to the operating table, and got the IV medicine flowing. And then I was out.

I woke up after what felt like 5 minutes, back in the surgery center. It felt just like waking up from a really deep sleep. It was a little alarming, because I don't know how I got back on the rolling bed...or got the mesh underwear on...or anyone putting all the monitoring stickers on me. But I guess that's normal.

Much to my relief, I was not in any pain. None. My mom came back as I was waking up. We chatted for a bit, and I sipped on my Coke and nibbled on saltines until I felt steady again. Then I got dressed, and headed back home to my parents.

For anyone who is facing the same, please know that the anticipation and waiting for the D&C was a million times worse than the procedure. The process itself was fast, painless, and a relief to have over.

I'm now 3 days past the procedure. I hadn't had any pain. Hardly any bleeding. And I instantly felt better physically.

Granted, the emotional pain runs deep and will take longer to heal from. But the D&C is behind me, and for that I am grateful.

Five on Friday

The week is over. Praise God. This week has been...lousy. But it's wrapping up in the best way that it could, given the circumstance, and for that I'm thankful.

**ONE**
Like I shared in my last post, I found out I miscarried this week. We found out on Wednesday, at what should have been our first prenatal appointment. Since then, there have been lots of tears, lots of anger, and lots of nerves as I prepared to have a D&C. For those who don't know what a D&C is, basically it's a surgery to remove the fetal tissue from the uterus. I opted to have that done because my body hadn't miscarried naturally, and I didn't want to have to wait to have it happen at work or something.

I'm planning to write a separate post about the process. I hope actually is that if someone else needs to go through it, that it brings them some reassurance and comfort that it'll be okay.

What I'll say here is that it went really well, and although there still is and will continue to be sadness, I'm very relieved to have it behind me.

**TWO**
Remember a few posts back when I posted about the Sara Bareilles' song "I Choose You?" In that post, I mentioned how it's a perfect proposal song. Well, apparently Sara and I think the same way! The official video for the song came out this week, and it is AWESOME. I dare you to watch this without smiling or tearing up. Also, I love her now even more than I did before because she chose one straight couple, and one gay couple. Go, Sara! Love this!!



**THREE**
We made some yard progress this week, which was really exciting. We've been in our house for almost 7 years (??!!), and it's constantly been a (slow) work in progress. The previous home owner had a lot of random gardens, that just didn't really work for us as non-gardeners with a 95-pound dog romping around. This week, we had a few stumps ground - two tree stumps, and a root ball from a bush we were trying to dig out. It wasn't super expensive, it was fast, and it made a big different. Win, win, win! Hopefully we'll get some nice weather soon to do some clean up and more seeding. Jeromy's talked about getting a little vegetable garden going again. That would be great!

**FOUR**
Mother's Day is this weekend, and it's very bittersweet this time around. I have been really excited for this weekend for weeks, as we had planned to break our baby news to our parents. Instead, we've had to tell them that we were pregnant, but miscarried. Linnea has brought me a lot of comfort in these days. I am SO thankful to be her mama, and I hang on to strong hope that I will be a mama to another baby soon.

**FIVE**
My parents are leaving for Italy this weekend...lucky ducks! I so envy my parents' travel. We traveled around a good amount growing up, but now that they are empty nesters and have some expendable income, they travel a lot. I live vicariously through their travel for now...and hope that Jeromy and I can do half the travel they do. Jeromy and I love to travel, and thankfully have similar travel "wish lists." What's on your travel wish list?

Becoming a Statistic...

This day was much harder than I ever expected. It was a day that was supposed to be joyful...and exciting... and happy...and it was not.

Today I became a statistic...one of the 1 in 4 women who have had a miscarriage. It is surreal to type that - and will probably continue to be for a while. Right now I'm still working on accepting that this is part of my story now.

Today we had what was supposed to be our first prenatal appointment with our second pregnancy. Entering into the appointment I was nervous. I was trying to brace myself for the worst, knowing that nothing with pregnancy is ever a given. But I was still assuming that everything was okay. Why wouldn't it be? I have been nauseous. I have been tired beyond tired. I have had a crazy strong sense of smell. I have been hormonal. I have been - and I suppose still am - pregnant.

But when it came time to look at our baby, it was immediately clear something was wrong. I should have been nearly 9 weeks along. The baby that was there was not a 9 week sized baby. It wasn't even a 8...or a 7 week sized baby. And even when we stretched the numbers to try to make them work, they didn't line up. We watched and we waited for a flicker of a heartbeat, but there was nothing there. Our excitement and joy shattered in an instant.

I felt like I was dreaming. I felt like I was falling off a cliff, scrambling to grab hold of something...with nothing to hang on to. I sat in shock while the nurse talked through the next steps, in disbelief that this was my life. I held back my tears as best I could...but didn't do a good job.

The nurse left the room and I crumbled into Jeromy's shoulder and sobbed. I sobbed for the baby I already loved. I sobbed for the dreams and plans that were instantaneous destroyed. I sobbed for myself. I sobbed for Jeromy. I sobbed because I'm not going to get my Christmas baby. I sobbed for the loss of hope that I felt in that moment. And I sob now.

Somehow I made it out of that office. I made it out to my car. I made it home. I slept and I cried. I watched stupid TV. I cried some more. We went to a radiology appointment later in the afternoon, which just felt cruel. I laid in a dark room, flashing back to our 20 week ultrasound appointment with Linnea. A time so filled with wonder...with amazement at seeing our beautiful, healthy baby.

This ultrasound was way less fun. We sat in silence while the tech took measurements. We knew. We knew that she wasn't finding anything different. When it was all done, she walked through the results. Everything was there...but the baby was measuring 6 weeks, 1 day. No heartbeat. Not viable.

So that's that.

Later, a conversation with the nurse practitioner about next steps. I will have a D&C in the nearish future. We will take it day by day. We will try to hope for the best. And we will continue to grieve for our baby.

I don't know who will read this. And truth be told, I didn't write it for other people. I wrote it for me. To process. To grieve. To remember, though I wish I could forget.

One day at a time...