(Wondering for the first time where that expression comes from. Who’s Pete?)
If we make it all the way to the end of this pregnancy and this embryo turns into a baby and is born, I’m going to spend the rest of it’s life telling him/her how much grey hair he/she gave me. This has not been a tranquil experience of late.
Fresh on the heels of our parvo scare, Lauren and I had one of the most heart-stopping moments that I can remember, ever. A sudden gush of warm fluid, followed moments later by a gush of blood. Bright red, terrifying blood. I was…the opposite of calm. We got our doctor on the phone who convinced us not to go to the ER (the bleeding stopped quickly and I didn’t have cramps), and to come for a scan in the morning. After a long, long night, we went to the fertility clinic and I was convinced that it was all over.
Instead we saw the little gummy bear, bouncing serenely along with a strong steady heartbeat. Fine.
It seems that I’ve developed a subchorionic bleed (a clot affecting a small part of the placenta). I had one when I was pregnant with Ezra, and this one, while larger, is still considered small. We were warned not to be surprised by more blood and advised to take a few days of bed rest and then go back to work, refraining from all lifting and exercise.
Fortunately we had an appointment with Genetics a few days later and we got another peek at that heartbeat, or else I don’t think I would have survived this week. No matter how much someone warns you to expect spotting, it’s still disconcerting. Plus I made an absolute rookie mistake and got online. The problem with having something rare and unexplainable happen to your baby is that you can never again truly believe that you’re going to come down on the right side of a statistic. So the more I read about risks, the more I panic because I’m convinced that every one of them will happen.
This is how I expected to feel during pregnancy, this fear. Up until now, this hasn’t really been true. I’ve been surprisingly laid back. I’ve also felt pretty disconnected from this pregnancy and this new little occupant, which I figured was fine. There’s plenty of time to get attached when I know I’ll get to take home a baby.
But we had this scare and suddenly I realize that I am sort of attached to the gummy bear. It’s our gummy bear, anyway. We want it, badly, to grow into someone. With that connection comes the fear, with the hope comes the fear.
For now, everything seems stable. We cancelled a trip to Europe next week, fearing too much stress on my body. We’ll do something closer to home, and try to stay distracted, and take advantage of all the fertility clinic scans, and keep breathing in and out. Moving forward, we hope, we hope.