Grasping at Straws (Part 1)

In December 2005, I gave my husband a wonderful, early Christmas present.  He was out playing cards with his friends and got home late, but I stayed up and waited.  When he got home, I set up the video camera to record his reaction.  I was pregnant.  He was ecstatic.  We were starting our family.  We wanted to be young parents and so we couldn’t be happier.  But, deep down something was bothering me.  For some reason, I couldn’t be ecstatic.  I was guarded and a bit worried, which was strange for a first-time pregnant mom.  Shouldn’t I have been excited?  It turns out, my worries were justified.

At my 8 week scan, the baby measured at 5 weeks with no heartbeat.  I had no idea what to look for at my first scan.  The technician didn’t seem happy, but didn’t make me feel nervous all the same.  “That’s weird,” I said, “because I know I must be at least 8 weeks by now.”  She told me not to worry.  We were going to check again in one week.  Looking back now, a red flag should have been thrown.  I mean, when a baby doesn’t measure to size, something is wrong.  But, I didn’t know anything back then.  I was completely and utterly naïve in terms of pregnancy and what to expect being pregnant. 

One week later, we had another scan and the baby grew to size.  It measured 9 weeks with a strong heartbeat.  The technician smiled.  “Things look good,” she said.  We were thrilled and so we told our friends and family.  Early, I know that now, but, we didn’t think anything of it.  We were too excited to hold it in.  Yet, even amongst all of the excitement…deep down…I knew something was wrong.  I felt it in my bones.

Two weeks later, I started to show, but my stomach didn’t look pregnant.  It looked bloated.  Wrong.  I was only 10 weeks pregnant and I had an uncomfortable feeling.  I was puking and sick like a normal pregnant woman, but it didn’t seem right.  I remember my husband rubbing my belly and saying, “Can you believe we are having a baby?”  I skated around that statement.  I changed the subject because I didn’t look or feel right.  I didn’t want to answer him because I didn’t believe it was true.  In fact, I knew it wasn’t true.  We weren’t going to have a baby.  Mother instinct told me so. 

A week later, every gut instinct was warranted and everything we hoped for; came crashing down.  We went in for our 12 week nuchal scan.  The nurse came in with a smile which quickly turned into a frown.  The baby was jumping around…too much, if that makes sense.  How I knew that this baby looked uncomfortable, I’ll never know.  I just did.  “Is that normal,” I asked.  She didn’t answer.  Silence.  “Excuse me,” she said.  “I’m going to get the doctor.”  Here it was.  I knew that something was really, really wrong.  I put my hand over my eyes, but I didn’t cry.  I just listened.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “Things aren’t right.”  The fluid behind the baby’s neck was higher than he had ever seen it.  The organs were growing outside the baby’s body.  Swelling…drowning…dying…were the words I heard.  What on earth is going to happen now?  How is this going to play out?  There were questions after questions that I couldn’t ask. I didn’t have a voice or the energy to ask them.  He continued with these words…”I will be surprised if your baby makes it through the week.” 

But she did.  She held on …

One week later; an extremely early amniocentesis was performed on me.  “I will not be careful, if you know what I mean,” the doctor said.  What was he talking about?  What kind of person would say something like that to me as he stuck a large needle in my belly?  He wasn’t a bad man.  In fact, he was a nice man.  He was understanding and a phenomenal doctor.  I probably could have sued him for malpractice for a statement like that.  Right?  But, there were too many things to worry about.  I couldn’t worry about an unprofessional statement…an insensitive moment.

Two weeks later; the genetic disorder, Turner’s syndrome was confirmed.  They suggested genetic counseling.  What I needed was major counseling.  What is a genetic counselor going to do?  Talk to me about how much this sucks?!  About how the odds just weren’t on my side.  Yes…basically.  She did.  She talked about my odds; how I will more likely have another problem in the future, and how bad this baby’s situation was.  I remember wearing a baseball cap on my head because I didn’t want anyone to see my face; how utterly distraught I was.  The doctor joked that next time I should come in with sunglasses.   Funny.

Three weeks later; my body started to ache and I started to feel amiss. My face and body started to swell.   I needed a second opinion.  So, I went to the hospital to get one.  They didn’t sugar coat it.  It was a very bad situation.  “Decisions need to be made,” they said.  “It isn’t safe for you (the mom) anymore.  This baby needs to come out!!”  But my Riley; she was a fighter.  She wasn’t ready.  No decision for me.  “But, you have to think about her,” my genetic counselor said.  I mean, she was gasping for air.  At this point, I was grasping at straws….hoping to find solace in the fact that my baby was a fighter.  But, I didn’t want to torture the poor baby either.  I didn’t want her to suffer.  I have to think.  It was an impossible decision.  Impossible.  And, I wasn’t ready to make it.  I have to give it another week; just one more.  And I did.  I gave it another week.

Four weeks later; her heart gave out and she was gone.  “Do you want to push her out and have a funeral,” they asked.  I answered, “No.”  I didn’t even have to think about it.  I just couldn’t make that my first experience giving birth.  I just couldn’t.  Two days later, she was out and I felt empty inside.   I’ll never forget what the nurse said as they wheeled me out of the OR.  “I hope the next time I see you, is in labor and delivery.”  Me too, I thought….”with a healthy baby”

For months, I would wake up from nightmares of blackness and screaming babies.  I thought that I would never be the same.   I changed for a while.  I lost hope for a while.  Nobody understood.   Nobody at all.  Not my friends, not my family, nobody.  How could anyone really know what I went through or how I was feeling?  Some friends turned their backs and some friends rose to the occasion. Thank you to them.  But, it was the support of my husband and family that helped me get through it.

Day by day and month by month, I started to heal.  I started to hope.  But, something still ached.  I wanted a baby so badly. 6 months later, we tried again and it worked right away.  I was pregnant.  We would finally get our baby, right? 

It turns out; I would not get my wish…not yet at least…

(To be continued)