Wednesday, July 22, 2009

I'm pregnant

I’m pregnant. Wow. I keep trying to get past that one thought to say anything else about this. But that thought is so big – so overwhelming – I keep getting stuck when I try to get past it. I’m pregnant.

I’ve been pregnant before. Twice actually. Not for long either time as I miscarried very early in the process. The first time I barely knew I was pregnant before it happened. My period was a bit late, so I took a home pregnancy test and it came out negative. I was a bit stressed, so I figured I was just off and went about my life – actually went to a wedding that weekend and drank because – hey, the stick just told me I wasn’t pregnant, so I can. My friends have all told me how much your life and values change when you have kids, but if you ever told me how much value I’d put in a tiny plastic stick – one I’d just peed on no less! – I’m not sure I would have bought it. Anyway, I went to the doctor the next week who wanted to test my progesterone levels (to see why I didn’t have a period yet. The doctor said it wasn’t a real medical issue that I was so late, but seeing as I wanted to have children, it posed something of a problem), but also did a pregnancy test though she said from the pelvic exam (oh good, yes, an extra one of those – I was hoping… and I’m not even pregnant (or so I thought)) there was almost no chance I was pregnant. Well, almost no chance is not none. I was, in fact, pregnant, but the progesterone levels were indicating a problem. I think I started bleeding an hour later. Of course I’d already started crying and freaking about my low progesterone levels and my husband was already on his way home. The second he got home, he took me to the hospital. I didn’t really want to go – I felt resigned to losing it and knew there wasn’t much the hospital could do. And so that baby was gone before we ever even had chance to be excited for him or her.

The second time it took a little longer, but less than a week. That time, I wanted to believe things were different – but somehow I didn’t really. I took a second test to make sure I’d read the first one right. (Yes, I’ve seen those ads for the digital pregnancy tests and thought – who couldn’t read a pregnancy test right? There’s one line or two – it’s simple. But the second line was so faint… Was it really a line? Yes, I’m that person. ) We went to the doctor again to confirm and a few days later to make sure my hcg levels had doubled. I was traveling for work that week, so I actually had to wait more than 2 days for the second test and it felt like forever. And then – my test results got delayed! I called the doctor all day – was everything OK? They finally came back just before the office closed and… they were too low. But maybe that was because they’d been lost all day and sat out I should come back for another test – ah false hope, how I clung to you. Until I started bleeding the next day. This time there was no trip to the hospital. There was a good amount of pain again, but unlike the doctors at the hospital who limited me to pregnancy safe drugs, my OB told me if I was bleeding, I could take what I needed to stop the pain.

After the second time, I began to worry that my body was failing me. I know that miscarriages are not considered a “problem” until you’ve had 3. I felt like I could ‘handle’ one, but the second one had me scared. After this I couldn’t have a miscarriage without it being a “problem.” I’d lost my buffer / my free spin.

And yet, I’m feeling more optimistic this time. I don’t know why – but I feel like things actually ARE different this time. My fingers are crossed and my heart’s on my sleeve….

After I got the positive results (I just started out with the digital one this time – why buy two?), I waited for my husband to get home. He’s a fire fighter and works 24 hour shifts. He usually gets home shortly before I leave for work in the morning. I kept calling him to ask where he was / how close. I didn’t want to tell him over the phone, but there was NO WAY I could wait till this afternoon to tell him. He finally got home and I ran to show him the stick (again – not usually running around with my peed upon objects and showing them off. Usually if I peed on anything other than the inside of the toilet bowl… well, I’d be trying to cover that up now – if sober enough to notice. Because my God, I HOPE there’s some level of alcohol in there to make me wet myself otherwise. But I digress.). As he jumped up and down, I tried to remind him that we needed to wait for more confirmation from the doctor – but somehow we both felt more excited and sure this time.

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