To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven

"It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone." ~ John Steinbeck

I've sat here a while, trying to figure out how to open this--but I can't think of anything. So in my characteristic form, I will just tell you.

On Tuesday, October 16th, I went to my doctor visit. Matt offered to come with, but I told him no need. It's just a routine hello-how are you-let's listen to your belly kind of visit. Nothing special, not even an ultrasound. I send him on to work, and go to the doctor. She listens to the Doppler and can't find anything...at which point I'm still not really concerned, because my doctor assured me that a lot of babies "hide" around this time. While the u/s is being done, I notice that there is no movement...and also less fluid. It wasn't hard to see something was incredibly wrong. So she turns the heartbeat monitor on the u/s machine and it's blank. Having had 10 ultrasounds in this pregnancy alone, I knew what I was seeing without her telling me. She told me to hold my breath, and I almost told her "it isn't going to change anything". But I did what she asked. She looked at me and said "I'm sorry I have bad news for you, there is no heartbeat.". She handed me a box of Kleenex & left the room to find the doctor and let me have a minute. I put the tissue back on the counter and waited for her. They put me in a room, the doctor came in and discussed what this meant and the two choices I had. She led me out the back way. I got in my car, and my eyes burned from not blinking. As I sat there alone, I could only think that I was alone. I wanted to see my husband, I HAD to see him immediately. The problem was that the drive was 45 minutes and I couldn't tell him on the phone or be cryptic and request that he come home immediately without reason. He would have, but he would have been frantic and I did not want to put him through that. I couldn't call my mom, who was having her breasts removed that day. I needed someone who would keep me talking, keep me steady, until I could get there and Matt could take over. Gloria is one of the few people who can talk as much as I can, but also can listen...and I wasn't sure which I would need at this point. She talked me all the way downtown. 

I got to the tower where Matt works, and his expression when he saw me let me know he knew something was wrong. He left for the day with me and in the elevator I told him that we had lost the baby. I saw the same shock on his face that I think must have been in my voice the entire call with Gloria. I still did not cry. We drove an hour to tell his mom. My dad called to update me on my mom. I had not told them yet. There was no way I could tell them this until I found out how my mom was--my dad and grandparents were going through enough. Since she still wasn't out of surgery I didn't tell him then either. We got home and I napped, and when I woke up I called him...Mom was "ok", so I asked him to put me on speaker so grandma & papa could hear. I told them then, and I heard my grandma start to cry in the background. Hearing her crying was the final straw, and I cried all the way down the stairs and straight into Matt's arms. It wasn't the first time, it won't be the last. 

The entire day I was updating facebook on mom's status, only telling very select people about the loss. One thing at a time. She has long been the most important voice in my life. I talk to her every day, and this was one of the hardest things I had to decide how to proceed with and she was under surgery. Luckily my doctor told me no rush, and to call within a few days to let her know what I wanted to do. My dad, thank God, understands this connection my mom and I have and instructed I should not do anything until I had talked to her. I am so thankful for his strength in my life--mom may have been the voice, but dad was the backbone. 

I was able to talk to her the next morning and she was in agreement with the decision Matt & I had made. At this point in time, I was basically avoiding all humanity. I have no idea how long it would have went on if Matt had not made the news public while I was in surgery. I could have stayed the rest of my life in seclusion except for my "immediate" family and a select group of friends. Obviously, not the healthiest choice. I still wasn't ready to face it. The first week was awful.  I got lots of texts, messages, calls...I didn't answer a lot of you. I appreciated every single one though. Do not think I did not, but some things I just could not say. Or type. I find it hard still to talk to people. I do not know why. But I try every day to put myself out there more, and that has to count for something. My first follow-up appointment was Friday, and as I sobbed in the little exam room I felt sympathy for the nurse and my doctor, but they understood. 

In all these events, people say things to you. The people are different, the wording was slightly adjusted but the words are all the same. They blur before you, you see them and hear them but you don't understand them. It's like not being able to read. All these letters before you but you can make no sense of them. There was one person though, that penetrated the haze of hurt and confusion...I won't name names. But this person was my first friend, and will be my longest friend. I texted "My surgery is tomorrow morning. I am sad" and the response was "I know it Andrea. Just know that it happened for a reason, we never know what plan God has for us and everything happens for a reason. I would say I know how you feel. But I don't and I hate to be way out here and not able to help anyone. I wish I could do something but I can't. Just know I love you, and we all love you." This was the glue that held me together, and I looked at it often over the next few days. 

In the 2 weeks that have followed my surgery, I have went out every day. Forced myself, actually, to join society in some way, even if it was only taking Seth to school. I had incredible blazes of temper and extreme lows of laying in bed awake well into the night, silent tears streaming down my face. I laughed at Seth's increasingly silly stories and I relished taking a steaming hot bath. I felt guilty for getting up each day. I felt strangely empty for going to the hospital "pregnant", leaving not pregnant and not bringing a baby home. Something oddly wrong and sad with that. Seth has accepted we will not be having a baby this time, and he will randomly assure me that we will try again. 

And so we will, when the time is right. 

Hope is the thing with feathers

Another doctor appointment, another disappointment. That's how it feels. The truth, however, is what I want and steels me for the battle ahead. Because I do not labor under the misapprehension that this is near to over. The baby has very little fluid, I'm definitely in the danger zone. The arms and legs are a week behind in growth to the head and stomach. The baby has digested some blood. There are many contributing factors to these struggles, first and foremost the fact that the placenta is not "normal" because of the SCH (subchorionic hemorrhage/hematoma). It is a real pain in the rear. There is every possibility the baby will stop growing and die in the uterus. I have tried to think of a nicer way to say that, but really I'm not a sugar-coater, and I'm not starting now I guess. It is possible the baby has a chromosomal abnormality (See: Seth, 4 years old, mosacism trisomy 17). There are many possibilities in this. It's not like growing flowers (I'm awful at that too, though)...it's growing a child. Producing a human out of your own body. There are so many things that can go wrong when you start researching it (please....don't consult Dr. Google, he's an awful man) that I can now truly understand why people say every child is a miracle. 

I was so angry leaving the doctor. Not because I went in with expectations, because I assure you I did not. Not at God, because God has always stood with me even when I have not stood with Him. Not at the circumstances, because these things happen--and that is the way of life. The powerlessness you feel makes you angry. There is a child that you love, even though you have not seen it's face, that you cannot help. You cannot make this better. You have to lay in bed, fighting. Fighting to keep the baby in good health, fighting the people that think you cannot make this, fighting to do what is right in your heart. Fighting the devil when he puts evil doubts in you. That is the hardest fight of all. Because I know God's promises to me, I know the good He wants for my life. It may be different than what I see, but if the road turns in a way I am not expecting it does not alter my faith in Him. I cannot do anything...but pray. So I pray, I listen to my doctors, I close my eyes and go to a place that I can feel peace. I get bad news every time I go to the doctor, and yet, my heart is hopeful. I see my baby move. I see every tiny vertebrae in its back, the heart beating steadily, the brains growing visit by visit. I see hope.

There are no guarantees in this life, not one. And in the end, if this doesn't turn out the way we want it and we have a hurricane...there will eventually be a rainbow. I have so many blessings in my life, so many things I see to be thankful for. I have so many people who love me and so many people who care. People who don't even know me are praying for my family--how amazing is that? How beautiful is it to get a message from someone that says "I have started a hundred emails to you, and I don't know what to say, but I love you". That is all that need be said. I do not need anything more. Your thoughts, your prayers, your good wishes. Unicorn dust, sticky baby dust, a shoulder to cry on every once in a while. I am blessed to have people in my life who make me smile, even when I am crying.

In a particularly emotional phone call to my mom this morning (who am I kidding, lately all our phone calls have been emotional) I told her that God has performed greater miracles than this. He has. I can think of a few right off the top of my head, I do not believe for one moment I have it worse than other people do. Is this a hard time for me? Incredibly. But it is not the worst thing that has ever happened to someone. And if this is His will, this miracle will happen. If it is not, there is always the future.


And the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.
1 Peter 5:10

Time is very slow for those who wait

So many people have the question: how did your visit go? And I thought, after telling about the fourth person today--my mom is right. Now is the time for a blog.

First, I will explain a few things for those of you that may not completely understand what is going on with me during this pregnancy. I have subchorionic hematoma (also known as subchorionic hemorrhage). I will explain and provide some links for those wanting more information.

A subchorionic hematoma, by definition:  Bleeding between the amniotic sac (membranes) and the pregnancy, usually found near the placenta.

I have included a picture for those of you who are visual people. The red is the hematoma, the pink P is the placenta, the pink lines around the rest is the chorion, and the blue is the amnion. 

Copyright © 2012 by American Roentgen Ray Society

This happens in 1% of all pregnancies (of all the "1%"'s for me to end up in, did it have to be in this one?), but 20% of pregnancies have bleeding in the first trimester. This is only found via ultrasound. Since I had large bleeds early on, I had a lot of ultrasounds and that is how this was found. I should clarify what I mean by "large bleed". I mean, you think you're dying. Bleeding to death via va-jay-jay. It's truly awful, and you're not only bleeding straight blood, but clots as well. I've passed around 9 clots to date.

Here is a link with more information:
http://www.whattoexpect.com/pregnancy/pregnancy-health/complications/subchorionic-bleeding.aspx
(Just as a disclaimer, I do not recommend reading What to Expect as a pregnant woman. There are much better, less scary and worrisome books on the market. I personally recommend Pregnancy Week by Week. There is a lovely husband/father book to go along with it. Moving on.)

And another link I like:
http://www.justmommies.com/articles/subchorionic-hematoma.shtml
(Not a medical journal)

You will notice neither of the links are medically associated. It is SO hard to find medical advice on SCH. It is almost nonexistent, as Dr. Sponagle and I discussed today. It is so very individualized. In my support group last week, 2 ladies had babies at 24 and 27 weeks. One (who has an SCH twice the size of mine) is at 35 weeks and doing well. Some ladies miscarry at 18-25 weeks. It is never a certainty. And while nothing ever is--it seems magnified when you're growing a tiny person in your uterus.

So we have no answers. We have no real advice but to take it easy, and then--when it gets worse--take it easier. Don't stress, they say. I get frustrated by the lack of knowledge surrounding SCH, and then I laugh when I think about it. It reminds me of my autoimmune disease. I've spent the last 14 years learning nothing from the doctors. I was diagnosed with a strange disease that no one could tell me why I have it, or what part exactly genetics played it in. It was 10 years later, when visiting with the geneticist after Seth's abnormal quad screen, that it was explained the best it ever has been: "Say you have a 52 card deck, which has 4 aces. You throw the the entire deck in the air, letting the cards land where they may. The likelihood the 4 aces land face up is the likelihood you should have gotten the autoimmune disease." That's the best answer I've gotten. There is no cure, just a management system involving medication. But management > death, so I will take management any day. With Seth, there were no answers either; 47 chromosomes instead of 46, preterm labor, late 2nd trimester bleeding...never any answers.

So fast forward to week 14 of my pregnancy (now). We are just going day to day, which is all we can do. My doctors visits aren't magic, they don't give me a lot of information because they don't have it. I know you all want to hear great news, and trust me so do I. But right now I just cannot give it to you. I don't have any news. My appointments with the OB are pretty much pointless, except for the fact they check my urine. We talk, enjoy banter, listen to the baby's heart beat (160bpm today), and I go home. My visits with the Peri are more in detail, because I always get an ultrasound. That means they are more expensive, too (hooray! lol).

I'm on bed rest now, because my SCH grew. It shouldn't be growing at this stage, it should be getting smaller or disappearing (according to what my doctors think). They also are watching my amniotic fluid, as the Peri wanted to see more than he did last time. However, it is known that if there are issues with placenta there can also be issues with the levels of amniotic fluid. At this point in time, Matt and I have decided to forego screenings. Knowing that the SCH can skew the results (which aren't usually that accurate anyway--look at Seth), we decided we are better off without it.

I hope this all makes sense, and please do not hesitate to ask any questions because if I know the answer I'd be glad to answer them. I get so many questions from friends and family wanting to know how I'm doing and what is going on, and sometimes I feel like I'm on repeat. From now on, I will be updating the blog after each appointment with news and weather forecast...wait wrong channel, just news from the doctors. I'm so thankful for all the loving people in my life that care so much about me, Matt, Seth & baby Bech. It's a blessing to have each of you along on this journey with us!

And therefore will the Lord wait, that he may be gracious unto you, and therefore will he be exalted, that he may have mercy upon you: for the Lord is a God of judgement: blessed are all they that wait for him. 
Isaiah 30:18