Monday 23 December 2013

In the Words of Stephen Colbert...Moving On...

Upon leaving my RE's office with a diagnosis of an impending miscarriage, I notified my colleagues who are in the know. "Was it an official sonogram?" asked my Lead Physician, as she offered to order one for me. Not necessary, I replied; but I did have intentions to obtain a second opinion. The moment the clock struck five on Friday afternoon, the office staff filed out of the building like rats fleeing a sinking ship, leaving me with access to repeat my own ultrasound. Despite the orientation challenges when scanning yourself, the resolution and detail is much clearer on our machine than the one in my RE's office. I identified the fetal pole and measured it to be 0.48 cm, which corresponded to 6 weeks and 1 day -nearly two weeks behind. The faint flicker of cardiac activity was still present. Two weeks ago, such a sight would have produced emotional tears of joy. Now I resented the presence of the heartbeat.

My heart wanted to hold onto hope, but my head is much wiser. I'm thankful for my ten plus years of clinical experience. I've never seen a good outcome from a situation like this. An embryo that is measuring two weeks behind will not produce a healthy baby. Seriously, how could I even calculate a due date based on this delayed growth? If the heartbeat didn't stop by my next ultrasound on Monday, it would likely stop within the following week. It would be the right decision to proceed with my MUA, and not just because I already submitted a PTO request and my afternoon schedule was cleared. It just seemed that fate was adding one more cruel twist, requiring us to end the pregnancy when our little embryo was making such a valiant effort to survive. I spoke with my Lead Physician, who went through a similar situation when her baby was found to have a low heart rate. "Waiting those two weeks until the heart finally stopped was much harder than I ever imagined" she shared with me. "It was such a relief when I could finally proceed with my D+C". I discussed the situation with Husband, who was in agreement that we didn't need to wait for the inevitable. Come Monday, it'll be alright. Come Monday, my life starts again.

I went to the pharmacy to pick up the pre-meds that my RE ordered for me. I also needed to get a heating pad. When we moved three and a half years ago, I thought I uncovered not one, but two heating pads in our linen closet. Now that I needed it, I couldn't find one. I also realised that I needed some non-tampon sanitary protection. As I quickly mastered the skill of using tampons, I never had any pads beyond what was provided in my Growing Up and Liking it! menarche starter kit (if you're in my age group, you know you had one too...) I just remembered that pads were large and bulky and it felt like you had a Buick between your legs. My how things have changed in 25 years! Now pads are much thinner, but they have wings and they are both wider and longer. So now the wings pool blood onto your inner thighs and the longer pads ride up your butt? I fail to see how any of this is an improvement. More so, what is with the names? 'Always: Radiant Infinity' -what the fuck? Dressing it up with a distinguishing title doesn't grant any dignity to your product. After studying the selection for more than fifteen minutes, I was finally ready to make my purchase. Just to complete this Are you there God, It's me Margaret moment; there was a rather attractive guy standing behind me buying cough syrup.  I'm sure he took note of the products in my basket (Prescriptions for Doxycycline, Norco and Ativan, CVS brand heating pad and Kotex super absorbent pads) and wondered what hot plans I had for the weekend.

Once again, we were back in my RE's office for the third consecutive week. He measured the fetal pole at 0.46 cm. "I can't see any cardiac activity." he announced. "Can you?" He turned the screen toward me. I hadn't told him about my findings on Friday. This time I couldn't appreciate any flicker of light. "I can't either" I replied. Privately, I was exhaling with a sigh of relief. The absence of cardiac activity was actually welcoming. It represented the first time in this entire IVF cycle that a situation was straight forward. We would proceed with the MUA and send the products off for chromosomal testing.

Alas, after being reluctant to admit that I was pregnant, and being technically not  pregnant, while pregnant for over a week; I am officially not pregnant. Although I didn't have any side effects from any of my meds, after injecting, inserting and ingesting exogenous hormones for the past two month, I'm happy to have a break from these drugs. I moved all my luteal phase supplies into storage and dug up my Clearblue fertility monitor and ovulation predictor kits. I was about to make arrangements to give those away, as I figured I was at least past that phase of this process.  Sigh. Just when I thought I was out...they pull me back in!

Lastly, I gathered our fertilisation report, embryo and ultrasound photos and my pregnancy test and placed them into a memory box. I can now literally close the book on this pregnancy and start moving forward.





13 comments:

  1. Oh Jane, is it terrible of me that in this post full of sad news, I'm LOLing at your pad buying experience?? Or "sanitary napkins", as my mother insists on calling them. I'm glad you're keeping your sense of humour but oh so sorry for your loss.

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  2. First of all - I am so sorry that you are going through this. None of this is easy, even with the relief of it being over it still all just- sucks.

    When we had our 2nd miscarriage in October, my husband found these amazing pads. I say amazing when I really just mean ginormous! They were 15 inches long (I measured) and 3/4 inch thick with wings. While not attractive, certainly the best things to ease your mind while lounging around.... Bleeding. The best part was the hubs found them.

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  3. I have been holding my breath all day, waiting for your post Jane. I was still holding out for a miracle for you. There are no words to convey how sad I am for you. When we started our first IVF, my husband told me that we weren't going to be the couple that hits the jackpot the first time, we were going to have to inch our way there. Unfortunately, I think you're in the same lot. Is it any consolation that you got a little further this time? I hope the genetic testing gives you the info you need to formulate your next plan. This just plain sucks and I am so sorry that it is happening to you.

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  4. By the way, I did mail away for the menarche kit when I was 10 or 11. It was such a bizarre thing to be excited about receiving. We were probably the first generation they tried to convince that getting your first period was such a wonderful right of passage. I also appreciate all of your hidden pop culture references.

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  5. I am so sorry about your sad news. A loss after going through the stress and pain of IVF is indeed devastating. Take some time to rest, grieve, recharge. Hang in there, better days are ahead.

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  6. I'm so sorry Jane- I was hoping for a miracle for you. I hope you have a few days over the holidays to rest and recuperate.

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  7. I'm so sorry jane. I hope you have some time to rest as you prepare to move on. Thinking of you.

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  8. I am so very sorry you had to go through this. I love the way you commemorated the pregnancy in your book. There will always be a place in your heart for that baby. I hope that 2014 brings you new hope to fill the place of the void left in your heart.

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  9. Oh Jane. I hate this so much for you. My heart just aches :( Thinking of you. XOXO

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  10. I'm sorry there was no miracle, but somehow glad your background - and the absence of cardiac activity on the last screen - helps you move forward. I found it difficult to be told that that in this situations my doctors had never seen a positive outcome, I was still hoping to be the exception... for a little while.

    I've been thinking a couple of times about our parallel and yet so different situations. Many around you probably don't even know you are hurting, while they are walking on eggshells around me. Neither is easy.

    Your memory box looks lovely. Thanks for sharing the photo.

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  11. I'm so sorry. I'm glad you have a little emotional relief that this is "over," but that doesn't take away the hurt of what a heartbreaking situation it is. Thinking of you.

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  12. I am just heartbroken for you. What an exhausting experience. I am so so sorry you have to go through this. However, that book at the end is beautiful, and I know for certain that little one knows how deeply and profoundly loved he/she is. I know that it must be a relief for it to be over, but praying for you, anyway! Thinking about you! Xox

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  13. Sigh. There's just not really any words, other than I've been thinking about you and so hoping for a totally different outcome. I am so glad you did get that clear cut ending, as I'm sure that did make it at least a little easier emotionally. Although I'm not sure easier is the right word either....

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