It seems like it was over before it even began.
At some point Monday afternoon, this weird thought popped into my head and I couldn't shake the feeling the rest of the day. When Steve got home, I told him that I didn't "feel pregnant." (Looking back, it must have been my body's way of bracing itself for the next few days). He suggested that maybe it was because we had come down from our "baby high," since we told our parents and a few close friends and hadn't been telling anyone else. I thought maybe he was right, and kept my hand on my stomach the rest of the day trying to feel something. Then, on a trip to the bathroom, I wiped and there it was, the sign the something was already going wrong, the thing I was somehow preparing for before I even knew - blood. I sat there and stared for a minute, and wiped again thinking maybe I was wrong. Unfortunately, my eyes weren't playing tricks on me - it was as plain as day. I remember a horrible feeling washing over me as I started to whisper no. I sat rocking myself repeating no, no, no, no, please no. Then the waterworks started and there was no calming down. I walked out to the living room to Steve and he jumped up as soon as he saw me. At first he wasn't sure if it was hormones, but after a few seconds he understood. I didn't say anything, I just bawled. I went limp in his arms after a minute and he carried me to the bed where I cried uncontrollably for the next 30 minutes.
Normally, I don't overreact. I don't usually expect the worst (knowing that a lot of women bleed during the first few weeks of their pregnancy). But call it woman's intuition, call it being in tune with your body, call it whatever you want, I just knew.
By Tuesday, the blood hadn't stopped. The longer it went, the worse the worry got. It wasn't a heavy flow, the blood wasn't even red, in fact, there was very little blood at all - but nonetheless, it continued. Then came the cramps. I spent the entire day curled up on the couch clutching my stomach from the pain. At one point, it the pain was so bad that I couldn't talk, couldn't move, I could barely breath. I was scared, alone, and I couldn't even use my phone to call for help. Thankfully, after praying silently, I drug myself to the bathroom and got violently sick and then started to feel better. I called my doctors office, for help and advice (where I was scheduled the next day for my first prenatal appointment). Unfortunately, after explaining the situation to one woman, she transferred me to - I'm guessing - a nurse. I had to leave a message and I explained everything, gave my phone number, and was very panicked. I waited for the phone to ring and nothing. They never called me back.
I knew going into my appointment on Wednesday that it wouldn't be the experience I was anticipating the week before. My hopes were dashed and I was just scared. The waiting room was tiny and with all 4 chairs taken up by obviously pregnant women, I was forced to stand in a corner. It was hot, I was on the verge of tears the whole time, and I was still bleeding. Finally, the nurse called my name and I went into the examination room. She took my weight and blood pressure and was so cheerful and asked if this was my first prenatal appointment. After nodding my head and obviously looking upset, she asked what my symptoms were. I told her I was bleeding and the smile left her face. "Are you having a miscarriage?" I kind of laughed and said that I had no idea what was going on, and that's why I was here. (Seriously? Bad question, lady). She immediately got the midwife who came in instantly and started asking questions. She was very kind and gentle and explained her concerns with me. After a very painful pelvic exam, she left to talk to her attending. She came back and said that she called the emergency room at UIC Hospital and they're expecting me. She explained what she thought was going on and gave me directions. I didn't even get to finish filling out my paperwork.
I left dazed and confused. I called Steve at work, and thankfully, he was able to leave. I drove and picked him up and he drove us to the emergency room. We were taken to the OB floor of the hospital and immediately, my blood was drawn and a few other little tests took place. Then, we started the waiting game. We didn't know a lot of what was going on, and so we just waited. For over an hour, nothing happened. I finally went out and asked a nurse if I was going to have an ultrasound soon (as we watched 5 women go into the ultrasound room who arrived after us). We waited another 30 minutes, and finally a midwife came and talked to us.
She said that my blood work was inconclusive and that they probably won't have a definitive answer for us as to what's going on when we left the hospital. My pregnancy hormone level was extremely low. I explained how 2 weeks prior, it was high enough for two at home pregnancy tests to pick it up. She scribbled a few notes, looked over my family's health history, asked a few more questions and told us that we were next for the ultrasound.
After more waiting, we went into the room and started the ultrasound. The midwife was there, there was a tech, the doctor, and Steve. They did an internal ultrasound and after searching for awhile, found a small mass in my right fallopian tube. The doctor then did another quite painful pelvic exam and said they wanted to keep me overnight. Because my hCG hormones were so low, and they found a mass, they said I have a tubal pregnancy. (An ectopic pregnancy is when the baby implants somewhere outside of your uterus, and a tubal pregnancy is when it implants inside your fallopian tubes. It is very dangerous and there's no way to transplant the fertilized egg into your uterus).
So there it was. Amid a sterile, cold environment, I found out what my body was telling me. That I was not going to be a mother in February. Steve and I had another heart break to face. I couldn't cry, I refused to cry in front of doctors. They were explaining to us what was going on and I had tuned out. The realization hit me that not only was I not going to be a mother, I had a little time bomb in my body that if it went off, I would need major surgery, and could possibly lose my right tube and ovary. They left to allow Steve and I to talk things over. I just asked him, "So I can't have the baby?" He gently told me no and hugged me. I refused to cry but the damn tears started welling up and I did everything in my power to bite them back. He started telling me that the doctor wanted to keep me over night, in case the tube would rupture. He also said that because we live so close to the hospital, I could go home but needed to watch out for certain symptoms. I just wanted to go home. I didn't want to get into a hospital gown, hooked up to monitors and IVs, and lay in that cold, sterile room. I would go insane. I just wanted to go home.
The midwife came back and was very sweet. She sat with us and asked more questions. She answered questions we didn't think to ask, she told us questions to ask the doctor, and she held our hands. She was very sad for us and very kind. She explained that if we go home, I had to come back the next morning for more blood work. If my hormone levels stay the same or lower, that means that my body is handling the situation 'naturally.' If it rises, that means my body is continuing with the pregnancy, and the doctors will have to terminate it with laparoscopic surgery.
So this morning, I have an appointment to find out whether or not my body is aborting the embryo that I'm so in love with, or if I have to have surgery to terminate the pregnancy that I wanted so badly. Neither seems fair.
After going through our terrible loss of our daughter in January, I told Steve once we found out about this pregnancy, that it had to go right. It had to be okay. I couldn't handle another heart break. And yet, here we are, realizing that having a child will never be easy, wondering how many more times we will be pregnant before having a baby. I know I have to stay strong and be positive, and I will get there. But for now, I just feel sad and broken.
Baby Lauer - even though I can't hold you, even though you're still a tiny little spec, please know that you were loved and will always be. Your father and I wanted you so badly and are torn up that we can't have you. Keep your big sister company in heaven. And please know that someday, daddy and I will meet you and hold you and we will continue to remember you and love you each and every day until then.
