Three years ago today, I learned the most devastating news any pregnant person could possibly hear. Genevieve no longer had a heartbeat. It's been three years and I am still unsure how that happened or how my heart could just go on beating when hers didn't. Or even how things like this happen. It wasn't like I did anything wrong. I didn't smoke or drink or do drugs or even eat foods on those "naughty" lists, but still this awful event happened to me. In fact, it happens to 1 out of every 160 pregnancies. It seems like not a lot, but when it it happens to you, it is everything.
I've learned so much about people these past 3 years, for example, people say stupid things when they are uncomfortable, and dead babies make people uncomfortable.
"Things happen for a reason." No one whose lost a child believes this malarkey, and the person who says it sounds like an asshole.
"God has a plan." Please tell me how this helps with the loss of a child? This doesn't make me feel better because what kind of good plan involves dead babies?
"You'll be able to have more kids." Really? Is that a guarantee? And even if I am able to have another baby, it still does not make up for the baby that I had to give back.
"Do you think it is healthy to have a picture of your daughter on your phone." Yes. Asshole. It is. Is it healthy for you to have pictures of your dead family members? I'm really sorry that my only pictures of her are after she died and it makes YOU uncomfortable. You couldn't possibly understand how much I wish I had some of her alive, besides the sonograms.
"I can't imagine." Yes you can, you don't want to. I get it. Dead children are hard. Unfortunately, I don't get the luxury of not having to imagine it. I live it.
However, I have also learned that people can be genuinely caring and root for you to succeed, and I am not as isolated as I once felt. There has been so many loving people who've come out of the woodwork to cheer me on throughout this journey. I've had some great friends listen to me ramble on about Genevieve, ask me to see her picture, not shun me when I shared my pregnancy stories, and still view me as a mom even though my baby isn't in my arms. I've met some of the best people through this experience.
I have my doppelganger who is one of my biggest cheerleaders. I still cannot believe our babies died and were born on the same day. I mean, what are the odds? I know Charlie and Genevieve made our friendship possible and knew we had to meet. I cheered her on during her rainbow twin pregnancy, and she has cheered me on through every step of my infertility after loss journey. I could not have asked for a better doppelganger.
Red, my loud-mouthed, obnoxious, most caring and wonderful friend and coworker, has been amazing. She's been there to hear me cry because the grief is so unbearable. Or listen to my awkward jokes with a empathetic ear because humor is how I deal with things, and talk to me about the prospect of adoption. I'm so glad she is in my life.
My friend, the self-proclaimed nerd, has been a huge help this past year as I re-navigate the third grade. She never makes me feel weird for wanting to talk about my little girl or when I tell her the little signs Genevieve shows me. I'm appreciative of her telling me "things happen for a reason" does not apply to this. It will never apply to this. I love my teammate, the self-proclaimed nerd. ❤
The stay-at-home mom let me hold her baby for hours when I came over to see her for the first time. That was the first baby I held after holding Genevieve. The time I spent holding her baby reminded me that I still have mama instincts, which was so meaningful for me. I so appreciate when she checks in with me and talks me down from the edge. Once in a wave of grief, I told her I bet people would be happy once I got pregnant again because I'm sure they want me "to get over" Genevieve. She told me everyone will always remember Genevieve. She said this journey I am on is like a marathon, and everyone wants to see me get to the next water station. It is something that I think about when I feeling down, and I always can rely on her for words of wisdom.
My old team knew a lot about the struggle of infertility and have been rooting for me since I started teaching at my current school. When I miscarried with Raine and stayed home for a week, they were there to lean on. When I went in to the fertility doctor, or had a procedure, or had a failed IUI cycle, they were there to listen. They were there with their own stories and words of hope.
Yesterday, my new team did something that touched my heart. They gave me a card telling me they will be thinking of the hubs and I over this weekend because they knew it would be a hard one. Most people shy away from the topic of dead babies, but they embraced that this is something I have been through, and let me know I can lean on them. A card may not seem like a big deal, but it meant the world to me.
The women of the third trimester loss community have been my life raft. Stillbirth is a unique loss since you are forced to give birth to death, and you constantly grieve the future, without having much of a past to remember fondly. Their eloquence with words has been a godsend to me. They get it. Every. Single. Time. Anytime I get a sign, anytime I want to cry or scream, or curse the world. They get it. When it seemed everyone was having their rainbows, except me, they screamed and cursed the world with me. Every. Single. Time. I may never have met them in person, but I love and appreciate each and every one of them.
And with that, I have news. I'm pregnant.
The hubs had stayed home on November 15. Just because. I had asked him to get a pregnancy test, but wasn't sure I wanted to take it. He encouraged me to take it, and I was angry when two lines didn't show up immediately. Of course I wasn't pregnant. Things like that don't work out for me. So I went in and pouted in the bedroom. Yes, sometimes I act like the third graders I teach. Anyway, I digress. I knew something amazing was about to happen when he came into the room with a big smile on his face. This was it. This was what I was hoping and praying for for years.
I was on cloud nine. I was like a giddy school girl. I was incredibly humble and grateful for this gift. I started making phone calls at once. High risk doctor. Check. Fertility doctor. Check. Endocrinologist. Check. OBGYN. Check. I set up blood work for the next day, and an ultrasound for the next week. Later that day, I received the results of the HCG in my blood. 82.9. Officially pregnant. I had to go back in two days and get my blood retaken to make sure the numbers were going up sufficiently.
The hubs was nervous on Saturday. I wasn't I knew it would be okay. I am not sure how, when it seemed like nothing was okay the past three years, but I felt like the numbers would be where they were supposed to be. I was right. They grew to 250.9. The nurse scheduled me to see the fertility doctor to do an ultrasound on December 4th. I was ecstatic. All I needed was to go to my ultrasound with the high risk doctor on Wednesday to see the babe, and I would be good to go.
Wednesday comes, but it was not the appointment I had anticipated. We saw the gestational sac and nothing else. I didn't understand. My numbers grew. I was nauseous. I was having all sorts of pregnancy symptoms. The high risk doctor told me she thought I was having a blighted ovum. She thought a baby would never form. She told me I would miscarry over the Thanksgiving holiday so she called my OBGYN to make sure he was available to do an D&C. She gave me this kit and told me when I miscarried to take the tissue out of my underwear or fish it out of the toilet and put it in the CSI kit. She wanted to test to see if the tissue had chromosomal abnormalities. She thought the gestational sac that was there was irregular and said I had internal bleeding. She did want me to get more blood work and would call me the Friday after Thanksgiving to give me my results. She said she wanted me to return in another week.
Friday came with no phone call. I felt so betrayed. How do you tell someone with MY history all the things she said, tell me you would call me about blood results, and the NOT call?! I was a wreck, wondering what my numbers were, but also terrified to know the truth. So I called the lab where my blood was collected. They sent me an encrypted email. I shook as I opened it. 1141. Right where they should be.
On Monday, I called the office and gave them an earful. I cancelled my appointment. There was no way I was going to hear something terrible the day before the anniversary of my daughter's death. I figured I would see the fertility doctor on Monday, and if there was something wrong, there is nothing I can do about it anyway and an earlier ultrasound would not change or fix anything.
Later in the day, I hear from a nurse about my HCG number. She said they want to run another test, and since the lab closes at 3:30, I rushed over there as fast as I could. The next morning I received the results right away. 7859! They are going up at an appropriate rate, which means it is doubtful there is a blighted ovum. I was probably earlier than anticipated.
My next ultrasound is Monday, and everything could go to shit. But today, the anniversary of the worst day of my life, I decide to share something positive. I decided to share my pregnancy. There will never be a "safe" time of this pregnancy. Genevieve was 34 weeks when she died. I waited the customary 13 weeks and she died anyway.
So here it is. I am currently at my next water station. I'm pregnant. And I hope and pray this baby is healthy and I get to bring him home.
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| The test I took on the 11/15/2017. |
