It’s no secret that we’ve been trying to conceive.
And last week, we found out we were successful… Or at least quasi-successful.
Apparently, an egg did get fertilized. But where did it implant? That’s the big question.
My hCG at 5 weeks was 14 (super-dee-duper low). The day I got the results, I started bleeding. And the next day, my bleeding picked up and I passed some small clots. The next day it slowed, the next 2 days it was almost non-existent, and I haven’t spotted now for 4 days.
In addition, I’m feeling a bit more pregnant… But the truth is my symptoms are mild.
And the reason for that is that my hCG is now only 22. Like barely there.
The nurse has told me more than likely it’s not viable. And to be honest, I guess I knew that from the start. My gut tells me it’s ectopic again. I’m in this constant state of WAITING … For the pain to come, to get my blood drawn again, for what I believe in my heart to be an inevitable surgery.
And in all this waiting, I can’t help but get more attached each day this pregnancy continues.
Why? Why do I have to hope? Why do I research every possible reason for my low hCG, and wonder/hope/pray that this time is the exception to the rule? Why do I still want a miracle?
I tried so hard not to get attached. But knowing that something is trying to become a little baby of mine in there just hurts my heart, and fills it with hope at the same time.
How can I cope? Cope with the wait? Cope with the fear? Cope with the anxiety? Cope with my recent grief? I feel like I mourned this baby, only to find out it survived my the bleeding. Next time I mourn, I think it’s going to be so much harder.
I’m finding myself more sensitive again to pregnancy announcements and updates on Facebook. So I’ve had to pretty much stop checking my newsfeed because it just hurts to much. I’m struggling with major distrust of my body, and I seriously wonder if I am ever going to experience a normal pregnancy.
Recently, going through my grandma’s death has me thinking of death a lot. Which probably isn’t the greatest thing. I wonder if pregnancy is worth the risk it poses to my health and life. I’m definitely contemplating whether Maddy will be it. For the first time, that certainly is feeling more like a possibility.
I am so thankful to have her… But she deserves to have a little sister or brother. She wants one, and I so want her to have siblings for life.
I regret that my pregnancy with Madelyn might be it. I wish that I had cherished that time more. That I was more grateful, less anxious, less resentful to my little baby. I wish I had just cherished that fleeting rime, instead of wishing away.
It’s been hard to process knowing that I am likely carrying a baby that won’t survive. And I fluctuate between a romanticized ideal that I just love this little thing in me as long as I can and consider this short time a special time to bond. And part of me is practical, and realizes that this pregnancy might not even be producing a literal body of a baby at this point. That the more attached I get, the harder I will fall.
I’m thankful I’m still in Kentucky away from my normal responsibilities. I’m glad I have some time to process this pregnancy/miscarriage and my grandma’s death at this time, without having to worry about business calls, what to plan for dinner, and taking care of a 3-year-old. It’s nice to have so much time for ME.