So, you may have noticed that I haven’t had much to say lately. Actually, I’ve had plenty to say, but we wanted to wait a bit first and I’m not very good at keeping secrets. I figured if I didn’t say anything I couldn’t spill early.
I am, today, twelve weeks and three days pregnant. 🙂
We transferred two frozen embryos on Dec. 11. After many soul-searching hours and some serious discussion with Dr. N and the embryologist, we made the decision to transfer one of our top quality tot-sicles and one of our medium quality ones. The idea was that we’d have a slightly better chance of one implanting with two, but not too high a chance of both implanting. The day of the transfer, we actually ended up having to use a better medium quality one that originally planned because the first one started out thawing ok but then sort of disintegrated.
Our first beta, on Dec. 20 was 322. The second beta was 532. I will admit to some slight panic because those numbers weren’t very different from the betas I had with the twins. I was pretty convinced that our careful compromise failed and both had implanted.
It was also right about this time that I came down with the cold that would turn into the worst case of bronchitis I can ever remember having. I’m just now finally starting to get better from that.
I had a small episode of spotting at New Year’s that got me a third beta. That one came in at 9000 and something. I never did get the exact number. I was so relieved when I heard the nurse say, “Nine thousand…” that I stopped listening. That was on Jan. 2. I was originally scheduled for my first sono on the 7th, but we moved it up to the 4th since the beta was so high. I have to tell you, it was a huge relief when we saw that single sac and single 122bpm flicker on the screen.
The next week, I went in for my sono. Everything looked perfect. Six hours later, I was bleeding enough that I called the clinic’s emergency number. Turns out, somewhere between the sono and dinner, I’d gotten a subchorionic hemmorhage. That won me two days stuck on the sofa. I’m still not convinced that the rib-cracking cough didn’t have something to do with it. Those coughs were using abdominal muscles I never knew I had. But, when we went for the sono the next morning, everything looked fine and the hemmorhage was on the opposite side from where the placenta was starting to form. Since then, there’s been no more spotting or bleeding and every sonogram has been about as perfect as you could ask for. We’re measuring exactly to date. Aside from the cough-that-wouldn’t-quit, this has been an easy first trimester. No morning sickness, beyond a couple mild bouts of queasiness and a tendency to wake up in the middle of the night starving (Shannon keeps a steady supply of bananas and various cereal bars next to the bed). I grew two cup sizes in about three weeks, which made some of us happier than others. I have had about five hours of energy a day. The rest of the time I’ve been enjoying reruns of Bones, NCIS, and CSI (sense a theme?) because while I’m so exhausted I can’t walk across a room, I can’t seem to sleep during the day.
I’ve already met with Dr. E, my ob-gyn and have plans to pair her treatment with Dr. T (he’s the MFM specialist who treated me when I was hospitalized with the twins. I’m working really hard to have continuity of care here.). I’ll be on 17-p progesterone injections, starting at week 16 and I’ll get frequent and early cervix measurements and early fetal fibronectin tests. At the first sign of cervical shortening, I’ll get a cerclage. I’ve already been warned that I have a much higher possibility of bed rest. We’re not taking any chances. High-risk just hints at the level of concern over this pregnancy.
Oh, and since the twins were delivered by emergency c-section (one done with a vertical incision, rather than horizontal), I’ll have a scheduled c-section at 38 weeks. My due date is Aug. 29, so that puts us delivering sometime between Aug. 15 and 22.
It was a tough decision to keep this to ourselves for so long. We didn’t even tell my parents until my mother was starting to get nervous that we weren’t being aggressive enough treating my bronchitis. I was afraid she’d jump on a plane and show up to drag me to an emergency room, so we did tell her the good news early. We <em>were</em> treating the bronchitis as aggressively as we could…there just weren’t that many options particularly since I never ran a fever and my lungs stayed clear.
It was a two-fold reason, this secret-keeping. First, as wonderful as the support and cheers are, when things go wrong it seemed that much harder to deal with when we had to tell so many people. It’s hard to explain and I hate for it to come across wrong, but sometimes the last thing you want is sympathy. If this didn’t work, we wanted our grief to stay small and quiet. The time of the year factored into it as well. Obviously, January is a really hard month around here already. On top of that, last year I had an early miscarriage right around Christmas, and now, here I was pregnant at Christmas again. Christmas and New Years are never going to be the same for me, but I couldn’t face the possibility of ruining everyone else’s for the third time if things went wrong. Shannon and I just retreated, huddled around this tiny little flame, and held it close. We hoped that if it didn’t get too big too fast, maybe the pain wouldn’t be too big if we had to face it. Then, as things started to look like it was actually going to happen (although we really don’t talk much beyond the next sonogram) we realized that we would get to be like “normals” and tell people at a point when it made sense, when we felt a little more secure, when we thought we might actually be comfortable almost celebrating.
We won’t feel comfortable truly celebrating until we’re home from the hospital next August. There are just too many things that can go wrong between here and there, but we have hope and a tiny little flame.
I go in tomorrow to Dr. N for my third, and hopefully final progesterone test. Last week, I missed the goal by .2, which for anyone else probably would have been close enough to call it quits. I don’t have the luxury of “close enough” so I got an extra week of big ass needles. I will share this. This time around, I decided NOT to ice before each shot and I’ve had far less discomfort. There was one shot that hurt enough to require every shred of will power I had not to try to get away from the needle, and a few have stung a bit more than I like, but on the whole I’ve barely felt them and I’ve had almost no itching at the injection sites and what lumps do form tend to disappear within 48 hours. I hate to say it, but I think the minimal comfort the icing provided caused more troubles than it prevented. I’ve replaced frozen numbness with deep breathing exercises and lots of picturing my happy place to stay calm during the shots.
So, that’s all the news I have to report. I promise more regular posts from here on, now that I have something to talk about other than not being able to sell our house, not being able to find work, and not being able to breathe. Thanks for being patient! Hopefully, it was worth it.