Sigh

Ahh, February. This is a pretty bittersweet month for me. I've been dreading this month for a while, and now that it's here, I want it gone. I just want February to be done.

So, I had brief mentionings of this the last time I came to the blog. Now I'm actually ready to talk about it. Gerard and I have wanted a second baby close in age to Solomon. We see how much he loves interacting with the kids at daycare, or any kid he sees, and want him to have a sibling he can play with. We also look at the sibling relationships we each have and so want to duplicate that bond for Solomon. We were hoping for less than 2 years apart. We found out we were pregnant the day before Father's Day (I just couldn't wait that one extra day). It was amazing. We were both so excited and I took for granted the ease of everything. We had a new nickname for the baby, Bee. Soon afterwards, a close friend had confided in me that she was also newly pregnant! I was so excited for her new family, and excited to share our pregnancies which were only days apart.

I had been feeling naseaous for a few days, and abruptly began to feel better. I had also lost the sensitive gag reflex I had known so well during my first pregnancy with Solomon. I called the advice nurse, who gave me the 'every pregnancy is different' spiel but appeased me with an earlier appointment nonetheless. I went in on July 1st. Gerard had to work, so I went alone, which should have been fine. They started the ultrasound, and my OB asked "How many weeks pregnant did you think you were?" I immediately tensed up. About 6, I answered. Is something wrong. She showed me the empty gestational sac on the ultrasound. 'Well, I'm not seeing any yolk sac. Which may mean nothing, it may mean etopic, or it may mean that you're not as far along as you thought you were. I'd say about 4.5 weeks' I started bawling. I knew in my heart. My gut had told me when my morning sickness stopped so abruptly so early that something had happened. And, I had gotten the positive pregnancy test almost two weeks early, so it was barely even possible to have only been 4.5 weeks pregnant. My OB tried to keep positive, but it was all I could do to keep from crumbling. Stupidly, I started driving to work before I realized that I wasn't going to be able to see clients while crying my eyes out. So I picked Solomon up from daycare, went home and just held him. I flew out the next evening to visit my sister in a previously scheduled trip. It was helpful to be in a new environment to try to get my mind off of everything, but I felt like my mind was in a cloud the entire stay. My OB hadn't wanted me to go, so I could do the bloodwork every 48 hours to check on my hcg levels. I did them when I got back in town; they were rising- which was a good sign, but not as quickly as they would like, which was not as good of a sign. I went back in on July 8 for another ultrasound. The appointment had been set up for me by my OB directly, and the receptionist kept asking me if I was pregnant. I don't know. How far along are you? Shut the fuck up!

The appointment was not fulfilling. I was growing, but not as quickly as they would like. There was now a tiny yolk sac, but no baby. There was still a chance for a viable pregnancy, but it was looking dimmer. If the pregnancy progressed, we'd have to do genetic testing. 'Come back in two weeks' she said. 'Then we'll definitely, definitely know.'

Two weeks.

Two weeks. Sitting there day in and day out now knowing if the baby inside of you was alive or dead. I stayed home from work several of those days just crying. I cried myself to sleep every night. It was the most horrible, gut wrenching two weeks I've ever endured. I should have been 8.5 weeks pregnant. This time there was no question. It was not a viable pregnancy. I had the option of waiting an indefinitie period of time, taking the drug misoprostol to start the 'abortion' or have a D&C performed. I had already been waiting an excruciating period of time, but by this point I had already read all of the horror stories on the internet about the labor contractions and risk of hemorrhaging the drug brought, and the risk of scar tissue impacting further pregnancies that the D&C brought. So which was the lesser of 3 evils??

I filled the prescription for misoprostol still not knowing what I would do with it. I wanted to complete everything naturally. I didn't want any lingering doubt that a baby was hiding somewhere, viable, that I didn't give a proper chance. I didn't want that weighing on me. But I also didn't want to continue this torture cycle of just waiting. Solomon's birthday was fast approaching, and the last thing I wanted was for this to still be encompassing every fiber of my being on his first birthday.

So I planned to take the drug that weekend, and arranged for a couple days off of work. Graciously, the night before I was set to take the drugs I started spotting. The cramps and the pain were no match for the emotional turmoil I was under. All of the hopes and dreams I had already envisioned for our family of four were flushed down the toilet. Literally.

Little did I know the waiting had just begun. I was desperate to get pregnant as soon as possible. But I waited 5 weeks to get my period back again. And then I was supposed to wait 3 more cycles before starting to try.

I was so confident, so sure I would get pregnant on the first try again. Obviously, we were extremely fertile, and would go right about our business after this setback. The first month of trying we did not get pregnant. The pain that I felt was devastating all over again. I felt like everything I knew about myself and my body was a lie. I thought that I was broken, and would never get pregnant again. I was at a very, very low point. I realized I had not healed enough from the miscarriage to try again, despite my desperation for a pregnancy. So we took a month off before trying again.

In January I got pregnancy again. I didn't want to tell Gerard over text message, so I waited until we were both home to surprise him. I had barely even told him before I started spotting.

We hadn't even gotten a chance to open the bottle of champagne I had bought to celebrate.

This time, because it happened so early- a 'chemical pregnancy' is what it's called- we're only supposed to wait a month before we can try again. So, March.

One of my best friends is getting married in June. When she asked me to be a bridesmaid, I told her I planned to be very pregnant and would need a maternity dress. Now, I'll order the regular dress.

Someone else close to me found out she was pregnant a couple days before myself. So now I'll watch her pregnancy progress as I have just watched my other friend's.

My friend, who I shared pregnancy stories with over the summer, gave birth today. I'm so excited for her, but, alas, I'm sitting alone in my bedroom and I can't stop crying.

So I'm ready for February to be over.