Let's see. How am I doing?
Well, a lot better than I was yesterday. That's for sure.
When I went to bed Tuesday night, I laid awake for hours, desperately afraid that my pregnancy was ending. When I woke up on Wednesday morning, I was sure of it. Yesterday, I had a doctor's appointment at which time I realized that although I had my due date correct, I thought I was eight weeks pregnant when in reality, I'm only six and a half.
(And once again, I find it ironic that someone who doesn't know how to count very well is in a job where they manage multi-million dollar contracts.)
From everything I told the doctor, he too thinks that I might be experiencing a miscarriage although we probably won't know for sure for at least a few more days. Although I had an ultrasound as early as six weeks with our triplets, they didn't perform one yesterday. Instead, I had blood drawn which will be repeated in 48 hours. And then, depending upon what happens over the next few days, I may or may not have an ultrasound on Monday.
I'm preparing myself for the worst.
With both of my "surprise" pregnancies, Charlie thought I should have waited until at least the first ultrasound - or preferably, the end of my first trimester - to announce the news that we are expecting. And while some might prefer to keep something so personal very private, I was so excited to have shared what is going on. And now that I am experiencing what appears to be such grave complications, it is very comforting to me that people truly understand what we are going through. Since I have told most of my coworkers, when I've had to cancel participation in various meetings at the last minute because of an urgent doctor's appointment and the need to remain at home and rest, they have offered prayers and words of healing that cannot be paralleled.
Because people know, I don't feel like I'm going through this by myself and that is a tremendous comfort. As one might imagine, the range of emotions that I've experienced over the past few days have been extreme. From relief that came from telling my boss that I won't be accepting the transfer; to jubilation that I will have ample time at home with a brand new baby and our other children; to worry that something might be wrong; to absolute dread and fear and panick that something WAS wrong; to a feeling of helplessness ... desperation ... and pleading.
Dear God, Please. No!
Yesterday, Charlie took the children out for a few hours and while they were gone I had the ugliest cry I can ever recall having in my entire life. It was a sob session of sadness and fear and sheer frustration.
While I know that 20% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage - and while I know that an early miscarriage is a sign that something was wrong and it's better to have a pregnancy end sooner than later - and while I know we are incredibly lucky to have four healthy children - the thought that I might actually be experiencing a miscarriage had me completely and totally crushed.
Because with all of my heart, I really want this baby. And I don't give a hoot if people think I am greedy or irresponsible for having four children and wanting another. Although just a few weeks ago I didn't even know that this new life existed, now I do and the dreams that I've long held for any of my children, have risen to the surface of my mind for this new baby.
I've dreamed about the life that is in me, and the potential of that life to come.
I've dreamed about the color of our new baby's eyes - the color of it's hair - the feel of it's beautiful, soft, baby skin. The sound of it's cries and the sound of it's laughter and glee when I kiss it's neck or whenever it sees it's older siblings. I've dreamed about delivering this baby, nursing this baby, swaddling this baby, and cradling this baby in my arms. I've dreamed about holding it's hand and watching it grow and loving it every single day of my life.
And yet, I'm a scientist. So I understand the science behind conception and if an organism isn't meant to survive, it won't. I know that at this moment, my baby is a very rudimentary human being who may not be entirely suited for life and there isn't a darn thing I can do about it.
What will be will be. The future's not ours to see.
Que Sera, Sera.
I also know that I did nothing to cause this, although I'm sure it doesn't help that I've got 39 year old eggs and have been an absolute stress case for the past few weeks. Thankfully, I know I can't blame myself, so I won't even try. Giving birth to a healthy baby is nothing short of a miracle. There are so many things that can and do go wrong. At least for me, sometimes it takes a reminder like this to remember just how incredibly miraculous life really is.
We had told the children that I would be having a new baby around Christmas time and they have been so gentle, doting on me and bringing me flowers. They are absolutely thrilled that there will be something precious and small in the house and they haven't once asked for a guinea pig or puppy since they've found out.
We haven't told them yet about what is going on and we won't tell them anything, until we know for sure. Or, until they ask again. Right now, all they know is that Mommy is showering them with affection. Last night, as I rotated through holding all four of them tightly in my arms, they sweetly asked, "Mommy, why do you keep hugging us and giving us so many kisses?"
And I said, "Because I can. Because you are here. And because I am so incredibly thankful to have you."