well . . .

Yesterday was a rough day.
I had such an uneasy feeling about my appointment. I cried while I got ready. As desperately as I wanted good news, as much as I hoped for it and tried to will it, I knew in the pit of my stomach I wouldn’t be hearing it.
When the appointment started, the scans didn’t look right. I didn’t know what I was looking at, but I knew I wasn’t looking at a normal ultrasound picture. The RN was a pro at distraction, she talked to me about everything but the baby. Asked me about my husband. And how we met.
And then the scan was over in less than 5 minutes. A handful of pictures were printed and quietly taken out for the doctor to see.
The doctor came in somber. I knew on her face immediately it was not good.
She asked if I had been told about my fluid situation.
I said not directly, but I read on my chart on Monday I had “subjectively low fluid”. I asked if that was bad.
She slowly nodded her head yes.
She went on to say I now had next to no fluid.
I ruptured somewhere along the way and likely didn’t pee my pants after all. (For the record, I did not pee my pants.)
She sat down and scanned me again. She checked to see if the baby had kidneys. She had trouble finding them and couldn’t confirm if they were working or not. At this stage in pregnancy, the baby should have working, viewable kidneys that process the fluid and produce more.
Without fluid, the baby won’t survive. The lungs can’t develop. He can’t grow. If he lasted until term, which isn’t even a possibility with the way things are going downhill now, he’d be a stillborn. The second the cord was cut, he’d never breathe. And he’d likely never be able to uncurl his arms or legs from being squished in a malfunctioning, essentially dry sac for 9 months.
The saving grace is that scenario won’t happen. The baby’s growth has slowed significantly. At 12 weeks, he was measuring on schedule. A month later, he is now measuring a full two weeks behind. The placenta looks like it’s preparing to tear away from the uterine wall. Things are shutting down. I’ve been aching and having constant nagging pains for the past few days.
My body is trying desperately to do something about it all, but it’s struggling.
The strange membrane that got me the perinatologist referral in the first place turned out to be a red herring. They can’t confirm what it even is right now. It could be anything. The specialist thought it might have been something left over from the cells attempting to split into identical twins.  It could just be everything deteriorating.
We just don’t know.
The one thing we do know is that this pregnancy was never right from the beginning. The peri said the gestational sac severely lagging in the first trimester is almost always an indication of a chromosomal defect and almost always results in a bad outcome. In looking over the one “normal” scan I did have at 12 weeks, my fluid was low even then.
Basically, this pregnancy has been one huge miscommunication. My body was late getting the memo and now doesn’t seem to know what to do with it.
So the sac ruptured and the placenta looks like crap and the baby isn’t developing anymore and I’m at risk for infections and this is the worst thing I’ve ever had to deal with.
Why I lasted this long, well, nature is just cruel I guess. Maybe my body is just in shock and doesn’t know what to do know. We’ve spent the past few months gearing up to welcome a baby at the end of the summer. All our plans, everything has been made around that assumption, and now . . . now I don’t know what to do with myself.
I had blood taken to test for a trisomy. They couldn’t do an amnio because I have no fluid. The baby will also be tested when the time comes. We hope and pray we’ll get some answers. Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason for these things, but because nothing has looked normal the entire pregnancy, they are confident they will find something.
I sure hope they do, but I also have to be prepared to be left with no answers.
I’m pretty numb right now. I’m not sure how to grieve or process any of this and I suppose I won’t be able to until it’s all over.
I’m just so thankful to have such a great support system. April was there with me and not only was my comfort, she was also my second set of ears. Little Annie could feel the sadness in the room and started crying. One of the kind nurses whisked her away and comforted her so April could be in the moment with me.
She also was able to contact He Who Shall Not Be Named before my appointment was even over to tell him to get on the next flight home.
No questions asked, he did.
Trying to break the heaviness of the situation, I joked with April that at least we could sip margaritas by the pool this summer.
We left the appointment and we found Annie, happily hanging out in her stroller being rocked by the receptionist.
I dreaded making the call to He Who Shall Not Be Named. The news was so horrifying and I wanted to give him every extra minute I could to still hope that things might turn out okay. I filled him in and we cried. I’m glad he had Charles with him on his end to talk to about it while he waited for his flight.
My parents came over to the house when I got home while I was waiting for He Who Shall Not Be Named.
We ordered pizza and sat at my kitchen table together.
My dad needed to do something for me, so he pooper-scooped our yard.
My regular OB called after speaking to the peri and reviewing the scans to express her condolences. She scheduled a time to come in this afternoon to talk through what we can expect to go through next.
I am appreciative beyond words to be in the hands of such wonderful medical professionals.
I talked to some of my close friends in the afternoon and it helped to start sharing the story and to hear their kind words. I’m trying to make it real so I can start dealing with it.
He Who Shall Not Be Named got home in the evening, with three bags of groceries full of comfort food.
We talked through everything while he made our favorite guilty pleasure – truffle mac and cheese.
I had a glass of wine. It sat for a while because I’m not used to having it.
But, I finally drank it and it was the best damn glass of wine I’ve had in my life.
Then He Who Shall Not Be Named made me a mint oreo ice cream sundae.
I joked I only have a few days left to eat like a pregnant lady until it’s time to get back to the gym and lose the weight I’ve gained.
I went to bed and slept for a solid 7 hours. The longest stretch of time I’ve slept since becoming pregnant.
My pregnancy symptoms have been starting to subside.
I got up for the day at 4:30.
I ate two doughnuts.
And I’ve sat in the same place on the couch in our living room, staring at our wedding photo wall for the past four hours, not quite sure what I’m supposed to be doing.
I have two boxes arriving today – the shark robe and one with three adorable spring maternity dresses. He Who Shall Not Be Named has strict instructions to get the boxes out of here and send them back.
I googled how to announce something like this on social media. Since we announced it to literally like 1,000 people we have to say SOMETHING. It’s going to get really awkward for people when a baby doesn’t show up.
I don’t want to make this more awkward than it needs to be. And I don’t want people to feel like they can’t approach me about it.
So, I found some very straight forward, nice wording to put up when it’s time.
He Who Shall Not Be Named thinks I’m handling this well.
But, we’re not even 24 hours in so “well” is bound to come and go.
I think the hardest point of this will be the surgery I inevitably have to have and then coming to terms with it being all over.
When I cry I try to remind myself it could be worse. But that only consoles me for a few seconds. I mean, yes, I have been spared a stillborn or an even later loss. But, there is always, always going to be something worse. Something more awful and heartbreaking and tragic. But, that fact is, I haven’t experienced that so I can’t compare.
All I know is that I am experiencing a second trimester loss, that’s what I have on my plate to deal with right now, and that to me is enough sadness to swallow.
It is more than enough.

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