Today's Memorial Monday post is in honor of Julie, who has lost four pregnancies, all at about the tenth week of pregnancy. Recent testing uncovered a rare clotting disorder that will most likely prevent her from having any biological children.
Julie is asking for your prayers for her four angels: Peanut (2/05), Critter (7/06), Little Bit (11/07), and Doodle Bug (9/08).
To be featured in upcoming Memorial Mondays, please contact me by clicking on my profile link and then by clicking on my e-mail link. You can either write your story yourself or provide me with the details and I will do it for you. You may include pictures, poetry, whatever feels right. This is your memorial for your loss.
Showing posts with label Miscarriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Miscarriage. Show all posts
Monday, January 5, 2009
Monday, December 8, 2008
Memorial Monday
This Memorial Monday post is dedicated to our Gummy Bear. In some ways, it seems so very long ago that we lost our sweet baby. In other ways, it doesn't seem possible that two years have passed. So much has changed and yet my love for our precious angel remains the same. Gummy Bear, Mommy loves you very, very much.
It was December 8, 2006 and my eleven week OB appointment. I was giddy with the anticipation of seeing our baby as part of the routine visit. My husband came along to get another peek.
We were not strangers to this ultrasound business - this being our fourth look at our developing little one. After discussing my complicated pregnancy history and doing an internal exam, it was time for the show.
The ultrasound screen was fuzzy, complete with diagonal lines running through the black screen. We had been spoiled by the far more high-tech equipment at our RE's, so the first thought was slight annoyance that the picture wasn't going to be as clear. In fact, when the baby first came on the screen, it was such a faint image that I had to strain.
The doctor did the measurements and I felt my breath catch. They were off by almost two weeks. My husband didn't see the dismal numbers, so he didn't know why I started to cry.
But I saw those numbers and I saw the doctor's face. And what I didn't see was the very worst of all. I didn't see the flash of a beating heart.
Our sweet little Gummy Bear had no heartbeat.
My heart broke into a thousand pieces that day. I am still picking a few of them up. Time and Little Man have healed many of my wounds. But nothing can ever replace a lost child and completely take away the pain.
When people ask if Will is our first baby, I don't hesitate to answer yes, because to reply otherwise would just cause hurt and confusion. And he is our only living child, so it is not a lie. But deep in my heart, he is not our first. He is simply the first that we have gotten to hold in our arms as well as our hearts.
To be featured in upcoming Memorial Mondays, please contact me by clicking on my profile link and then by clicking on my e-mail link. You can either write your story yourself or provide me with the details and I will do it for you. You may include pictures, poetry, whatever feels right. This is your memorial for your loss.
It was December 8, 2006 and my eleven week OB appointment. I was giddy with the anticipation of seeing our baby as part of the routine visit. My husband came along to get another peek.
We were not strangers to this ultrasound business - this being our fourth look at our developing little one. After discussing my complicated pregnancy history and doing an internal exam, it was time for the show.
The ultrasound screen was fuzzy, complete with diagonal lines running through the black screen. We had been spoiled by the far more high-tech equipment at our RE's, so the first thought was slight annoyance that the picture wasn't going to be as clear. In fact, when the baby first came on the screen, it was such a faint image that I had to strain.
The doctor did the measurements and I felt my breath catch. They were off by almost two weeks. My husband didn't see the dismal numbers, so he didn't know why I started to cry.
But I saw those numbers and I saw the doctor's face. And what I didn't see was the very worst of all. I didn't see the flash of a beating heart.
Our sweet little Gummy Bear had no heartbeat.
My heart broke into a thousand pieces that day. I am still picking a few of them up. Time and Little Man have healed many of my wounds. But nothing can ever replace a lost child and completely take away the pain.
When people ask if Will is our first baby, I don't hesitate to answer yes, because to reply otherwise would just cause hurt and confusion. And he is our only living child, so it is not a lie. But deep in my heart, he is not our first. He is simply the first that we have gotten to hold in our arms as well as our hearts.
To be featured in upcoming Memorial Mondays, please contact me by clicking on my profile link and then by clicking on my e-mail link. You can either write your story yourself or provide me with the details and I will do it for you. You may include pictures, poetry, whatever feels right. This is your memorial for your loss.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Memorial Monday
This week's Memorial Monday is in honor of Stacy and her lost angels. In her own words. . .
I too have lost six babies. I've watched nearly all of my friends and relatives move into the next stages of life. I've attended their baby showers, given tons of gifts, visited their newborns in the hospital, and watched them grow up and start school in the past 7 years. I was 21 years old when I got married, and I thought that I would be done having kids by the time I reached 30. I'm about to turn 32 and am still at square one. There have been many tests and surgeries along the way and with each attempt at a pregnancy we have had some hope of success. Each time we have been disappointed. We've never named any of our babies, I think mainly because we've been in a form of shock or denial for 7 whole years, but also because we thought it would be too painful. Maybe it seems cold or informal to think of them in numbers, but each of those lives holds such a special place in our hearts. Each one captured our hearts and carried our hopes and dreams for the short time that we knew of them.
Baby #1 July 6, 2002I too have lost six babies. I've watched nearly all of my friends and relatives move into the next stages of life. I've attended their baby showers, given tons of gifts, visited their newborns in the hospital, and watched them grow up and start school in the past 7 years. I was 21 years old when I got married, and I thought that I would be done having kids by the time I reached 30. I'm about to turn 32 and am still at square one. There have been many tests and surgeries along the way and with each attempt at a pregnancy we have had some hope of success. Each time we have been disappointed. We've never named any of our babies, I think mainly because we've been in a form of shock or denial for 7 whole years, but also because we thought it would be too painful. Maybe it seems cold or informal to think of them in numbers, but each of those lives holds such a special place in our hearts. Each one captured our hearts and carried our hopes and dreams for the short time that we knew of them.
Those are my miscarriage dates. None of our babies made it past 12 weeks; some didn't make it to 6 weeks. It terrifies me to think of that list growing longer, but we have no idea what the future holds. Every day I wake up with a mixture of pain and sadness, joy and hope. Although there are extremely hard days, I trust the Lord and His perfect will for my life and my future!
To continue to follow Stacy's story and to further offer support, you can find her at Stacy's Thoughts On Infertility.
To be featured in upcoming Memorial Mondays, please contact me by clicking on my profile link and then by clicking on my e-mail link. You can either write your story yourself or provide me with the details and I will do it for you. You may include pictures, poetry, whatever feels right. This is your memorial for your loss.
To continue to follow Stacy's story and to further offer support, you can find her at Stacy's Thoughts On Infertility.
To be featured in upcoming Memorial Mondays, please contact me by clicking on my profile link and then by clicking on my e-mail link. You can either write your story yourself or provide me with the details and I will do it for you. You may include pictures, poetry, whatever feels right. This is your memorial for your loss.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Memorial Monday
This e-mail broke my heart, for so many reasons. Here it is in it's entirety.
Dear Katie,
When I first saw that you were doing memorials for babies, I knew I wanted to be a part of it. Thank you for doing this. I would like to write my story myself, if you don't mind, because I don't think I have ever written it down all at once and it might help. You can check it for spelling and grammar and change anything that you want.
My husband and I got married in December 2002. We started trying for a baby the following October. I was so naive and hoped to have a positive pregnancy test by Christmas so that we could surprise our families with the news that we were expecting.
Not only did we not have that positive test by Christmas, but we didn't have one by the next Christmas, which is when I went to my OB/GYN. She didn't seem that concerned, but wrote me a prescription for clomid and told me to just start taking it and that it couldn't hurt.
But by the two year mark, even she had to admit that something wasn't right. I just knew that it was me that was the problem. We went to our first RE appointment in January 2005.
I had the full work up and nothing really seemed wrong besides a slightly elevated FSH, and even that was still in the normal range, just high-normal. So, the next obvious thing was to test my husband. Imagine our complete suprise to find that he was making no sperm.
It took another six months of extensive testing and visiting specialists to discover that due to a genetic abnormality, we will never have our own biological child - well, at least my husband's biological child. After some soul-searching and time off, we decided to move forward with donor sperm.
We had our first donor sperm/iui cycle in February 2007. It failed. We did our second cycle in March 2007. We got a positive pregnancy test, but the betas were low and never doubled, a chemical pregnancy. We did a couple more IUIs and nothing happened. Because we were using donor sperm, our insurance wouldn't pay for a lot of the procedures, so we were going through our savings pretty quickly. Because of that, and because I was starting to suffer emotionally, our RE agreed to move us to IVF.
I started reading your blog last November when we were both starting our IVF cycles. I was searching for information on self-injections and that is how I found you. From the beginning, I almost felt a strange sisterhood towards you, even though we never met, I felt that we thought about things the same way and that if we did know each other in real life, I knew we would be friends.
It seemed more than coincidence that we ended up having our egg retrievals and embryo transfers done on the same day. I remember being drugged up with my valium and repeatedly refreshing your page for an update on your transfer. I thought how cool it would be if we were both pregnant and due on the same day!
My ultrasound was the week before yours and I remember being glad that I didn't have to wait so long. We had transferred three embryos and were so pleased to see two beautifully beating hearts. Finally, at long last, we were pregnant! With twins!
I remember completely understanding your sadness when you found out that you had just one baby and not twins. I felt sad that the third embryo had not made it, too, even though I was also a little relieved because triplets scared me to death. I have been haunted by that feeling of relief more than you can know.
It was nice to follow along with your blog. All of my friends and sisters had babies already, so I felt as if I was sharing my pregnancy with you. I loved comparing symptoms.
At seven weeks, we were released from our RE after another ultrasound showed all was well with the twins. I started spotting a day after that. It was a Saturday, so we went into the ER and an ultrasound showed that one of the twins had died. We were sad, but everything looked so great with the remaining baby that we decided to remain hopeful.
After that, everything seemed good. At thirteen weeks, we heard the heartbeat of our baby and that's when I started to really believe that we were finally having a baby. At 19 weeks, we had our high-level ultrasond and found out that we were having a little boy. The ultrasound tech laughed and told us that she had never seen such an active baby! He was flipping and turning during the whole exam. I had been feeling little "fish bubbles" for the past week, and now I knew that I was really feeling him kick.
We named our little boy Benjamin Tyler - Ben. We painted the nursery in red with a firetruck theme - my husband is a fire fighter. We ordered our crib and changing table. My sister-in-law asked to host a shower in my husband's hometown, my best friend offered to throw one where we live now.
Ben continued to be a really active baby, which was really comforting. I loved feeling him move so much, even though sometimes, I wished that he would sleep better at night - his kicks kept me awake!
I continued to read your journey, feeling so many of the same hopes, fears, and dreams for our futures as mothers. I felt as if fate had brought us to the same place at the same time. We were both finally pregnant with healthy baby boys after losing so much.
On August 19, two weeks before my due date, I woke up and felt strange. I couldn't figure out what was wrong until after I had breakfast and realized that I couldn't remember the last time Ben had moved. His movements had definitely been slowing down for the past couple of weeks, but my OB had told me that was due to his cramped quarters. I remember reading your blog entry where you had the same fears and then had a non-stress test and all was okay. I tried to calm myself down as I waited for 9 AM and my doctor's office to open so that I could call in.
The nurse that I talked to was very nice and said that I should come in right away. I went directly to the triage area of L&D. My husband was working a 48-hour shift, so I didn't want to call and worry him for nothing. I figured that I would soon see that everything was okay and be sent home.
At triage, they hooked me up to the monitors. The nurse kept adjusting and readjusting the second belt to get Ben's heartbeat. I was holding my breath, waiting to hear the familiar sound. Finally, she got out a doppler wand like they use at every appointment. She smiled as she ran the doppler over my belly as we both heard a racing heartbeat of 130 BPM. Tears of relief slid down my face as she put the doppler down and got the belts out again.
But again, she couldn't find a heartbeat with the belt. She assured me not to worry and told me that she would be right back with an ultrasound machine. A few minutes passed - it seemed like hours, but I was watching the clock and knew it wasn't more than five minutes - a doctor came in with the machine. He introduced himself and cheerfully said, "Let's take a peek at this baby."
He kept the screen turned away, so I could only watch his face. But that said everything. He kept moving the paddle over my stomach again and again, in slower and slower circles. He looked so sad and I knew what he was going to say before he even said it.
He told me that Ben had no heartbeat (the heartbeat we had heard on the doppler was my own racing pulse) and that my fluid was really low. He asked me if there was anyone that they could call for me and that is when the horror really sunk in. I had to tell my husband. Luckily, he was also not far from the hospital and was able to get there pretty quickly. We had a few choices to make. Since I wasn't in labor, we could go home for awhile and rest before coming back to be induced. Or, I could be admitted right then for an induction.
I did not want to go home to where we had a stroller in the front hall, a swing in the living room, and a nursery filled with firetrucks. We decided that I should be admitted right away and they started cervadil and then pitocin. Nothing happened. Even breaking my water didn't seem to help, my body would not dilate. Finally, my OB said that it was time to do a c-section. I honestly didn't care at that point and we signed the consent forms.
At 7:35 PM on Wednesday, August 20th, Benjamin Tyler was born still into this world. It was at once the most beautiful and horrible moment of my life.
Ben was perfect in every way. When they placed him in my arms, it was hard to believe that he wasn't just sleeping. My husband and I were able to spend several hours with him before we finally had to say goodbye. Two days later, we left the hospital. Without our baby.
It was a few weeks later when I finally had the strength to check your blog. It was early September and I was pretty sure that Little Man had been born. I gasped out loud when I saw that he had been born 1 minute after Will. It seemed fitting somehow and I was very happy for you and your husband.
People say horrible things after a baby dies. They tell you that you should move on and that you can have another baby. Well, it isn't that easy. Even if I could just snap my fingers and get pregnant again, that wouldn't replace what we lost when we lost Ben. And getting pregnant for us is no easy thing. We are not sure when, if ever, we will be ready to try again.
We have talked about adoption, about making the decision to live child-free. Nothing feels right yet. All I know is that I am a mother, but no one really recognizes that. Even my husband seems to have moved on and I feel stuck in place. I don't want to get back to real life, but everyone expects me to. No one asks me about Ben, no one wants to see the pictures or go through his memory box with me. They are afraid to say his name, afraid to make me cry, afraid to say the wrong thing, but they hurt me the most by not saying anything.
That's why this is such a good idea. It will mean the world to me to know my son is remembered by someone other than me.
Love,
Heather
To be featured in upcoming Memorial Mondays, please contact me by clicking on my profile link and then by clicking on my e-mail link. You can either write your story yourself or provide me with the details and I will do it for you. You may include pictures, poetry, whatever feels right. This is your memorial for your loss.
Dear Katie,
When I first saw that you were doing memorials for babies, I knew I wanted to be a part of it. Thank you for doing this. I would like to write my story myself, if you don't mind, because I don't think I have ever written it down all at once and it might help. You can check it for spelling and grammar and change anything that you want.
My husband and I got married in December 2002. We started trying for a baby the following October. I was so naive and hoped to have a positive pregnancy test by Christmas so that we could surprise our families with the news that we were expecting.
Not only did we not have that positive test by Christmas, but we didn't have one by the next Christmas, which is when I went to my OB/GYN. She didn't seem that concerned, but wrote me a prescription for clomid and told me to just start taking it and that it couldn't hurt.
But by the two year mark, even she had to admit that something wasn't right. I just knew that it was me that was the problem. We went to our first RE appointment in January 2005.
I had the full work up and nothing really seemed wrong besides a slightly elevated FSH, and even that was still in the normal range, just high-normal. So, the next obvious thing was to test my husband. Imagine our complete suprise to find that he was making no sperm.
It took another six months of extensive testing and visiting specialists to discover that due to a genetic abnormality, we will never have our own biological child - well, at least my husband's biological child. After some soul-searching and time off, we decided to move forward with donor sperm.
We had our first donor sperm/iui cycle in February 2007. It failed. We did our second cycle in March 2007. We got a positive pregnancy test, but the betas were low and never doubled, a chemical pregnancy. We did a couple more IUIs and nothing happened. Because we were using donor sperm, our insurance wouldn't pay for a lot of the procedures, so we were going through our savings pretty quickly. Because of that, and because I was starting to suffer emotionally, our RE agreed to move us to IVF.
I started reading your blog last November when we were both starting our IVF cycles. I was searching for information on self-injections and that is how I found you. From the beginning, I almost felt a strange sisterhood towards you, even though we never met, I felt that we thought about things the same way and that if we did know each other in real life, I knew we would be friends.
It seemed more than coincidence that we ended up having our egg retrievals and embryo transfers done on the same day. I remember being drugged up with my valium and repeatedly refreshing your page for an update on your transfer. I thought how cool it would be if we were both pregnant and due on the same day!
My ultrasound was the week before yours and I remember being glad that I didn't have to wait so long. We had transferred three embryos and were so pleased to see two beautifully beating hearts. Finally, at long last, we were pregnant! With twins!
I remember completely understanding your sadness when you found out that you had just one baby and not twins. I felt sad that the third embryo had not made it, too, even though I was also a little relieved because triplets scared me to death. I have been haunted by that feeling of relief more than you can know.
It was nice to follow along with your blog. All of my friends and sisters had babies already, so I felt as if I was sharing my pregnancy with you. I loved comparing symptoms.
At seven weeks, we were released from our RE after another ultrasound showed all was well with the twins. I started spotting a day after that. It was a Saturday, so we went into the ER and an ultrasound showed that one of the twins had died. We were sad, but everything looked so great with the remaining baby that we decided to remain hopeful.
After that, everything seemed good. At thirteen weeks, we heard the heartbeat of our baby and that's when I started to really believe that we were finally having a baby. At 19 weeks, we had our high-level ultrasond and found out that we were having a little boy. The ultrasound tech laughed and told us that she had never seen such an active baby! He was flipping and turning during the whole exam. I had been feeling little "fish bubbles" for the past week, and now I knew that I was really feeling him kick.
We named our little boy Benjamin Tyler - Ben. We painted the nursery in red with a firetruck theme - my husband is a fire fighter. We ordered our crib and changing table. My sister-in-law asked to host a shower in my husband's hometown, my best friend offered to throw one where we live now.
Ben continued to be a really active baby, which was really comforting. I loved feeling him move so much, even though sometimes, I wished that he would sleep better at night - his kicks kept me awake!
I continued to read your journey, feeling so many of the same hopes, fears, and dreams for our futures as mothers. I felt as if fate had brought us to the same place at the same time. We were both finally pregnant with healthy baby boys after losing so much.
On August 19, two weeks before my due date, I woke up and felt strange. I couldn't figure out what was wrong until after I had breakfast and realized that I couldn't remember the last time Ben had moved. His movements had definitely been slowing down for the past couple of weeks, but my OB had told me that was due to his cramped quarters. I remember reading your blog entry where you had the same fears and then had a non-stress test and all was okay. I tried to calm myself down as I waited for 9 AM and my doctor's office to open so that I could call in.
The nurse that I talked to was very nice and said that I should come in right away. I went directly to the triage area of L&D. My husband was working a 48-hour shift, so I didn't want to call and worry him for nothing. I figured that I would soon see that everything was okay and be sent home.
At triage, they hooked me up to the monitors. The nurse kept adjusting and readjusting the second belt to get Ben's heartbeat. I was holding my breath, waiting to hear the familiar sound. Finally, she got out a doppler wand like they use at every appointment. She smiled as she ran the doppler over my belly as we both heard a racing heartbeat of 130 BPM. Tears of relief slid down my face as she put the doppler down and got the belts out again.
But again, she couldn't find a heartbeat with the belt. She assured me not to worry and told me that she would be right back with an ultrasound machine. A few minutes passed - it seemed like hours, but I was watching the clock and knew it wasn't more than five minutes - a doctor came in with the machine. He introduced himself and cheerfully said, "Let's take a peek at this baby."
He kept the screen turned away, so I could only watch his face. But that said everything. He kept moving the paddle over my stomach again and again, in slower and slower circles. He looked so sad and I knew what he was going to say before he even said it.
He told me that Ben had no heartbeat (the heartbeat we had heard on the doppler was my own racing pulse) and that my fluid was really low. He asked me if there was anyone that they could call for me and that is when the horror really sunk in. I had to tell my husband. Luckily, he was also not far from the hospital and was able to get there pretty quickly. We had a few choices to make. Since I wasn't in labor, we could go home for awhile and rest before coming back to be induced. Or, I could be admitted right then for an induction.
I did not want to go home to where we had a stroller in the front hall, a swing in the living room, and a nursery filled with firetrucks. We decided that I should be admitted right away and they started cervadil and then pitocin. Nothing happened. Even breaking my water didn't seem to help, my body would not dilate. Finally, my OB said that it was time to do a c-section. I honestly didn't care at that point and we signed the consent forms.
At 7:35 PM on Wednesday, August 20th, Benjamin Tyler was born still into this world. It was at once the most beautiful and horrible moment of my life.
Ben was perfect in every way. When they placed him in my arms, it was hard to believe that he wasn't just sleeping. My husband and I were able to spend several hours with him before we finally had to say goodbye. Two days later, we left the hospital. Without our baby.
It was a few weeks later when I finally had the strength to check your blog. It was early September and I was pretty sure that Little Man had been born. I gasped out loud when I saw that he had been born 1 minute after Will. It seemed fitting somehow and I was very happy for you and your husband.
People say horrible things after a baby dies. They tell you that you should move on and that you can have another baby. Well, it isn't that easy. Even if I could just snap my fingers and get pregnant again, that wouldn't replace what we lost when we lost Ben. And getting pregnant for us is no easy thing. We are not sure when, if ever, we will be ready to try again.
We have talked about adoption, about making the decision to live child-free. Nothing feels right yet. All I know is that I am a mother, but no one really recognizes that. Even my husband seems to have moved on and I feel stuck in place. I don't want to get back to real life, but everyone expects me to. No one asks me about Ben, no one wants to see the pictures or go through his memory box with me. They are afraid to say his name, afraid to make me cry, afraid to say the wrong thing, but they hurt me the most by not saying anything.
That's why this is such a good idea. It will mean the world to me to know my son is remembered by someone other than me.
Love,
Heather
To be featured in upcoming Memorial Mondays, please contact me by clicking on my profile link and then by clicking on my e-mail link. You can either write your story yourself or provide me with the details and I will do it for you. You may include pictures, poetry, whatever feels right. This is your memorial for your loss.
Monday, November 17, 2008
The Inaugural Memorial Monday
For those of you who missed this post explaining what will be happening here on Mondays, here is the brief rundown: Each week, I will feature someone who has experienced loss through infertility. This is a way to recognize loss in a more tangible way and provide support to those to need it most.
My one request: please comment in some way. The whole point is to provide recognition of loss, for the grieving to know that they are not alone. I allow anonymous comments, so you do not have to have a blog or be registered with blogger to comment.
Today's Memorial is in honor of Joy. For those of you that do not currently follow either of her blogs, Joy is one of those people who has the perfect name. She is always filled with happiness for others and joy in her own life. Always one of the first to comment or pass along a blog award, Joy is someone that I wish that I could meet in real life. Her original blog doesn't talk about her miscarriage, so I had no idea that Joy had lost a pregnancy in 2006. Not only has Joy already suffered a loss, but she is also currently pregnant with falling progesterone and HCG numbers.
Here is her story in her own words:
To continue to follow Joy's story and to further offer support, you can find her at Sunny Side Up.
To be featured in upcoming Memorial Mondays, please contact me by clicking on my profile link and then by clicking on my e-mail link. You can either write your story yourself or provide me with the details and I will do it for you. You may include pictures, poetry, whatever feels right. This is your memorial for your loss.
My one request: please comment in some way. The whole point is to provide recognition of loss, for the grieving to know that they are not alone. I allow anonymous comments, so you do not have to have a blog or be registered with blogger to comment.
Today's Memorial is in honor of Joy. For those of you that do not currently follow either of her blogs, Joy is one of those people who has the perfect name. She is always filled with happiness for others and joy in her own life. Always one of the first to comment or pass along a blog award, Joy is someone that I wish that I could meet in real life. Her original blog doesn't talk about her miscarriage, so I had no idea that Joy had lost a pregnancy in 2006. Not only has Joy already suffered a loss, but she is also currently pregnant with falling progesterone and HCG numbers.
Here is her story in her own words:
I got pregnant with my first daughter in the fall of 2004. Getting pregnant was not a problem (two months is all it took), staying pregnant was not a problem, and the pregnancy was pure perfection including labor and delivery. So I was thinking, "I like this baby-making business! It's easy!!!" Well... keep reading.
My second pregnancy came as a surprise but we were elated. Elaina was 9 months old and I made her a "BIG SISTER 2006" t-shirt to wear to her grandparents' house. We bought a mini-van, we went house shopping, then I miscarried. I was broken-hearted. I screamed, ranted, raved, shook my fist at God, blamed myself.
We started trying again immediately. We continued house shopping but without as much vigor. Then I found the perfect house (didn't even have a FOR SALE sign up but we called our realtor to look it up). I got my first cycle after the miscarriage (it took EIGHT weeks) while we were packing and moving. I conceived our second daughter our first morning in our new house.
Thinking that we were just baby-making machines we started trying again recently. I noticed things were different with my body. I went to see my doctor and they found cysts on my ovaries and crazy hormone levels. I got the diagnosis of PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome). We tried and tried and got negative after negative.
For 13 months I felt the devastation of not getting pregnant. Two rounds of Clomid before I said, "ENOUGH!" I finally decided to move on with my life. To continue to take medication and exercise and hopefully reverse this diagnosis. On Halloween of this year, just a couple of weeks ago, I got my positive.
But that pregnancy is being threatened. Possibly because of the Clomid I had only taken just the month before (it thins out the lining of the uterus). My progesterone started to drop. I began to bleed in the evening. The on-call doctor was so sweet and gave me a prescription as I hyperventilated over the phone. I TRIED TOO HARD to just give up.
Now that my progesterone shot up to 175 my HCG has dropped from almost 7000 to 3000 last we checked. I'm going in for a blood test today to see if the levels are rising or declining. Depending on those results we have a scheduled ultrasound for Wednesday afternoon.
I'm a Christian and I believe in my Miracle Maker (great song, by the way) and I know that he can make this little heart beat and cause those HCG levels to rise. If you are also a believer, please add me to your prayer list! I am very desperate for this little one to live, especially for the sake of their big sisters who will be crushed. If you're not a believer, send me some sticky dust and your good thoughts! I want to see and hear a heartbeat on Wednesday. I want good news!To continue to follow Joy's story and to further offer support, you can find her at Sunny Side Up.
To be featured in upcoming Memorial Mondays, please contact me by clicking on my profile link and then by clicking on my e-mail link. You can either write your story yourself or provide me with the details and I will do it for you. You may include pictures, poetry, whatever feels right. This is your memorial for your loss.
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