The first time we went to the doctor, we were in shock. Because of my hormone levels prior to becoming pregnant, the doctor requested I get blood work done when I finally got a positive on that test. They drew blood to check my hCG and progesterone. This happened on a Thursday. Monday morning the nurse called me and told me to come in that day. No choice. I had to be there. I could tell there was worry in her voice. It was the first day of my husband's new job so I was so scared... I figured I would have to go alone. His lovely boss insisted he be there with me. So he came.
Upon our arrival, we were sent to the 11th floor of the hospital where the ultrasound technology center is. (Basically a souped up ultrasound enabling the doctor to see what regular ultrasound machines can't). While laying on the table the doctor asked me how far along I was. "4 weeks, but they said my levels are really high." She looked on the ultrasound for what seemed like forever. Silence. "Is everything okay?" I asked. She replied, "Well, you look a little farther along than that...and I am seeing more than one baby." I had the typical reaction. Shock. My husband on the other hand was so excited- my excitement was soon to follow- it was just a lot to digest at the moment. She then starting pointing to our little babies. "See, there is one, we'll call it Baby A and there is the other, we'll call it Baby B. You are measuring to be 7 weeks 4 days." Remember the nurse's worry when she called? She thought I was actually having a molar or chemical pregnancy because my hCG and progesterone were so high. But instead, I was twice as far along with twice as many babies. She didn't tell me that until after she heard the good news- she was so happy for me and even more happy her suspicions were wrong.
Thrilled. We left elated. Not only was I twice as far along as I had suspected without really even feeling too sick, we had twice as many babies, twice as many blessings and twice as much joy. I couldn't sleep that night. It felt like the night before Christmas. The joy overwhelmed my husband and me.
Almost 2 weeks later we had our first, real OB check up with my OBGYN. She, too, wanted to do an ultrasound to see our sweet babies. It was amazing. They were 9 weeks old and just perfect. Sadler, our little boy, was upside down frantically waving his already developed arms and legs and wiggling as fast as he could. His sister, Emmie, was right side up in typical fetal position scooting eagerly away from her brother. He was already getting on her nerves. Daniel and I both laughed and cried a little, too. They reminded us of each other. Daniel is so happy-go-lucky (especially in the mornings) and while I, too, can be hyper myself, overall, I am the more melancholic one of the two of us. And do not mess with me in the mornings. I felt our sweet Emmie's annoyance with cute, hyper Sadler. Our doctor explained once you see good, strong heartbeats the chances of miscarrying are much smaller. She didn't make any empty promises but said our babies looked very good and very healthy.
Today I was suppose to go in for my 13.5 week check up. (She wanted to see me again in 4 weeks from our last appointment). Instead, I went in last Friday. The. Worst. Day. Ever. I've said it before, but I HATE July. I want to write so much profanity around that blasted month... I save those words for my personal journal. And there, I don't hold back one damn bit.
I went in last Friday because I was, again, having some slight spotting. (Daniel was at work so he didn't come and there wasn't much reason for concern, plus he would be coming with me to the appointment I was suppose to have today). I figured she would tell me what she told me last time I had spotting. No activity of any sort for 2 weeks- feet elevated- take it very easy.
I was a little over 12 weeks. Some pregnant would refer to my gestational period as being in the "beginning of my 13th week." That's so stupid. I want to remember my babies at exactly the age they were. Why do pregnant women rush their pregnancies? It serves no purpose. My doctor did a normal OB check up and said things looked good. She then said, "Let's go have a look at the babies for peace of mind." Peace of mind- what a stupid, stupid term- we have yet to find that. She did an abdominal ultrasound and didn't say much and I couldn't see much either. I am petite, however, and figured she needed to do one using the TV probe. (google it, don't wanna write ab it). I saw my babies immediately and although I am not a doctor, mommies know what to look for. That flicker on the screen. That tiny bright, white light that flickers so quickly. It's a heartbeat. I frantically, with panic in my voice said, "where are the heartbeats." And she just said, "I am so sorry." Laying on a cold table in a dark, freezing room I watched my hopes and dreams fall far far away. She held my hand and said, "It is nothing you did or didn't do. We don't understand why, but these things happen."
I called Daniel. Before bursting into tears I got out, "We lost our babies." Why did I say that? Why do people say that term "lost/losing babies?" They didn't go anywhere. They weren't lost. They were laying still in my womb. They were VERY much THERE. The doctor then took the phone and explained to him what I couldn't through my sobs: they were no heartbeats.
He rushed straight to the hospital and my OBGYN sent us upstairs to the fancy ultrasound to confirm- to make sure sure our babies were now angel babies. I knew they were before we went in that room. I didn't look at the screen when the fancy ultrasound was done. I didn't want to see our babies laying lifelessly both on their backs. I wanted to remember them as they were: Sadler dancing upside down and Emmie nestled right side up.
I have decided to only remember them that way. I keep begging for God to take the image of them on their backs out of my head. He hasn't.
Monday, I went in for the D&C. Supposedly because of twins, you have twice as much of everything in you. When the doctor finished the surgery, she came out of the O.R. to tell Daniel how the procedure went. I lost too much blood and a transfusion was looking very likely. The twins had twice as much tissue, etc., and my body just wouldn't stop bleeding. Hearing that sounds like a mean joke. It's extra shitty. "Oh yeah, not only did two babies die, but because you had the double blessing of two, I am going to make the recovery time twice as hard, too. Just in case you forgot: You lost two babies." I wonder if that is what God is thinking sometimes. I know it's not, but I can't help and wonder that.
Luckily (I guess), I didn't end up needed someone else's blood. I just had to stay in the hospital longer and the recovery time is a little longer, too. Again- you know, just to remind me of what we did actually lose.
For my husband's sake, I am glad I made it through surgery fine despite the few complications.
I don't know a proper closure to this entry. Rather, I just needed to write about it. Now questions are answered. Hopefully the coming posts will reveal a small mark of healing and believing again ... a track record of sorts (i hate that term, but for lack of better).... but for now it's raw, authentic pain.
