But that won't happen now. I can't publish those posts anymore....though I know I will never be able to delete them either.
I was pregnant. I was one of those women who "just knew" within days. I told Jon that I knew something was different this time, even though a dozen home pregnancy tests argued I was wrong.
We went for our first consultation at the fertility clinic at the end of March and I told the doctor my suspicions. She ordered a blood test and the next day I got the call: Pregnant. Just barely....my levels weren't even high enough for a urine test to work yet.
I was in total shock that we had actually done it on our own. I was scared too. I didn't quite trust that my body could actually do this amazing thing for me, given how unreliable it had been so far. But mainly I was more happy than I can even find words to describe. We were getting everything we had ever wanted and we felt so incredibly grateful and blessed!
But I just couldn't shake a nagging doubt; that things weren't so perfect after all.
At almost seven weeks, I went for an early ultrasound. Our fertility clinic follows patients very closely in early pregnancy. There was no evidence of an embryo in my uterus. That's when time stopped and the tears began to fall. I was right. I had known. Our doctor sent me to the hospital for a hi-res scan, which verified the pregnancy was developing in my right fallopian tube. Ectopic. If our clinic hadn't been following me so closely it could have ruptured. I could have lost my tube. I could have died.
It was found early enough to avoid surgery - the one small consolation. But I had to make the choice to have a shot of methotrexate - chemotherapy - to end my pregnancy. Really, I know it wasn't a choice at all. But on some level it hurts even more that I had to give permission for it to be done.
We had thought everything was finally falling into place. We let ourselves believe that after two years of waiting the universe had decided we had suffered enough. But then I fell into the 1-2% of pregnancies that are ectopic. Even when I don't have a single one of the few known risk factors for it! What are the fucking chances of that???
The whole day at the hospital we felt that fate was mocking us. The woman in the waiting room playing with her happy, healthy baby boy. The smiling woman with the gorgeous baby bump skipping out of her ultrasound. The strong fetal heartbeat I overheard on Doppler from a few rooms down. The happy couple being wheeled from labour and delivery cradling their brand new baby girl, on their way home to begin their lives together. My heart had already been shattered into a million pieces, and then those pieces began to cut my insides completely raw.
It may sound dramatic, but if you haven't lived it then you just can't possibly understand.
I know we'll heal with time, though we will always keep a special place in our hearts for our Baby who already meant the world to us. I was due December 8th...
We aren't allowed to try again for three months and I'm scared for what is to come. My heart can't wait two more years for our next miracle, so we won't be dragging our heels on fertility interventions this time.
I know these things are rarely discussed openly, but we aren't embarrassed or ashamed. No one should be. Trying to heal in isolation is never healthy. For me, grieving means sharing my feelings and in a way, I want people to know how much our Baby mattered to us. It was real to us, and this loss has cut us very deeply. We would have done anything possible to save our Baby, but it was out of our hands. There is no reason to hide that.
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