Not Gone

There was something significant about Monday’s OBGYN appointment that I forgot to talk about. Actually, I didn’t truly forget. It was more like I ran out of room because the post was already becoming a short novel. I initially thought it would be better for me not to talk about “the other thing”…sort of a “stick your head in the sand and it will go away” strategy. But it hasn’t gone away and so, maybe talking about it is exactly what I need to do.

When I had the ultrasound on Monday, there was initially a scare. The technician tried to do an over-the-belly ultrasound but couldn’t see anything inside of the sac that was showing up. So, she moved to an internal ultrasound. Immediately, a large empty sac showed up. The technician and the nurse turned and looked at me and looked very relieved when I said “There was a twin that was lost early on, but I thought the sac had gone away.” It took the technician awhile to get around the empty sac, so that she could get a good look at the sac with the baby in it. I held my breath the whole time, terrified that there wasn’t an “other” sac…that the baby was just gone. I was so relieved to see our baby and its little heart flickering. But, after the ultrasound was over, I was also really sad that the empty sac was still there.

Apparently, at the fertility center, they did a good job at avoiding the empty sac, so it looked small on the ultrasound screen. But the ultrasound technician in Dr. B’s office didn’t know to avoid that sac, and so I got to see that it has continued growing. It is not “going away” like I was told. I’m not upset that I didn’t know or that I was potentially misled by omission. I’m only upset that there is still a reminder of what was lost inside of me. I’m upset that, at the next ultrasound I get, I will more than likely see that empty sac again…a visual representation of the void in my heart that I try so hard to forget about.

I asked the nurse that was in the room during my ultrasound why the empty sac was so big. She said that, in all likelihood, my body hasn’t recognized that the sac is empty yet. It will likely continue to grow until the baby that is alive needs the space, at which time the empty sac should go away. Even if it doesn’t, it won’t harm the baby. Am I an awful person for wanting the empty sac to just go away right now? It is physically painful to think that my body is refusing to recognize the loss that my heart is still struggling with. Every time I see the empty sac, there is a little part of me that struggles to see whether there is actually a tiny baby in there. Every time we listen to the baby’s heartbeat, a little part of me is listening for any trace of a second heartbeat. I guess maybe my body is just following where my mind is at…still in a bit of denial that one of our babies is gone. But maybe if my body took the lead and made that visual reminder of the loss go away, my mind could let it go too, so I could just be peaceful and happy with the amazing blessing I’ve been given.

Seven weeks

I’m sorry it has taken me so long to write about yesterday’s ultrasound.  It may sound strange, but I haven’t really known what to say.  There were no huge surprises.  We have one very healthy baby, with a healthy heartbeat that was flickering away on the screen.  We have one empty sac that can barely be seen anymore. 

I had requested that the head nurse at the clinic perform my ultrasound.  I didn’t want to take any chances that I would walk away from yesterday’s ultrasound wondering if the nurse who did the scan was just not careful enough or just missed the twin.  Denial is a powerful thing.   The head nurse is incredibly thorough and, I know that if she says something is so, it is.  She saw our big baby immediately, but scooted around it and looked for the other sac for a long time.  It wasn’t easy to find, but when she found it, she was very thorough about making sure there was nothing in it.  Then, probably sensing that my tears were about to start pouring down, she quickly moved on to our healthy baby, and turned on the Doppler.  I thought seeing our baby’s heartbeat last week was awesome.  But I’ve got to tell you…hearing the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of a tiny little heart beating inside of your belly is truly awe inspiring!  The nurse had handled it perfectly.  I couldn’t dwell on my loss and listen to a miracle at the same time.

That feeling, of not being able to deal with both of those things at the same time has carried over, even though I’m not listening to the whoosh right now.  The mind is a funny thing.  It protects us in very creative ways.  My mind, instead of saying “Ha Ha…I was right and you were wrong Heart,” immediately decided that there never was a twin.  My mind capitalized on the fact that we never saw a heartbeat or fetus in the second sac (we only saw the sac itself), and convinced my heart that there was never a baby in that sac.  Sometimes, empty sacs form around an embryo that didn’t fully implant.  That’s what I have convinced myself happened in the case of our “twin.”  It doesn’t hurt as much that way.  We didn’t lose a baby, we just had an embryo that didn’t take.  That’s an easier pill to swallow.  I can move on from that.

Maybe someday I will feel equipped to experience the joy of my pregnancy and the grief of a loss at the same time, but today is not that day.  Right now, I need to go back to my “all-in” attitude and just start being over the moon happy about the baby I have.   If things go well at next week’s ultrasound, and there is no indication that it won’t, I get discharged from my fertility center, to my OBGYN.  The mixed emotions about being “discharged” will have to wait for another post, but for now, I am just settling in to the comfort of being truly, closer to out of the woods, pregnant.

Still Dealing With Infertility

A fertility friend who is still waiting for her happily ever after wrote to me on Friday, after reading my post about my loss.  She informed me that the title to my blog was misleading and potentially hurtful to others.  People may read my blog title that says I am waiting for a positive pregnancy test and read my blog only to be unpleasantly surprised that I've already gotten a positive pregnancy test.  It was strongly recommended that I fix the title.  Here's the problem with that (Okay, I actually have multiple problems with that).  First, on the day that I find out I lost a twin, I don't need to be told that I am hurting others struggling with infertility, nor is it reasonable to think that I am concerned with updating my blog at that particular time.  I know I probably sound like a real witch right now, but I just think that a fellow infertility survivor should have been able to be more compassionate and thoughtful about the timing of those comments. 

But the bigger problem with the title issue is that I don't know where I stand yet...so I can't change my title right now.  It is true that I am not waiting for my first positive pregnancy test anymore, but I am still feeling very much infertile, and my faith in this pregnancy has been shaken to the point that I'm not ready to modify anything.  I hope that doesn't cause other people pain or mislead them, but this blog is mine and I need to follow my heart.  Right now, my heart is fighting with my head and they are both too confused to make any decisions.  So for now, my blog isn't getting updated.  Hopefully soon I will figure some stuff out and will update who I'm following, what my totle portrays and my "about me" section.  But for now, I'm lost, so I ask for everyone's patience.

As most of you know, I've been struggling since I got pregnant to figure out my identity. Well, in the last three days it has become clear to me...I'm still struggling with infertility.  I've played over the words the nurse said on Friday a million times in my head...trying to decide if I put a more negative spin on it than I should have.  I've reviewed (once with a magnifying glass) the ultrasound pictures of the sac that we didn't see a baby in last week...trying to determine whether the sac got smaller or the perspective was different.  I've imagined that I can see a small dot in the sac and that it is a baby.  I've cried and cried over the loss of the twin, and then I've convinced myself that the ultrasound was a fluke...that it just didn't pick-up the baby, but the baby is still there.  My heart keeps telling me that the twin isn't gone, that it is fighting and needs me to believe in it.  At the same time, my head is telling me to accept what I know. 

These feelings are all far too familiar to me.  I'm doing the same thing I would do during each of our IVF cycles.  The evidence would be there, that the cycle was getting cancelled or that we didn't have enough mature eggs to make it to transfer.  And yet, my heart would tell me to keep hoping.  I would believe that things were going to be okay even though I knew they wouldn't.  Believing and knowing are two different things...and every woman I know who has struggled with infertility is acutely aware of that difference.  I feel myself spreading out the pain of a loss that same way I would do after a transfer...peeing on a stick each day, mourning each negative HPT, so that the negative beta test didn't sting as much.  I'm realistic about what is going to happen at our next ultrasound, and yet, I still have the infertility mentality - my heart won't let go of the hope that both twins are still there.  Maybe this is the mentality of everyone who has to grieve, maybe it is not exclusive to infertiles.  But I feel like I own the duality, and I never experienced it until my infertility journey.

I apologize that my posts don't seem to have much of a point right now.  I apologize that I am accepting everyone's support but not doing much commenting right now.  I promise to catch up on all of the blogs I follow and to update my blog as soon as I can.  I want to thank everyone who has been supportive.  Some of you have shared your experiences with me and I can't tell you how helpful that insight is.  I wish I was being a better blogger and a better friend right now.  All I can do is promise that I will be better someday soon.  I've become an expert griever over the last three years...I'll move on from this.  Until then, thank you again for your patience.