For the First Time in Forever

November 9th was a really good day. I had spent the last few days just feeling . . . funny. In a good way, but I felt very strange. Early that morning, after tossing and turning all night, my curiosity got the better of me and I took a pregnancy test even though it was pretty early to find out. I grinned as I saw that it came back positive, actually quite positive. I hurried back to our bedroom, woke Kevin up to tell him, and then let him go back to sleep. Before church had even begun, I started sharing the good news with friends, not even caring that people could overhear me. Once I was home, I shared the good news with my family in as gimmicky ways as I could think of off the top of my head.

By the afternoon, the euphoria had started to wear off, and reality set in. "You're sure sighing a lot," Kevin remarked. "Everything okay?"

I went to him and we hugged. "What's going to make this any different from all the other times?" I sobbed.

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Fun fact: I spent 50% of 2014 pregnant.

Not so fun fact: I spent 50% of 2014 not pregnant.

The year had started off auspiciously enough, I suppose. After months of trying (complete with an unconfirmed but very possible chemical pregnancy), I finally started the new year off right with a positive pregnancy test, and I spent the rest of January exhausted, if not particularly sick. But by the end of January, I had started bleeding, and I learned that the baby had stopped growing the same day I had taken the positive pregnancy test.

Although it was disappointing, I handled it pretty well for the most part after the first week. I sat out a baby shower or two, tried to avoid conversations about due dates and birth stories, and did all I could to appreciate the nice weather on Mother's Day instead of focusing on yet another disappointing month without a pregnancy. (I don't remember succeeding at any of these, but at least I tried.)

In early June, I again found out I was pregnant, and this time I even had a bit of mild morning sickness! It was one of the most fun months of my life, even if I was napping for a bit more of it than I would have preferred. I also chose this time to keep the pregnancy a secret from everyone except Kevin, to the point that I didn't even let my sister know I felt queasy when I visited her at 8 weeks along while Kevin was in Hawaii. Once he came back, the next day and a half were a glorious blur of walks, bike rides, and sheer excitement.

Then Monday morning came. After discovering that, thankfully, the baby was exactly 9 weeks along, just as it was supposed to be, the doctor and I discovered that for some reason, the baby had no heartbeat. Despite this prognosis, I spent the next two days absolutely convinced that the baby was still alive, that the blood was flowing to the baby again and that the heartbeat had come back. Unfortunately, at my follow-up appointment on Wednesday, I found out that no miracles had occurred; I had become a walking graveyard.

I spent the rest of the summer and fall happy enough that I could hide my grief, but sometimes I would find myself consumed by it far more than with the first miscarriage. Friends upon friends started announcing pregnancies. Friends started having babies the same time I would have been due with the first. Friends started finding out the sex of their babies due the same time I would have found out mine. Meanwhile, I was starting to try again, tracking everything, religiously examining the results of all my blood work, studying up on my prescriptions, and even learning that one pill I was taking was actually acting as birth control.

It was rough. But eventually it all ended up okay.

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The day after I found out I was pregnant, I called my doctor's office to start scheduling appointments. I mentioned my prior conditions and asked if there would be any useful lab work based on that. My question got filed away in the "totally forgotten" category, and I spent the next week crying to Joseph that "No one seems to take things seriously that I care a lot about." "Oh, okay, Mommy." (It didn't help that I was taking on more and more of the heavy lifting for the Christmas concert/creche and that we were planning to move that Saturday.)

But luckily, by the end of the week, after a few more phone calls back and forth with the doctor's office to clarify their comments, I finally actually got to speak to my doctor. She confirmed that a baby aspirin a day would be enough to help with the genetic clotting disorder they had discovered with the blood work (I had suspected that lack of blood flow had been more of a cause of the second miscarriage than any sort of chromosomal problem), and that no other prescriptions were necessary. Huge sigh of relief.

To be honest, this still was the most physically and emotionally exhausting pregnancy I've ever had. The morning sickness was never severe, but it came early, and it wiped me out. Additionally, I spent my days asleep on the couch, the floor, or on the piles of laundry I was intending to fold. Each cramp, each pull and tug I felt in my abdomen sent me into a little bit of a panic, since I had felt those right before miscarrying in July. I would think of the activities I did right before that miscarriage -- carrying Joseph throughout Chicago, moderate exercise, eating this food or that -- and each time I did them I had a little twinge of worry. Little wonder, then, that things like the Back to the Future soundtrack or the opening sequence to Johnny Lingo (still not sure what drove us to watch that) would get me tearing up. 

Perhaps the hardest week was when Kevin was in Montreal. I was torn between being grateful for my nausea -- it meant, at least, that I was still pregnant -- but it also meant I was scarcely functional, and nausea hadn't necessarily been the litmus test for viable pregnancy it was supposed to have been the last time. (Although, I do have to say, throwing up an entire sweet potato onto Joseph's coat while video chatting with Kevin was reassuring, and gross.) I had to remind myself that just because Kevin had been gone while I was 8 weeks pregnant and I had an appointment at 9 weeks pregnant that had gone disastrously last time didn't mean that him being gone while I was 8 weeks pregnant this time with an appointment at 9 weeks pregnant this time would have the same result.

But even so, once he was back in town, I made sure he was at that appointment with me for emotional support. No small talk this time; my doctor just went straight to the ultrasound and discovered a cute little thing in there with a heartbeat. She printed off such a fuzzy image that it looked more like a caterpillar than not, but caterpillars are cool too. Joseph started swatting at the picture immediately, so I think they're off to a healthy sibling rivalry start.

I considered scanning in the actual picture, but this was just as fast. And frankly, just as informative.

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After that appointment, things got better. I stopped being so anxious about things like zumba or carrying Joseph (good thing, too . . . he had started throwing my words back at me with complaints like, "My tummy hurts. I need you to carry me"). The nausea gradually tapered off, though it flares up every now and then. There were even some days where I had the same energy levels that I'm normally used to.

Today, I had my 13 week appointment. Although I knew to keep my expectations manageable, I didn't feel afraid. After a minute of hunting, the nurse practitioner discovered a healthy heartbeat. 

And that was that. For the first time in forever, I had made it to the second trimester. I know I'm not entirely out of the woods yet, but to have finally, finally come this far . . .

For the first time in forever, at least I've got a chance.