Oh, Baby!
This is a post so, so long in the making. And yet, I've waited weeks to write it.
This is what week 16 of pregnancy looks like. Here I am at my appointment this morning. Before I can enter the hospital, I must stop to check in with the nurses sitting in a makeshift assessment station. I am asked questions about why I am here, any symptoms I have experienced, any possible exposure. My temperature is taken. I am directed to choose a mask: small, medium, or large. The halls of the hospital have an eerie feel; they are nearly empty, missing the buzz, the energy that comes from a mix of excitement, anxiety.
Although I can't see the expressions behind the masks of the few people I pass, eyes look worried, anxious, somber. In the waiting room, there are signs to indicate where it is safe to sit--not too close to anyone else. At my appointment, I am alone. There is a no visitor policy, under which my wife does not qualify as one of the exceptions, since I am not dying or giving birth. We share the moment we first hear our little babe's heartbeat over Facetime.
It's not how we planned that moment, but we also acknowledge that we are lucky--somewhere else in the hospital, a nurse may be facilitating a Facetime exchange for a patient who is dying, and wishes to say goodbye to their loved ones.
It's a bleak picture.
Even before the pandemic, this pregnancy has been nothing like I thought it would be. I expected great excitement. I expected to feel pregnant at every moment. But for me, many moments of this pregnancy have been colored by the loss of our last one, nearly a year ago. During week nine, just two weeks after seeing baby growing and measuring right on track on the ultrasound, I worked myself up into believing something was wrong. After four weeks of nausea, I wasn't nauseous enough to feel like I was still pregnant. I called the doctor in a panic. They are so so good and kind there. They let me come in to see baby. They completely understood. They said to come back anytime I needed to be reassured.
Before that, there were several weeks of blood work, days apart, to make sure my HCG (the hormone indicating I was pregnant) was rising appropriately. With each number, I was scouring the Internet for what my level should be. The first time, it just barely doubled. Doctor was happy, I was skeptical. The level continued to rise, seeming to be in accordance with the doctor's expectations. I tried to be excited. When the doctor said it was okay to stop drawing levels, I was anxious. How would I know everything was okay?
The weeks pressed on, waiting for our first appointment at 7 weeks--a week earlier than normal, so the doctor could make sure everything was okay. Waiting for the ultrasound at that first appointment, we were quiet, tense. This was the appointment at which, during the previous pregnancy, we found out that there was no baby growing. We asked the tech how this was supposed to go, and explained what had happened last time. She was very kind, and told us everything as we went. Within 5 seconds of the start of the ultrasound, she said she would take a few pictures and then project the screen for us--she could already see baby and a heartbeat. We both cried.
Our next big appointment was week 12. We were waiting for this one so that we could publicly announce our news. We were nervous, once again. Our anxiety only increased when the heartbeat couldn't be heard on the Doppler. They didn't seem concerned, and went to get the ultrasound machine. "There's the heartbeat, that little flicker. There's baby's arms, fingers...and legs." There it was, our little babe, finally looking more like a babe than a bean. We got some new snapshots of babe, and began to plan our announcement. Chelsey was elated; I was still hesitant.
As we entered the second trimester, I waited for the telltale signs that things were okay. You guys, I'm still really tired. I'm still having aversions. I'm not having any consistent cravings. After hearing the heartbeat today, I'm feeling a lot calmer. But not completely.
The fact is that at this point, there is less than a 1% chance that I will miscarry and lose the baby. And yet. We know that things still happen. Things can happen in the second trimester. Things can happen during birth. Or days before. And "can happen" would sound less scary, if we didn't know people who did have things happen.
Last time, I had gut feeling that it was a boy. This time, no gut feeling...and I suspect it's because there is a level on which I am afraid to assign any more importance to something I might lose. Now that we've heard the heartbeat (and I can play the recording on my phone at any moment), I'm hoping that gut feeling will appear soon.
It's taken up until a week or two ago to settle into the idea that everything you hear about the way a pregnancy should go, is subjective. Read the books and articles, listen to the podcasts, carefully. "During week __, you may experience_____." "Some women will experience _______." It's tricky territory. While I know that when it comes to growing a human, and raising a human, there is always a level of anxiety involved, I am learning not to let it get the best of me.
As we entered the school closure and safer-at-home order, much of my anxiety revolved around a fear that if we lost this pregnancy, the amount of time and money we would have to invest to produce another one, was insurmountable. We used our last vial of sperm to produce this pregnancy. The amount of money we would have to front to get and store more wasn't something we had laying around. Not only that, but with such uncertainty surrounding the virus--and as things began to close--I was afraid that even if I was ready to try again, our doctor's office would be closed, or not doing "elective" procedures like ours.
We have been through so much to get here. It's time to celebrate, not let fear take anything away from these moments. I will listen to my heartbeat recording, anticipate the feeling of little kicks and wiggles, continue planning a nursery, and research the latest and greatest baby things to put on the registry. I am resolving to find the joy and lean into feelings of optimism. As with many things, the plan, and the timeline, are not mine. There is so much I can't control. So I will learn to embrace the journey, whatever may come.
