I am somewhere just past the 7-week mark. I am mainlining ginger-ale. I am exhausted. I feel nauseous. Just the sheer thought of certain foods makes me want to barf. The smallest daily activities -the stairs in my home, walking Niblet to school - feel like swimming through sand. Actually swimming at our pool felt like swimming through sand. I have no clue how I survived teaching two zumba classes this past weekend without keeling over in front of my students.
This pregnancy is packing so much more of a wallop on me physically than the last two. And it will be so much harder to lose if this one goes the way of the last three.
Getting through the day without building up dreams and emotional attachments to whatever has attached itself to the lining of my uterus is...um, challenging. And I recognize the sheer fucked-up-edness of that sentence. I mean I should be able to use actual words here. There's a baby inside of me right now. Last we looked, it had a heartbeat. My pants are getting tight. I am actually stressing about what to wear to a wedding in two weeks because if I make it that far, I could be showing by then, Sweet Jesus.
Our next scan is on Thursday. I just don't want to imagine any of the possibilities, they stop me in my tracks. But I have to steel myself to the possibility that this baby could be dead. I know that sentence makes many people uncomfortable. Hell, it makes me uncomfortable. "Be happy, you're pregnant now" the world screams ("Pregnant until proven otherwise" aka "PUPO" - a popular acronym among ladies who are ttc that I find less than confidence building). Of course I'm happy. Absolutely, I am pregnant now. But ignoring the possibility that this baby could die would do me far more of a disservice. I have to face this thing with honesty. Is there are strong chance that after seeing a heartbeat and feeling as sick as I do that I am carrying a healthy baby? Sure. But does the possibility remain that I could be in that "small percentage" where the healthy baby is elusive? Absolutely. Everything I read suggests that at my age, with my RPL history, I have about 80% odds of carrying a sibling to term for Niblet. But 20% is nothing to fuck with, and it's certainly not a small percentage. It's real, and I have to acknowledge that 20% with honesty in order to survive this experience.
My acupuncturist has raised a legitimate question as to whether I should see a high-risk OB or MFM (Maternal Fetal Medicine) specialist. The fact that my OB didn't have much familiarity with Partial Molar Pregnancies was troubling. The amount of surgeries my sad little cervix has been through is troubling. My age and repeat pregnancy loss history is troubling. Reproductively, I'm a fucking blues song.
Through my vast network of online friends, I have identified a potentially good doctor to call, an MFM recommended to me by a fellow Asherman's, RPL and AMA traveler. I suppose I'll call and ask to speak with her, or her nurse, and inquire whether my history warrants being under her care....though I'll only even consider it after my scan this week. Because there may be no reason to.
It's sort of empowering to be able to take your medical care into your hands. I have met so many women in my online communities, trapped in HMOs, or living in countries with so many wait-lists and restrictions to specialized care. I should be jumping for joy that under my insurance, I can just call a doc and say "Hey, Doc, should I be your patient? Can I be your patient?" (Railing against the human exploitation that is often driven by my country's free market is something of a way of life in my career. But make no mistake about it, I am incredibly grateful for my access to the kind of specialized care I have come to need on this road.)
And no, I haven't yet cancelled my appointment for September 15th with Dr. K, that supposedly great new RE who doesn't discriminate against High-FSH patients, and would advise me on next fertility steps. Yes, I'm really hedging my bets on that one.
Wow. My next scan is going to be a doozy in terms of life planning, isn't it.
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