Life isn't fair: Rosie's Journey Part 1.
I don't know why it is that when things start to get rough, I turn to my blog, but it seems to be the one way to get things out that I just plain don't want on Facebook or don't have the courage to say aloud.
This pregnancy had been full of questions, fear and uncertainty. When I look back on it, I shouldn't be surprised that it didn't come to fruition. Many of my appointments were discouraging and I left the hospital several times convinced that we had come to the end, but for some reason, Rosie hung on.
My last ultrasound convinced me all was certainly not well, even though my OB didn't wholeheartedly agree, though he did refer me to a perinatologist. More, I think, to calm me down. You see, when I first saw Rosie's heartbeat, it was 179. Perfectly acceptable for 8 weeks. She measured a day big. All was well.
I had a bit of bleeding between appointments, and went to the ER, where I was assured that I was possibly miscarrying. I went home terrified. Two weeks later at my regular OB, we found that once again, she had a good heart rate in the 160s, and she was still measuring a day big. I was starting to feel reassured. We did the genetic testing that day, and we prayed for a good result.
About two weeks later, we received a call from the OB. The genetic screen looked wonderful. No chance of Down Syndrome or other trisomies. We also found out we were expecting a little girl. Only Ken knew she was a girl, I wanted to try to hold out. The following week I ended up back at the ER. Severe cramping followed by what felt like leaking water. They found her heartrate, which had dropped into the 140s (my first concern). They also said her fluid level looked a bit low, and my placenta was partially covering my cervix. They were concerned and wanted me to see my OB the next day. That night, Ken told me what we were having, because I was scared I would lose another, and I wanted to know the sex.
The following day, I went back to my OB. Again, her heartrate was in the 140s and she looked good. Moving around. My OB was not concerned with fluid level at all, and told me not to worry about the placenta. She looked good, was measuring good and he told me that my odds of miscarrying at this stage was incredibly low, so I needed to stop worrying.
The next month was hard. I've never felt so incredibly rotten. My heart was acting up, my stomach was acting up. I kept having headaches. My legs were swelling. I kept having horrible panic attacks. I knew things were not good. I prayed every night that Rosie was doing well, even though I was not. My final appointment with my OB at 19 weeks didn't go well. Her heart rate was 126, and the thing that told me everything I needed to know: Her growth had slowed. She went from always measuring a day over, to measuring almost a full week behind. I expressed the concerns to my OB, who again told me that he used a different way of measuring this time which could change things up a little, and even though her heartrate was a little low for the gestation, I should not worry too much about it. I insisted that this is EXACTLY what happened with Clara. It started with a funky heartrate and slow growth. It ended a week later with a miscarriage. I KNEW. I came home and told Ken that she would be dead in a week. The one time I wish I had been wrong about everything, I was right about everything. I hoped that since I had actually made it to the 19 week mark that she was going to prove me wrong.
Monday morning, I woke up and knew things were going to go wrong. I walked into the ultrasound tech room, and I dreaded the moment she put the wand on my stomach. She started by looking at the placenta, and measuring my cervix. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that Rosie was not moving. She avoided looking directly at the baby, but I could tell she was too still. I asked if she saw her moving, she stated that she did not. She let me use the bathroom and I did, and tried to brace myself for what I knew was coming next. She measured the head first, and then the abdomen. Her abdomen was completely still. No little flutter. Just a round circle with nothing inside. I looked at the tech and said "Her heart isn't beating, is it?" She took pity on me and told me she didn't see a heartbeat. I know they aren't supposed to say, but she knew that I knew. I'm glad she didn't make me wait. She offered to turn off the screen so I didn't have to see the rest of the exam. I declined. I was searching for a reason. When she tried to get a full profile to measure her body, I saw something very wrong. She was being crushed by my uterus. There was no more cushion of fluid. My baby was dead. I held everything in until she went to grab the radiologist for a final result. She walked out the door, I called Ken, and I sobbed.
Not another one. Not again. I can't do this again. I basically hyperventilated the entire way to the van on my way to the OB office. I didn't care who saw me cry.
At the OB office, I was given options. I could wait 3-4 more weeks and wait for something to happen naturally. NO THANKS. I could go to Madison for a "term 2 abortion." UM. NO. Final option, I could be induced and deliver her. Not exactly what I wanted either, but it was the only option I could agree with. They scheduled me for 7 a.m. the next day. Induction with 4x the usual amount of Cytotec so the cervix opens just enough to expel the baby. Possibly a D & C after if the placenta doesn't follow properly. Expel? D&C? I was numb. I just wanted to go home. I went to bed that night knowing it would be my last night pregnant, knowing I was carrying around a dead body inside of me. I cradled my stomach all night. I begged God to be with me the next day, to comfort me and to help me heal. I prayed she was already there in Heaven, happy and taken care of. Then I cried most of the night.
This pregnancy had been full of questions, fear and uncertainty. When I look back on it, I shouldn't be surprised that it didn't come to fruition. Many of my appointments were discouraging and I left the hospital several times convinced that we had come to the end, but for some reason, Rosie hung on.
My last ultrasound convinced me all was certainly not well, even though my OB didn't wholeheartedly agree, though he did refer me to a perinatologist. More, I think, to calm me down. You see, when I first saw Rosie's heartbeat, it was 179. Perfectly acceptable for 8 weeks. She measured a day big. All was well.
I had a bit of bleeding between appointments, and went to the ER, where I was assured that I was possibly miscarrying. I went home terrified. Two weeks later at my regular OB, we found that once again, she had a good heart rate in the 160s, and she was still measuring a day big. I was starting to feel reassured. We did the genetic testing that day, and we prayed for a good result.
About two weeks later, we received a call from the OB. The genetic screen looked wonderful. No chance of Down Syndrome or other trisomies. We also found out we were expecting a little girl. Only Ken knew she was a girl, I wanted to try to hold out. The following week I ended up back at the ER. Severe cramping followed by what felt like leaking water. They found her heartrate, which had dropped into the 140s (my first concern). They also said her fluid level looked a bit low, and my placenta was partially covering my cervix. They were concerned and wanted me to see my OB the next day. That night, Ken told me what we were having, because I was scared I would lose another, and I wanted to know the sex.
The following day, I went back to my OB. Again, her heartrate was in the 140s and she looked good. Moving around. My OB was not concerned with fluid level at all, and told me not to worry about the placenta. She looked good, was measuring good and he told me that my odds of miscarrying at this stage was incredibly low, so I needed to stop worrying.
The next month was hard. I've never felt so incredibly rotten. My heart was acting up, my stomach was acting up. I kept having headaches. My legs were swelling. I kept having horrible panic attacks. I knew things were not good. I prayed every night that Rosie was doing well, even though I was not. My final appointment with my OB at 19 weeks didn't go well. Her heart rate was 126, and the thing that told me everything I needed to know: Her growth had slowed. She went from always measuring a day over, to measuring almost a full week behind. I expressed the concerns to my OB, who again told me that he used a different way of measuring this time which could change things up a little, and even though her heartrate was a little low for the gestation, I should not worry too much about it. I insisted that this is EXACTLY what happened with Clara. It started with a funky heartrate and slow growth. It ended a week later with a miscarriage. I KNEW. I came home and told Ken that she would be dead in a week. The one time I wish I had been wrong about everything, I was right about everything. I hoped that since I had actually made it to the 19 week mark that she was going to prove me wrong.
Monday morning, I woke up and knew things were going to go wrong. I walked into the ultrasound tech room, and I dreaded the moment she put the wand on my stomach. She started by looking at the placenta, and measuring my cervix. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that Rosie was not moving. She avoided looking directly at the baby, but I could tell she was too still. I asked if she saw her moving, she stated that she did not. She let me use the bathroom and I did, and tried to brace myself for what I knew was coming next. She measured the head first, and then the abdomen. Her abdomen was completely still. No little flutter. Just a round circle with nothing inside. I looked at the tech and said "Her heart isn't beating, is it?" She took pity on me and told me she didn't see a heartbeat. I know they aren't supposed to say, but she knew that I knew. I'm glad she didn't make me wait. She offered to turn off the screen so I didn't have to see the rest of the exam. I declined. I was searching for a reason. When she tried to get a full profile to measure her body, I saw something very wrong. She was being crushed by my uterus. There was no more cushion of fluid. My baby was dead. I held everything in until she went to grab the radiologist for a final result. She walked out the door, I called Ken, and I sobbed.
Not another one. Not again. I can't do this again. I basically hyperventilated the entire way to the van on my way to the OB office. I didn't care who saw me cry.
At the OB office, I was given options. I could wait 3-4 more weeks and wait for something to happen naturally. NO THANKS. I could go to Madison for a "term 2 abortion." UM. NO. Final option, I could be induced and deliver her. Not exactly what I wanted either, but it was the only option I could agree with. They scheduled me for 7 a.m. the next day. Induction with 4x the usual amount of Cytotec so the cervix opens just enough to expel the baby. Possibly a D & C after if the placenta doesn't follow properly. Expel? D&C? I was numb. I just wanted to go home. I went to bed that night knowing it would be my last night pregnant, knowing I was carrying around a dead body inside of me. I cradled my stomach all night. I begged God to be with me the next day, to comfort me and to help me heal. I prayed she was already there in Heaven, happy and taken care of. Then I cried most of the night.
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