Was and Wasn’t
To say that I don't have the right words is an understatement.
This should be an entirely different post. And it almost was.
5 weeks ago, I peed on a stick. And to my great surprise and delight, I got the feedback I'd been hoping for: Pregnant. And pretty soon, I felt it.
I'd like to spend more time talking about this part, but right now I just can't. It was a beautiful and exciting 4 1/2 weeks of slowly telling family, making plans, looking at tiny baby shoes and feeling all the super soft baby blankets.
Last week Thursday, we had our 8 week appointment. It started with an ultrasound and was followed up by an appointment, telling us about our results and giving us the info we would need to know between then and the next appointment: what to eat and what to avoid; what kind of activity I could do; how to prepare for my body changing as it made room for a tiny human. Instead, the nurse practitioner came in the room after the ultrasound, and gave us the exact opposite of the news we were expecting. It came with a lot of beating around the bush, which quite honestly, pissed me right off. I finally had to ask the question I didn't want to, the one that would change life as we knew it: "Are you're telling us it isn't a viable pregnancy?" But I already knew the answer.
From that point, it was as if she were talking to us from the end of a very long tunnel. Chelsey and I hugged and cried, catching just bits and pieces of what the NP said next..."On the ultrasound, we expect to see..." "Yours just shows tissue...no heartbeat..." "...bloodwork on your way out to confirm..." "...possibly a molar pregnancy..."
Devastated is only the tip of the iceberg. The rest of the day was tears, calls from my doctor, and Internet research. Slowly telling family, making plans. There's some scary stuff our there about molar pregnancies, all of which I've read, none of which I've liked. Talking to my doctor, who was deeply apologetic, helped some. Essentially she said that I could have done everything right, or everything wrong, and what happened still would have happened. The only way to know for sure what kind of pregnancy it was--was, damn--is to run tests on the tissue. She walked me through a list of options, and together we decided on a d&c. Medically speaking, its a dilation and curettage. In lay terms, its the procedure used in an abortion. And believe it or not, its actually better to describe it that way than to tell you what they actually do. And also believe it or not, a d&c is better than the stories I've heard about how traumatic it is to let it happen naturally.
So I am scheduled for day surgery on Thursday, a procedure that I never ever thought I'd be faced with. It's not fair. I was pregnant...and now this. I have a million questions running through my mind. A million worries and concerns. A million feelings and emotions. And initially I planned to list them here. But as they run on loop through my mind, I realize that there is something else that takes precedence.
I was so devastated by the news, that I couldn't go to work on Friday. I needed to process and wallow. I dreaded going back on Monday. There were a lot of frantic texts to coworkers--my team, our secretaries. Scrambling to make sub plans half-heartedly. I very quickly realized that I am incredibly lucky to work with such amazing and supportive people. They are my people. My tribe. I couldn't ever be out for a day without them. My lunch duty was covered before I even had to ask. Offers to help get anything ready that I needed. Flowers waiting on my table, chocolates at my door. Hugs. Kind words. Edible arrangements.
This is one of the hardest things Chelsey and I have faced together. But we know that we are loved and supported. And we know that, when the time is right, there will be a viable pregnancy. There will be a baby. And when that happens, we will still be loved and supported, by the same amazing family and friends who are here for us now.
But waiting sucks.
