Holding Out

I confess... I've been holding out on you.

This is the post that I wasn't going to write....

I wasn't going to write that my period was late...  That I finally broke down and bought a test when there was no period in sight...  That I saw a faint line...

I wasn't going to write that I made an appointment to have my blood drawn on Tuesday (a few days ago)...  That, on Christmas Eve, I started bleeding and cramping worse than I have in recent memories...  That I knew the pregnancy that had sent me into shock was over before it had even had a chance to really begin...

I wasn't going to write that I went for the blood draw anyway... That the results came in late this afternoon... That the number read to me over the phone showed my beta to be "2"...

I wasn't going to write that, in spite of knowing the risks and how terrifying it would be, that I was already excited about the new possibilities...

I wasn't going to tell you that I was another "urban myth"... That an infertile was unexpectedly expecting...  That, after years of fertility treatments I got "knocked up" the "old fashioned way"...  That I was pregnant for the fourth year in a row.

But I am.  My period has been pretty clockwork, between 28 and 35 days.  After week 5 came and went, I started to let my mind wonder...  What if?  I shrugged it off.  Couldn't be.  Even though I was starting to feel some of my tell-tale signs of feeling sick in the mornings and just an all around "off", I wrote it off.  Finally, at 6 weeks, I picked up a test at the store that would register a beta of 25 or higher.  I didnt even think much of it as I did the deed, since I rarely pick up anything when I pee on a stick.  But as I watched the window turn pink and the faint line appear, I almost fainted in the bathroom.  For a second, I thought I must have done something wrong.  There was no way in hell that I was pregnant.  I mean, I'm infertile.  It's impossible.  For a few moments, I was in utter shock.  I couldnt even breathe.

Peter and I had been discussing growing our family and had decided to no longer purse fertility treatments.  We both agreed that, if I were to get pregnant (unlikely), great, but otherwise, when the kids are a little older, we will go back to adoption and complete that route.  Pregnancies are difficult for me to say the least and there is a huge risk of preterm labor to the baby; it's not something we felt we would go to extraordinary means (and, for us, ovulation induction or IUIs are extraordinary means) for.  I can't lie and say I wasn't a little sad at the idea of never being pregnant again  because, even in the fear and hardship, it is a beautiful thing, but the conversation helped lay to rest the idea of seeing Dr. Lee again.

I've lost over 30 pounds and 4 pant sizes in the last 3 months.  In fact, my TSH levels were through the roof because my metabolism is reved up, and I've had to have my Synthroid increased.  I'm a healthier person than I've been in years and, looking in the mirror (or putting on pants that have a size I havent seen in years) I dont recognize myself at times.  So, in that regard, and in light of my regular menstrual cycles, I suppose pregnancy isn't something that is out in the realm of impossibility.

But, that being said, I thought it was pretty close.

I told Peter about the HPT and that I had scheduled blood work.  Due to the holidays, the earliest I could get in was the Tuesday after Christmas (the Tuesday of this week).  Christmas Eve morning, as I was getting ready to start cooking, I began bleeding.  Bright red.  The type of blood that no one wants to see after a positive pregnancy test.  At first, I tried to tell myself that it wasn't what I thought it was.  But after an hour or so, the intense cramping began, and then I knew.  We both knew.  We tried telling ourselves that maybe the test had been wrong and this was just my period showing up, but the cramping and the heavy bleeding and the pain were the markers of times gone by that we both know too well.  Going for the blood draw, I knew the number would be bad.  I had passed tissue and large clots, and the bleeding had finally began to slow down by Tuesday morning.  When I talked to the nurse yesterday afternoon (is it after midnight already???), I just knew.  She told me she was sorry, but my number was two.  Nonviable...

It's sad but, being an old hat at this, my mind immediately went into "reproductive technology" mode.  Perhaps my lining wasn't thick enough...  Perhaps the baby's chromosomes weren't matched correctly.  Perhaps the fertilized egg was never able to implant, resulting in a chemical pregnancy.  You know... The things that we've been told about miscarriages gone by...  The last semblance of control in a situation that you can't control.

You'd think that with my history I'd know better, but I fell... Hard...  Even though I knew the chances of loss were high, I let myself daydream.  A little girl... With hair darker than her sisters....  With big brown eyes like her daddy...  With ivory skin like her mom...  A little girl with a laugh like windchimes and a smile that warmed the winter snow.   A baby due around her father's birthday...

We've cried about it.  We've held each other.  We've acknowledged the hurt.  And it does hurt.  So much.  Even having only known for a short time, even miscarrying at only around 7 weeks (which means only 5 weeks since conception), it still hurts.  Having Bobby and Maya don't take that away... Understanding the process doesn't make it easier...  It still hurts.  It takes your very soul and crumples it into a ball and then rips it into pieces.

We've decided to call this whisper of hope Grace, or "G" as she'll be known in my sidebar.  When we first talked about having kids, only a few days after we'd met, we had chosen the name Grace.  It didn't feel right for either Sophia or Maya or our brief pregnancy with Zoe, but it felt right this time.  Although we didn't get to hold her in our arms or watch her grow up, we will always hold her in our hearts and our love is timeless.

I'm sorry that I'm not able to call my dear IRL friends or email you directly.  Honestly, I'm still in a fair amount of shock over all of it, and still trying to process it.  Thank you for understanding that blogging it is a much easier, much more cathartic way for me to express how I am feeling.

On that note, Good-bye 2010.  May 2011 bring us all peace and happiness, and endless hope.