There are many milestones in anyone's pregnancy, I am sure. Certainly, lots of women wait until they are 12 weeks along to tell others she is expecting, in an effort to manage risk of miscarriage. For other women, maybe it's when they first started to show, or a first stretch mark! For us, milestones are darker: the gestation at which I
- started to bleed with the last pregnancy
- ruptured
- was on bed rest
- viability
- went into labour
- had Maggie, and then Patrick, die...
- improved survival rates
I knew that being pregnant again would be difficult. We would have to face each milestone, allow ourselves to feel sad and scared, but also not to be overwhelmed or paralyzed by that if the pregnancy continues. And to be honest, many of the milestones passed by relatively quietly. Everyday of this pregnancy I have probably thought about risk, dead babies, the foolishness of trying to be pregnant again and putting myself through the turmoil, so the milestones were not always totally awful - perhaps, just more of the same. As the pregnancy progressed, each milestone passed. My family counted with me as we passed each of those dates in this pregnancy. (And, come to think of it, mostly took for granted that the surrogacy pregnancy continued as per usual). After each milestone we breathed a sigh of relief. At viability, we had cake. And, with each milestone, there was a period of hope: maybe this time will be better.
Others often asked when I might relax, enjoy the pregnancy, when I might believe that this is a healthy pregnancy that will lead to a healthy baby. I kept telling people this would happen at 30 weeks. At that time, survival statistics would be strongly in our favour and we would start really getting ready for baby(ies). I reassured lots of other people, and certainly myself, that I would be fine if I could just make it to week 30. But then, around week 27, and then 28, I started to realize something: the passing of milestones was not relieving my anxiety, nor was the passing of weeks. Indeed, my anxiety seemed to be staying steady, or worsening; 30 weeks would be irrelevant. Instead of being relieved that I have not ruptured or gone into labour, I began to anticipate (and likely over-estimate the likelihood of) the awful things that happen in the last trimester or during birth - like still-birth, the cord strangling the baby... As the pregnancy progresses, there seems to be more pressure from others and myself, to bond with the baby and plan on its arrival. I am meant to be planning a nursery, folding baby blankets, and buying a van. But the thing is, it is too terrifying. Not only did I learn in my last pregnancy that I can have pPROM and lose two children, I also learned that random, bad things can happen during my pregnancies and I shall not underestimate the power of mother nature again. I simply cannot believe that this will be a live, healthy baby. To assume that, is to invite ignorance and hope in, and I know all to well how awful it feels when they are taken away.
Today I am 30w6d and this is what it is like to be pregnant me: Earlier this week the baby seemed to be moving less. Not never, but less. I reacted with fear. I know that anxiety can be caused by selectivity of evidence, so I purposefully noticed each time I felt something that even might be the baby and took note, in hopes of mounting evidence that the baby was fine. But, it was not enough. I imagined that the baby was suffering, probably dying slowly. I thought about asking for help (I work in a family health team, so there's help at the ready), but I did not want to show how anxious I can be. Likewise, my wonderful midwives - I do not want to be the exhausting, needy client who calls all the time - I want to be a fun client! And, logically, I knew that it could simply be my own fear creating much of the evidence. So, I considered sneaking to the hospital. I thought I might be able to do that without causing too much trouble with co-workers and midwives, and without scaring my spouse. I debated sneaking over the the OB ward on my drive home from work, just to seek some reassurance. I did not end up going, I came home and allowed myself to be distracted by family life. Thankfully, the next day the baby was incredibly active and I relaxed.
I am not always that scared. And I have days during which I do enjoy being pregnant, and we talk about a nursery, or baby clothes, or vans. But, as much as those days are fun, there is still a part of me holding back, avoiding purchases or decisions that assume the babies will be healthy.
So, if anyone (including me) is wondering when I might feel better, the answer is when I have a healthy, live baby in my arms. I will believe then. I will embrace that moment. I will love my baby. And, on good days, I allow myself to imagine that moment and how wonderful it will feel; that brings me peace.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Hiccups
Hiccups can feel like earthquakes.
After blood tests confirmed that C and I were both pregnant, waiting and guessing began. Two embryos had been transferred to her, so how many had successfully implanted? Would either of us miscarry? Would either of us PPROM? What did the next weeks and months hold for all of us?
It did not take long for C to indicate that she and her partner both believed that she was carrying twins. She was not feeling well early on in the pregnancy, and her HCG levels were so high, that it seemed the most likely outcome. And, I adjusted quickly to this idea. We had transferred that many embryos because we want a big, growing family. And as illogical as it might seem, it felt good and exciting. Neither of us have a history of miscarriage and the embryos were of good quality. I was not overly concerned with miscarriage, but was anxious to see heartbeats, as is always done around 7 weeks through ultrasound with fertility clients.
So, around that 7 week mark, EllaGrace and I drove to Ottawa to meet C for ultrasound. The staff were unaccommodating and generally unhelpful; it was not the magic moment that I envisioned. The technician confirmed two singleton pregnancies; we were both carrying one baby-to-be with a heartbeat. That puts the odds of a successful pregnancy pretty high. I remember C looking at me and asking if I was not excited. I know I was disappointed to see that only one embryo had implanted in her, but I think more than anything, I was scared. There is no going back once there are heartbeats. I was in this come hell or high water. I reassured her that I was pleased, which of course I was, but that might have been overpowered by my fear; heartbeats simply meant heartbreak last time.
Our fertility clinic in Toronto seemed particularly keen on ultrasounds and had in fact requested three during the first trimester. This seemed excessive to C and I both, but we each attended one more. C's went well. Mine did not. My second ultrasound revealed a subchorionic hematoma. Basically a blood clot between the placenta and the gestational sac. My midwife gave me the information, indicated that it was described as small, and that SCHs generally self-resolve and are inconsequential. I questioned if I should expect bleeding and she agreed that this would be a possibility. I behaved as calmly as I could while we spoke, but the moment we were off the phone I turned to Google and Facebook while my heart raced. My fears were confirmed: SCHs increase risk of PPROM. It does not matter how much, how often, how big the SCH has to be. I am already at risk for PPROM, that is why I have C. But, this basically told me that my likelihood of experiencing PPROM was even higher now. I contacted my fertility clinic, I spoke with my nurse practitioner, and they each offered the same information as my midwife had: that a small SCH is not something to worry about. In the medical world it is a hiccup. In my world, it was an earthquake. I cried. I told my husband, close family and friends. Some cried, some offered encouraging words. Many of us were more scared, in what was already a scary pregnancy.
When I think back to the first trimester of this pregnancy, it is the SCH that comes to mind. It is the heightened fear. It is reading that someone compared blood to sandpaper in terms of its impact on the amniotic sac. I remember the fear in my chest and my guts. And then the concern of the impact of anxiety on the pregnancy. With my Aunt's words in my mind, I would lie in bed with my hands on my abdomen and take deep, full breaths, imagining them as peaceful, healing breaths being sent to the baby-to-be. I tried not to be pulled into all the negative thinking which is so easily done for me since Maggie and Patrick died.
Ultimately, I never bled. The following ultrasound revealed no SCH at all. It self-resolved, as predicted. For once, I fell within the norm! In my mind, my level of risk returned to my original status (15-30% chance of recurrence). Something I would have to live with, hopefully for nine full months. And, I always have C...
xx
After blood tests confirmed that C and I were both pregnant, waiting and guessing began. Two embryos had been transferred to her, so how many had successfully implanted? Would either of us miscarry? Would either of us PPROM? What did the next weeks and months hold for all of us?
It did not take long for C to indicate that she and her partner both believed that she was carrying twins. She was not feeling well early on in the pregnancy, and her HCG levels were so high, that it seemed the most likely outcome. And, I adjusted quickly to this idea. We had transferred that many embryos because we want a big, growing family. And as illogical as it might seem, it felt good and exciting. Neither of us have a history of miscarriage and the embryos were of good quality. I was not overly concerned with miscarriage, but was anxious to see heartbeats, as is always done around 7 weeks through ultrasound with fertility clients.
So, around that 7 week mark, EllaGrace and I drove to Ottawa to meet C for ultrasound. The staff were unaccommodating and generally unhelpful; it was not the magic moment that I envisioned. The technician confirmed two singleton pregnancies; we were both carrying one baby-to-be with a heartbeat. That puts the odds of a successful pregnancy pretty high. I remember C looking at me and asking if I was not excited. I know I was disappointed to see that only one embryo had implanted in her, but I think more than anything, I was scared. There is no going back once there are heartbeats. I was in this come hell or high water. I reassured her that I was pleased, which of course I was, but that might have been overpowered by my fear; heartbeats simply meant heartbreak last time.
Our fertility clinic in Toronto seemed particularly keen on ultrasounds and had in fact requested three during the first trimester. This seemed excessive to C and I both, but we each attended one more. C's went well. Mine did not. My second ultrasound revealed a subchorionic hematoma. Basically a blood clot between the placenta and the gestational sac. My midwife gave me the information, indicated that it was described as small, and that SCHs generally self-resolve and are inconsequential. I questioned if I should expect bleeding and she agreed that this would be a possibility. I behaved as calmly as I could while we spoke, but the moment we were off the phone I turned to Google and Facebook while my heart raced. My fears were confirmed: SCHs increase risk of PPROM. It does not matter how much, how often, how big the SCH has to be. I am already at risk for PPROM, that is why I have C. But, this basically told me that my likelihood of experiencing PPROM was even higher now. I contacted my fertility clinic, I spoke with my nurse practitioner, and they each offered the same information as my midwife had: that a small SCH is not something to worry about. In the medical world it is a hiccup. In my world, it was an earthquake. I cried. I told my husband, close family and friends. Some cried, some offered encouraging words. Many of us were more scared, in what was already a scary pregnancy.
When I think back to the first trimester of this pregnancy, it is the SCH that comes to mind. It is the heightened fear. It is reading that someone compared blood to sandpaper in terms of its impact on the amniotic sac. I remember the fear in my chest and my guts. And then the concern of the impact of anxiety on the pregnancy. With my Aunt's words in my mind, I would lie in bed with my hands on my abdomen and take deep, full breaths, imagining them as peaceful, healing breaths being sent to the baby-to-be. I tried not to be pulled into all the negative thinking which is so easily done for me since Maggie and Patrick died.
Ultimately, I never bled. The following ultrasound revealed no SCH at all. It self-resolved, as predicted. For once, I fell within the norm! In my mind, my level of risk returned to my original status (15-30% chance of recurrence). Something I would have to live with, hopefully for nine full months. And, I always have C...
xx
Today
I am sitting in my family room, my favourite room in our home. Not because we have done anything particularly wonderful with it, but it is inviting and is family centred. There is a round space dedicated to a playroom, but the toys inevitabley make their way into the sitting area where EllaGrace brings them to be closer to us; today I am joined by four dolls, two stuffed animals, two books, and a blanket (and yes, she does have too much!). We have a wood burning stove, which Lee does a wonderful job of lighting before I ever make it down stairs in the morning. Every morning I comment to EllaGrace about how wonderful Daddy is for having made a warm space for us, and now she too often remarks upon it. The room is also surrounded by windows and the blinds are always open. I suppose people can see in, but it also means that I can be cozy on my couch, with the fire on a night like tonight, and watch the snow fall. EllaGrace is freshly in bed, last heard giggling with delight at the glow-in-the-dark stars that she and Daddy put up a few days ago. Lee is cooped up in the office working on a final paper for school. So the dog, Rosie, and I are enjoying the quiet of winter and the warmth of our home.
Minutes ago I received a text from C, a joke about a comment I made on a Surrogate Facebook group (drama, drama!). It is amazing, probably so much so that it has still not really sunk in, that she and I have both past the 28 weeks pregnant mark. That puts us both in the third trimester. Each day increases the odds of healthy, living baby(ies) joining our family. What a miracle. Miracle of modern science. Miracle of mother nature. Miracle of God. Call it whatever you want. I should confess though, that I typed those last lines and then I nearly deleted them because of my fear. I leave them because I want to take the small opportunities that I give myself to rejoice in the pregnancies and how far each of them have come. But, if I am totally forthcoming when I write, then I need to add "knock on wood", and 'if', and all sorts of other negative, hypothetical language that I use to create distance and safety.
Our journey is far from over, but already I can look back on the last 28 weeks and say with complete honesty that it has been a positive experience (surrogacy, not being pregnant!). There are so many nightmares to read about, negative experiences, losses of communication, etc. C and I have become closer. I think that we have been realistic with our expectations of one another while also trying to be considerate. Any time that I have doubt, like the time that I thought we might not be in touch enough for her, so started trying to touch base more often, she emailed me about the same topic. It has been easy. I can only hope that the next 12 weeks are as smooth sailing as the last 28 have been.
xx
Minutes ago I received a text from C, a joke about a comment I made on a Surrogate Facebook group (drama, drama!). It is amazing, probably so much so that it has still not really sunk in, that she and I have both past the 28 weeks pregnant mark. That puts us both in the third trimester. Each day increases the odds of healthy, living baby(ies) joining our family. What a miracle. Miracle of modern science. Miracle of mother nature. Miracle of God. Call it whatever you want. I should confess though, that I typed those last lines and then I nearly deleted them because of my fear. I leave them because I want to take the small opportunities that I give myself to rejoice in the pregnancies and how far each of them have come. But, if I am totally forthcoming when I write, then I need to add "knock on wood", and 'if', and all sorts of other negative, hypothetical language that I use to create distance and safety.
Our journey is far from over, but already I can look back on the last 28 weeks and say with complete honesty that it has been a positive experience (surrogacy, not being pregnant!). There are so many nightmares to read about, negative experiences, losses of communication, etc. C and I have become closer. I think that we have been realistic with our expectations of one another while also trying to be considerate. Any time that I have doubt, like the time that I thought we might not be in touch enough for her, so started trying to touch base more often, she emailed me about the same topic. It has been easy. I can only hope that the next 12 weeks are as smooth sailing as the last 28 have been.
xx
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