It seemed only fitting to write a post about each of my pregnancies and deliveries, after pouring out all the details of the first. It sounded like fun to tell the story of the origins of each of our team players. In my head, I planned to write a new post each day, in birth order. Clearly that did not happen. A week has passed, and I have not yet added a new post. What originally sounded like fun, quickly turned into a challenge. The more I considered the idea, the more I realized that I have been able to joke about the details of each childbirth experience on a superficial level when chatting publicly, but when I stop and look a little deeper, there is so much raw emotion that I have been covering up and hiding from. My journey into Motherhood has been more than just growing, birthing, and caring for babies. It has been a spiritual journey as well. And it has not been funny.
We had been warned that men & women often grieve differently. It made sense. We were not prepared for just how differently we would react. After I attempted to "actively grieve" Mackenzie's death, I reached a point when I decided I was brave enough/strong enough/crazy enough to try for another baby. I wanted to move forward in life. My husband was horrified by the thought. He never, ever wanted to feel the pain of losing a child, ever again. Never. The only way to do that was to never have another child. I wanted to be happy again. He wanted to be in control. I was seeking joy. He was trying to prevent pain. Having no more children could control his level of vulnerability, but he knew it would not be an option for me. So, he allowed his heart to be an open-target again.
Six months after Mackenzie's birth/death, I was ready! Thankfully, we are extremely fertile, and I became pregnant right away. Dr. S. was excited for us and ready to go another round. We discussed the first pregnancy, the first delivery, the autopsy findings (that she was healthy, but the cord was constricted as her head began to engage in the birth canal, due to it being twice wrapped around her neck), and we agreed that we had not missed anything that could have been prevented. We should be in the clear, because "Lightning never strikes twice," Right?
Wrong. Pregnancy #2 ended in an early miscarriage. Apparently there are individuals who are struck by lightning multiple times in their lifetime. In hindsight, some early warning signs were there...the pink line on the home pregnancy test was rather faint....I was not nauseous at all....and my moods were rather low, going from cautiously hopeful to somewhat sad (for no apparent reason). I still had my most common pregnancy symptom--exhaustion. So, I slept away the first couple months. Once again, I had my first ultrasound at 10 weeks. I was so excited to get to see Baby #2 on the screen!
The ultrasound tech asked the usual questions about dates and timing while she took all the usual measurements. She finished up, ran the numbers, and announced that I was 6 weeks along in this pregnancy. What? No, I am 10 weeks along. No, she was certain that the sac, the crown-to-rump of the baby, and other measurements were right at the 6-week mark. I was concerned that we could not see a heartbeat. The tech assured us that it can be difficult to see the heartbeat at 6 weeks, so we should certainly expect to see it next time. I asked her what this meant in terms of developmental problems if the baby was measuring 6 weeks, and I was 10 weeks along. She was convinced I was just wrong on my dates. Instead of leaving that ultrasound appointment with increased excitement, I left puzzled and concerned.
I went right home and called Dr. S. and told him. He called the ultrasound tech, called me back, and confirmed that she was confident the measurements showed a normal 6-week pregnancy. I knew I was accurate on my dates. I asked what this would mean regarding development problems, if I was really 10-weeks along. Sadly, Dr. S. explained that it was not possible to be 10-weeks along in the pregnancy, with the baby only measuring 6-weeks in size. Early gestation follows a specific growth pattern, and genetic differences in height and weight of babies do not emerge until later in the pregnancy. It is all or nothing at this point.
Dr. S. suggested drawing my blood to check the hCG levels. Human Chorionic Gonadotropin is the pregnancy hormone that is made by the cells that form the placenta. In early pregnancy hCG levels rise measurably quick and concistent. He would draw my blood and test the level every other day, for a total of 3 times. If the baby was continuing to grow, the hormone levels would show a dramatic increase with each draw. The first blood test measured hCG levels accurate with a 6-week pregnancy! Ahh! How can this be? I keep really, really good track of my cycles, marking them on the calendar, just like my Mom taught me! Was it possible? I racked my brain trying to find ways that the dates could work out well in the end.
The night before I was scheduled for the 2nd blood draw, I started spotting. Dr. S. met me at the clinic first thing in the morning, and the sad look on his face (which he thinks he is hiding) confirmed my fears. He gave me a hug, and I fought back the tears. He suggested I complete the blood draw, to give him confirmation that the spotting was a product of the dropping pregnancy hormone levels (wanting me to be hopeful that the levels could be going up, and all would be well). The spotting was a sign of a threatened miscarriage. He briefed me on what to expect if I did start to miscarry, so that I would be prepared. I asked for a specimen cup to collect the baby's tissue for testing (yes, I am a scientist by nature).
The blood results did not have time to come back before I fully miscarried our Baby #2. I was prepared for cramping, pain, and possibly the need for surgical intervention. Instead, I experienced the easiest miscarriage ever possible. There was no cramping. No pain. My body expelled everything quickly and smoothly. Our Angel Baby simply fell out of my body. I collected the "products of conception" (as the lab called it), in the specimen cup, stored it in the fridge, and went to bed crying.
My husband held my hand as we went back to see Dr. S. with another failed parenthood attempt. I was devastated. Dr. S. checked out the tissue I collected and confirmed that everything was there. He confirmed that my body was closing up shop, after letting go, and there were no concerns with my health. He hugged us both. He tried to encourage us. Miscarriage is so very common--at least 25% of all known pregnancies end in miscarriage. Most of the time, the reasons are unknown.
The good doctor encouraged us to try again. He said the common recommendation is to allow 3 cycles to pass....allowing the body to heal and "reset".....before attempting pregnancy again. The concern is that the location in the uterus where the baby/placenta attached, would have an area with a healing blood clot, when everything detached. So, in theory, IF the next baby implanted at that very same spot, there might be problems as the old clot healed and fell off. In reality, he suggested waiting 1 cycle would be Ok with him.
For me personally, miscarriage was a double-edged sword. My heart was stabbed no matter how I tried to face it. Knowing miscarriage was common did not help MY situation. I was angry that I even had to deal with such a thing. I had already suffered the loss of a child...so I served my time, right? How dare this happen! Compared to the support we received after having a stillborn baby, the support we received after the miscarriage was very, very low. I was surprised by the intensity of my grief with the miscarriage. I was devastated. I was angry. I was hurting. This time, I felt so alone in the pain. I started to sink into depression.
I attempted to throw myself back into my work, as a way to take one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. Unfortunately, the demands of my job took more out of me than I had to give. I was responsible for training a new coworker, but I was too weak to deal with that level of social interaction all day long. I would dread going to work each morning, and I would drop into bed as soon as I returned home. I often skipped dinner, choosing to stay in bed and sleep the evening and night away. I was ready to give up.
I had a check-up 6-weeks after the miscarriage. Dr. S. picked up on my symptoms of depression immediately. (I was treated for postpartum depression after having Mackenzie). He assured me there were antidepressants that were safe during pregnancy, since he knew I would want to get pregnant again soon. I said I was doing Ok. He told me to call him as soon as I saw the warning signs of depression. A week later, I walked down the hallway at work and had 3 different people ask me if I was doing Ok. I gave them each the same flat "I'm fine" answer. In reality, I was just going through the motions, and my heart was not in anything anymore. I was growing frustrated with my coworker trainee. I did not think I could tolerate her anymore. I was ready to quit my job. I was ready to quit my life.
That night, I prayed fervently for God to take me out of this world and bring me Home. I prayed. I begged. Please put an end to my pain. I cried out to God that I just could not deal with the pain any longer. I just could not see the point in living my life if I was going to have to live as a mother who had no children to hold. That was too much for me to bare. I wanted to be with my children, and I could not stand my empty arms and broken heart anymore. When I finally stopped crying, God answered my prayer. He said "NO." He reminded me that He was in control. He would take care of my needs. My purpose here was not yet complete. I fell asleep that night in peace. Sad, with peace.
The next day, I managed to drag myself to work and go through the motions. I had completely given up on my life, but God refused to take me home, so now what was I suppose to do with myself? My boss pulled me aside and said that she was worried about me, but that she didn't want to aggravate me by constantly asking if I was Ok. She asked what she could do to support me. It suddenly became clear to me that I was in a state of depression. I saw the signs. I admitted it to myself and to my boss, right there, and told her I thought it was time to call Dr. S. and get some antidepressants. She agreed, and encouraged me to take action. I tearfully explained to Dr. S. that I thought it was time to talk about depression. He told me he had been waiting for my call, and he had the prescription already filled out. He assured me the antidepressant was safe during pregnancy, so he wanted me to start it, continue considering a future pregnancy, and keep taking it until my next delivery.
The antidepressant did not fix my life. It did help keep my emotions in a better balance. I was able to get up and go to work each day, and go through the motions of my life, without all the anger and tears. I was not able to find joy. I had a bad attitude about life. I was in the midst of a spiritual struggle. Things did not go my way. I wanted to be in control. But, I was not in control. God is in control. His ways are higher than my ways....and I still needed to accept that.
This time, it was my husband who decided Life was for the Living. He suggested we plan a vacation and get away from the sadness for a while. We drove to Las Vegas, Nevada, and stayed a few days at the Excalibur Hotel. It was a great get-away. We ate great food, we walked all over the Strip, in the daytime and nighttime, and checked out the lights, the fountains, and the free shows. I was surprised to find comfort at the King Tut exhibit at the Luxor. The exhibit showed a model of King Tut's tomb, filled with jewels and treasures. There were also two tiny caskets. According to the audio tour guide, King Tut suffered the loss of 2 infant children (one was believed to be stillborn). He took the pain of those lost lives with him to the grave. Who knew I would have something in common with King Tut?
We had been warned that men & women often grieve differently. It made sense. We were not prepared for just how differently we would react. After I attempted to "actively grieve" Mackenzie's death, I reached a point when I decided I was brave enough/strong enough/crazy enough to try for another baby. I wanted to move forward in life. My husband was horrified by the thought. He never, ever wanted to feel the pain of losing a child, ever again. Never. The only way to do that was to never have another child. I wanted to be happy again. He wanted to be in control. I was seeking joy. He was trying to prevent pain. Having no more children could control his level of vulnerability, but he knew it would not be an option for me. So, he allowed his heart to be an open-target again.
Six months after Mackenzie's birth/death, I was ready! Thankfully, we are extremely fertile, and I became pregnant right away. Dr. S. was excited for us and ready to go another round. We discussed the first pregnancy, the first delivery, the autopsy findings (that she was healthy, but the cord was constricted as her head began to engage in the birth canal, due to it being twice wrapped around her neck), and we agreed that we had not missed anything that could have been prevented. We should be in the clear, because "Lightning never strikes twice," Right?
Wrong. Pregnancy #2 ended in an early miscarriage. Apparently there are individuals who are struck by lightning multiple times in their lifetime. In hindsight, some early warning signs were there...the pink line on the home pregnancy test was rather faint....I was not nauseous at all....and my moods were rather low, going from cautiously hopeful to somewhat sad (for no apparent reason). I still had my most common pregnancy symptom--exhaustion. So, I slept away the first couple months. Once again, I had my first ultrasound at 10 weeks. I was so excited to get to see Baby #2 on the screen!
The ultrasound tech asked the usual questions about dates and timing while she took all the usual measurements. She finished up, ran the numbers, and announced that I was 6 weeks along in this pregnancy. What? No, I am 10 weeks along. No, she was certain that the sac, the crown-to-rump of the baby, and other measurements were right at the 6-week mark. I was concerned that we could not see a heartbeat. The tech assured us that it can be difficult to see the heartbeat at 6 weeks, so we should certainly expect to see it next time. I asked her what this meant in terms of developmental problems if the baby was measuring 6 weeks, and I was 10 weeks along. She was convinced I was just wrong on my dates. Instead of leaving that ultrasound appointment with increased excitement, I left puzzled and concerned.
I went right home and called Dr. S. and told him. He called the ultrasound tech, called me back, and confirmed that she was confident the measurements showed a normal 6-week pregnancy. I knew I was accurate on my dates. I asked what this would mean regarding development problems, if I was really 10-weeks along. Sadly, Dr. S. explained that it was not possible to be 10-weeks along in the pregnancy, with the baby only measuring 6-weeks in size. Early gestation follows a specific growth pattern, and genetic differences in height and weight of babies do not emerge until later in the pregnancy. It is all or nothing at this point.
Dr. S. suggested drawing my blood to check the hCG levels. Human Chorionic Gonadotropin is the pregnancy hormone that is made by the cells that form the placenta. In early pregnancy hCG levels rise measurably quick and concistent. He would draw my blood and test the level every other day, for a total of 3 times. If the baby was continuing to grow, the hormone levels would show a dramatic increase with each draw. The first blood test measured hCG levels accurate with a 6-week pregnancy! Ahh! How can this be? I keep really, really good track of my cycles, marking them on the calendar, just like my Mom taught me! Was it possible? I racked my brain trying to find ways that the dates could work out well in the end.
The night before I was scheduled for the 2nd blood draw, I started spotting. Dr. S. met me at the clinic first thing in the morning, and the sad look on his face (which he thinks he is hiding) confirmed my fears. He gave me a hug, and I fought back the tears. He suggested I complete the blood draw, to give him confirmation that the spotting was a product of the dropping pregnancy hormone levels (wanting me to be hopeful that the levels could be going up, and all would be well). The spotting was a sign of a threatened miscarriage. He briefed me on what to expect if I did start to miscarry, so that I would be prepared. I asked for a specimen cup to collect the baby's tissue for testing (yes, I am a scientist by nature).
The blood results did not have time to come back before I fully miscarried our Baby #2. I was prepared for cramping, pain, and possibly the need for surgical intervention. Instead, I experienced the easiest miscarriage ever possible. There was no cramping. No pain. My body expelled everything quickly and smoothly. Our Angel Baby simply fell out of my body. I collected the "products of conception" (as the lab called it), in the specimen cup, stored it in the fridge, and went to bed crying.
My husband held my hand as we went back to see Dr. S. with another failed parenthood attempt. I was devastated. Dr. S. checked out the tissue I collected and confirmed that everything was there. He confirmed that my body was closing up shop, after letting go, and there were no concerns with my health. He hugged us both. He tried to encourage us. Miscarriage is so very common--at least 25% of all known pregnancies end in miscarriage. Most of the time, the reasons are unknown.
The good doctor encouraged us to try again. He said the common recommendation is to allow 3 cycles to pass....allowing the body to heal and "reset".....before attempting pregnancy again. The concern is that the location in the uterus where the baby/placenta attached, would have an area with a healing blood clot, when everything detached. So, in theory, IF the next baby implanted at that very same spot, there might be problems as the old clot healed and fell off. In reality, he suggested waiting 1 cycle would be Ok with him.
For me personally, miscarriage was a double-edged sword. My heart was stabbed no matter how I tried to face it. Knowing miscarriage was common did not help MY situation. I was angry that I even had to deal with such a thing. I had already suffered the loss of a child...so I served my time, right? How dare this happen! Compared to the support we received after having a stillborn baby, the support we received after the miscarriage was very, very low. I was surprised by the intensity of my grief with the miscarriage. I was devastated. I was angry. I was hurting. This time, I felt so alone in the pain. I started to sink into depression.
I attempted to throw myself back into my work, as a way to take one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. Unfortunately, the demands of my job took more out of me than I had to give. I was responsible for training a new coworker, but I was too weak to deal with that level of social interaction all day long. I would dread going to work each morning, and I would drop into bed as soon as I returned home. I often skipped dinner, choosing to stay in bed and sleep the evening and night away. I was ready to give up.
I had a check-up 6-weeks after the miscarriage. Dr. S. picked up on my symptoms of depression immediately. (I was treated for postpartum depression after having Mackenzie). He assured me there were antidepressants that were safe during pregnancy, since he knew I would want to get pregnant again soon. I said I was doing Ok. He told me to call him as soon as I saw the warning signs of depression. A week later, I walked down the hallway at work and had 3 different people ask me if I was doing Ok. I gave them each the same flat "I'm fine" answer. In reality, I was just going through the motions, and my heart was not in anything anymore. I was growing frustrated with my coworker trainee. I did not think I could tolerate her anymore. I was ready to quit my job. I was ready to quit my life.
That night, I prayed fervently for God to take me out of this world and bring me Home. I prayed. I begged. Please put an end to my pain. I cried out to God that I just could not deal with the pain any longer. I just could not see the point in living my life if I was going to have to live as a mother who had no children to hold. That was too much for me to bare. I wanted to be with my children, and I could not stand my empty arms and broken heart anymore. When I finally stopped crying, God answered my prayer. He said "NO." He reminded me that He was in control. He would take care of my needs. My purpose here was not yet complete. I fell asleep that night in peace. Sad, with peace.
The next day, I managed to drag myself to work and go through the motions. I had completely given up on my life, but God refused to take me home, so now what was I suppose to do with myself? My boss pulled me aside and said that she was worried about me, but that she didn't want to aggravate me by constantly asking if I was Ok. She asked what she could do to support me. It suddenly became clear to me that I was in a state of depression. I saw the signs. I admitted it to myself and to my boss, right there, and told her I thought it was time to call Dr. S. and get some antidepressants. She agreed, and encouraged me to take action. I tearfully explained to Dr. S. that I thought it was time to talk about depression. He told me he had been waiting for my call, and he had the prescription already filled out. He assured me the antidepressant was safe during pregnancy, so he wanted me to start it, continue considering a future pregnancy, and keep taking it until my next delivery.
The antidepressant did not fix my life. It did help keep my emotions in a better balance. I was able to get up and go to work each day, and go through the motions of my life, without all the anger and tears. I was not able to find joy. I had a bad attitude about life. I was in the midst of a spiritual struggle. Things did not go my way. I wanted to be in control. But, I was not in control. God is in control. His ways are higher than my ways....and I still needed to accept that.
This time, it was my husband who decided Life was for the Living. He suggested we plan a vacation and get away from the sadness for a while. We drove to Las Vegas, Nevada, and stayed a few days at the Excalibur Hotel. It was a great get-away. We ate great food, we walked all over the Strip, in the daytime and nighttime, and checked out the lights, the fountains, and the free shows. I was surprised to find comfort at the King Tut exhibit at the Luxor. The exhibit showed a model of King Tut's tomb, filled with jewels and treasures. There were also two tiny caskets. According to the audio tour guide, King Tut suffered the loss of 2 infant children (one was believed to be stillborn). He took the pain of those lost lives with him to the grave. Who knew I would have something in common with King Tut?
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