The past three weeks has been very intense for me. Now that it's settled somewhat, I feel more able to talk about it. So here's what's been happening:
Tuesday, 28th I was late. Not appointment-late as I often am, but girly-type-late. I'm usually a few days early.
I went to buy a pregnancy test. I bought a pack of two, just in case. I could always use it another month if I needed it, after all. The first test showed - two? - well, it was one and a half lines really, but all my previous negative tests were completely blank where the second line should be. My husband didn't believe me when I said I thought I was pregnant. After all, we weren't really trying anyway. I said I'd test again in the morning.
Wednesday 29thTest number two. The second line was slightly more defined, being a morning test and all. But it still wasn't the standout it should have been. I dealt with mild queasiness and told a few close loved ones about the positive. It was a surprise. The due date was to be the 31st of December. I was a bit thrown, to be honest. I thought we were done. But all children are a gift from God, so there was no question we would love and cherish this one, too.
Thursday 30thMassive cramping pains kept me in bed for most of the day. I had to cancel my SRE class and my husband organised for me to get into the GP. The doctor said there was a likelihood that I would miscarry over the weekend, but as there hadn't been any bleeding, I should just take it very easy and avoid baths. He ordered blood tests to check hormone levels, and gave me a referral for an ultrasound in a few weeks time. We prayed that God would work out everything according to his plan: if the baby survived, that we would welcome its arrival; if not, that we would cope.
Monday 4thSecond blood test - to check whether the HCG levels were going up. Hormone levels were increasing, but I wasn't feeling the waves of nausea that had accompanied the early pregnancies of my first two children. I kept feeling that something was wrong. We started making plans for how we would accommodate a third child into our house and lives. We started worrying about whether they would feel left out with two older siblings who were so close in age. We started looking at baby photos again, remembering what the newborn days were like.
Tuesday 12th After a week, we travelled to another town for an ultrasound. We briefly joked about what we'd do if there were twins (I'm an older mother). We'd started referring to it affectionately as "jellybean".
We stood in the darkened room, and my husband lifted up my eldest and said "Do you want to see Jellybean?" just as the sonographer found the sac. There was a gestational sac that was measured to be around 6 weeks and 5 days old. But there was no jellybean. No evidence of an embryonic heartbeat. In fact, there didn't appear to be any evidence of an embryo. The sonographer was trying to be reassuring at first: we might just have the dates wrong; it can be unreliable trying to find a heartbeat so early on etc etc. She moved on to a different type of scan - a more reliable one - and didn't say anything at all then.
Wednesday 13th We were phoned early in the morning by my doctor's office and asked to come in that day. Something was wrong. You don't get called into the office in haste for good news.
The diagnosis was given: a
blighted ovum. It was the explanation for everything: the vague, almost-not-there morning sickness, the general feeling that I couldn't shake that I wasn't
really pregnant, the cramping. The best thing, he said, was to go into hospital on Friday for surgery. He'd organise it with the gynaecologist, who was lovely and gentle. Far better than to leave it to naturally start to bleed (which could take weeks, he said), and end up with just anyone who happened to be on. I was booked in for a confirmatory ultrasound on the Friday morning, just to make sure. I sat there and nodded.
Nothing there.
No baby.
I went home with a heavy heart and a bundle of forms. That night I cried for a long time as I said goodbye to the idea of being pregnant. It was all so surreal. I hardly felt like I was pregnant in the first place, and yet we had still thought that if we waited long enough, got past the 12 week mark, it would all settle down. My husband was very supportive, and called relatives I didn't think I could talk to without sobbing. Friday was the big day. We prayed. On Wednesday I kept thinking of the hymn I published below. Spafford lost 4 daughters at once, but his focus remained on Christ and his finished work, not on his own suffering.
ThursdayI went off to do my regular teaching appointments with a little trepidation. "Lord, give me the strength to do this today," I prayed. And He did. In fact, by the end of the day, I was amazed by the sense of peace and purpose that God had given me. It was all going to be fine. He was going ahead and preparing the way. I was energized by the chance to share God's word with the kids during the day. We had a nagging worry, though: was it too early? Could the dates just be a little out, and the baby appear after all? We called and talked to the GP. Friday would mark seven weeks, and with the type of scans being done, there was no doubt that there would be a marked appearance of an embryo and heartbeat by that time - even by 5 and a half weeks. If there was one.
Today The kids were sent off for a fun day at their grandparents' place, and I was packed and ready to go. I was hungry. I'd been told to fast from midnight, and the smell of morning coffee was very hard to bear. I even gulped down a mouthful of water in the shower without thinking. That wasn't supposed to happen.
We arrived at the day surgery at 9:30 to get ready for the procedure. Forms were completed, details were checked, consent forms were signed, beurocracy was satisfied. I was then supposed to wait until 11am for the ultrasound. The last time we'd been in this place, three and a half years ago, we'd welcomed my daughter into the world. The same DON who had been so helpful with my breastfeeding troubles then was now helping me get in early to the ultrasound so that things could be expedited somewhat. We sat in the waiting room, looking at the steam steriliser that I'd used late at night so I could feed a crying little girl. I felt numb.
The second ultrasound was definite. I watched the screen as the little black balloon of the gestation sac appeared in the grey haze. It was very large. It was also definitely empty. There was nothing there at all. No chance that if I waited a baby would magically appear. There wasn't anything there in the first place. I left with a sense of peace: this was the right thing to do. It was all going to be OK.
The doctor was waiting to talk to us, to make sure we were OK to go ahead. We were. Everything kicked into gear.
We went back to the day surgery, and I changed into the delightful gown and gear to wait for my turn. I was grateful it was closed at the back, so nobody could see the surgical pants that were like a puffy cloud that reached almost the whole way up my torso. Harry Highpants indeed!
I waited alone. They'd sent my husband out to a waiting room for the duration. An hour and a half wait, and I hopped onto the trolley to be wheeled into the operating theatre. Some brief joking with the staff, and then a quick "see you soon". Then a peaceful sleep and the operation was done.
In almost no time at all I was back to the next stage of recovery. A few sandwiches and a cup of tea, then dressed and ready to go home. All done. It was still rather surreal. In a few short weeks I had gone from being pregnant, to not really being pregnant, to not being pregnant at all.
In the morning before the op, I had read Psalm 25:
Show me your ways, O LORD,
teach me your paths;
guide me in your truth and teach me,
for you are God my Savior,
and my hope is in you all day long.
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Coolest Birthday Cakes is a good source of pictures and inspiration for budding cake decorators out there, as is Flickr...
