Everything's OK. The male Dr. Special, who put me at ease, along with a kind-faced female resident, right away saw that this pregnancy is in the uterus and is right where it's supposed to be for this early stage--exactly five weeks today. A gestational sac, which we never saw with pregnancy #2. I liked how he was cautious and realistic. "So we're not dealing with infertility, and it's not ectopic. That's all we can see right now." Right. No, "you're going to have a baby." I love infertility doctors for this.
I wanted to cry with relief when it was over, even though I felt basically okay during it. I'm just so grateful. I have a shot, a shot at mothering a healthy baby. I have no assurance that this will happen, but I have a shot, and I don't have to go through the monthly cycle of disappointment right now. And I don't have to go through another loss right now at least. Right now, everything is healthy. On the right track.
In about a week and a half, we should see a heartbeat. So that will be nearly 7 weeks. I scheduled an ultrasound with my usual female Dr. Special. That feels like a long way away from today. August 17th. On that day, we'll see if there's a heartbeat. Which, of course, could stop at any time; which, of course, could still have severe and lethal abnormalities...I know too well all the things that could go wrong. Sometimes it seems shocking that the odds are actually in the favor of things going right. Considering all we know that can go wrong. I told MFP, we can look at this as an act of parenting. Getting through this anxiety and worry about all the things that can go wrong. Living with that knowledge but learning to feel safe enough anyway; trying to live the best lives we can in the knowledge of what can go wrong.
I read about a study that showed that most people think that miscarriage is far less common than it actually is; and they mostly don't know that it's almost always completely out of the mother's control. The world is living in a delusion; that's how they can see that "plus" sign and start planning for a baby. I feel sad today because I wish I could have that happiness, I wish I could enjoy that. I wish I could say "I'm pregnant" out loud, out of secrecy; I wish I could plan for maternity clothes, even for a baby. I feel sad that I know so intimately how little pregnant I actually am, how little I can count on good news. What doesn't kill you--terrible things--doesn't make you stronger. It makes you more anxious, more scared, less happy, less secure. I do think I've gained some things from our losses--what some call "post-traumatic growth." I am more aware of the grief people go through, and hopefully more sensitive to it. I am more sure I want to be a parent. I am more trusting that I can get through the difficulties of parenting. I am a dog parent--in the wake of miscarriage #1, we adopted Pupstein, the first dog ever for either of us, and an utterly fantastic decision. But I am also so much less trusting that good things will happen to me and my baby. I am less hopeful. I feel more separate from other women who have had healthy pregnancies. And that in itself is a huge loss.
I liked how the female resident asked about our previous miscarriages, how far along they were. I felt like a person with a story, even while being probed.
I got my first sonogram photo to take home. It doesn't show anything but a dot in my uterus. Could be empty. We don't know yet. It just shows me, gives me proof, that I am indeed pregnant. That today, it's indeed healthy. And for that I am tearfully grateful. Weeping with gratitude, that it wasn't the reverse; that we aren't still staring down infertility or an ectopic pregnancy. My goal to get through the next 13 days is to take care of myself as best I can. To do a lot of yoga, a lot of meditation, a lot of things I enjoy, maybe even some asking for help. But just to get through it.
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