Shut Up, Stupid Pregnancy Apps

Where I am: 9w7d
Medications: Crinone
Symptoms: tired, sore boobs, nausea, slow digestion, food/smell hypersensitivity and aversions, congestion, constipation


Today, most of my pregnancy apps (I honestly have too many—there isn’t just one that I like entirely) were sending me push notifications announcing the start of my tenth week (some apps/docs would consider 9w7d as 10w0d…so confusing). “Congratulations, you’re ten weeks! Check in to see what baby is up to now and how big s/he is!”

Um, no thanks. I don’t want to know.

O_o

Okay, I know that sounds harsh. And maybe a bit terrible. But I can’t help it. The absolute worst thing about not knowing Baby Bean was gone the last four weeks I was pregnant was that the entire time, I was reading my baby books and reading my BabyBump app daily tips and weekly info like the baby was still growing. I was learning all the things a baby would be doing, and look like, at 10…11…12 weeks.

Only, s/he wasn’t. Bean measured 9w at our NT scan at a little over 12w. All of those things I was imagining weren’t real. They were in my head.

(‘Scuse me one moment… fuck you, RPL PTSD. Fuck you. Okay, I’m back.)

So…tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will look. If I can, if it makes sense for me to look.

Which…if I was being optimistic, I would say, it will make sense. And I’m trying to be optimistic.

I am.

It’s just…hard.

This is uncharted territory. A good ultrasound tomorrow would officially document the farthest I’ve ever been with a pregnancy. I mean…10w just doesn’t seem real right now. I keep closing my eyes and trying to remember the sound of the little Bug’s heart beating on that Doppler only a week ago. A heartbeat, right on the cusp of the Red Zone. Right around the time it all went wrong last time. I try to imagine that sound, inside my tummy, when I can. Visualize the baby getting bigger.

But it’s harder than it looks. It really, really is. As I sit here typing this, my hands are shaking and my heart is racing. My husband just started texting me for the first time today (we’ve both been quite busy) and I told him how nervous I am and he said, “It is going to be all good.” I so hope he is right. I wish he would be by my side tomorrow. Good or bad. Good because I want him to see in person how Lucky Bug has grown, and bad because I need him there.

My mom will be there, but it won’t be the same.

It’s funny…I haven’t been sleeping well the last week or so. I toss and turn a lot. It could be the pregnancy…it could be something else. I was talking with my mom about it today, about how I was up late…and then slept restlessly…and she asked me if there was something wrong or something bothering me. I was quick to say no, but I remembered tomorrow and told her I was just nervous about tomorrow. Preparing for the worst.

She told me not to think like that. I sighed.

It could be everything else, too. The lack of two cars. The rehabilitation I still have pending on my leg. The absolutely-final-can’t-turn-back-now deadline on our lease just tick, tick, ticking away. The lack of a house. The school year starting in less than four weeks. My new job, starting in less than three weeks. This pregnancy. Everything.

No wonder I’m not sleeping. I’m losing my damn mind.

I almost cried today in my cube, randomly, out of the blue, for no reason. I just got anxious and got that, “What if it is all over tomorrow?” terror squeezing the life out of me, and I almost lost it. Earlier this week, I tweeted something along the lines of, “Sometimes I can’t breathe because I think, if this all ends, I don’t know if I’ll come back from it this time.”

I truly feel that way sometimes. I feel so close to this baby now that I can’t imagine going back. I feel like I’m walking on thin ice. I feel like the further I go, out into the middle of the pond, the more likely it is that I’ll fall through. And I wonder if I’ll have the strength to pull myself out.

You’re in the middle of treatments, or in the middle of trying again, and you think you have the strength to get through. You tell yourself, “Even if I have another loss, I still need to try. I want a baby that badly, that I’ll keep trying.” But when you’re in it? When you’re pregnant, and every week that passes brings a new milestone that makes you feel that much more connected? You start to lose your fucking shit, man. You start to wonder if you really can take another loss. You start to wonder if after the last ten weeks, you can really say goodbye to another baby.

I don’t know if I can.

Shit. I feel like a terrible person writing this. It just dawned on me. If I go in there tomorrow and Lucky Bug is perfectly fine…I’ll feel terrible. I wish I could be positive. I’m scared my negativity will jinx me. Or affect the health of the pregnancy.

Why can’t I be more positive?

This has clearly been a stream-of-consciousness post. I hope you’re enjoying this little trip inside my brain. It’s a mess, ain’t it? Jesus.

Okay. About twelve hours to go. (I probably won’t sleep well.) My ultrasound is at 9:30AM (EST) with the follow-up and (hopefully) graduation appointment with my RE immediately afterwards.

I am going to go tomorrow wearing my lucky ladybug necklace and bringing my little mascot with me. I don’t care if it’s stupid. I can’t have my husband, so I’ll take what he gave me as good luck charms instead.

Tomorrow, I am hoping to see a nearly baby-like-looking baby in my tummy. I’m hoping to hear a strong heartbeat. I am going to take deep breaths, and stay calm, and focus on sending all the good vibes to this sweet little one that I can.

Please…please let my hopes be reality this time. Please. Please, please, please…

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The Hits Keep Coming

Where I am: CD15 (3dpo)
Medications: Crinone (and Lovenox, and Oxycodone…keep reading for explanation)
Symptoms: couldn’t tell you


So…this weekend sucked.

Friday, as you know, I was feeling really crappy. I attribute this to ovulating, because I woke up Saturday feeling much better. Note to future self: intense ovarian pain probably means you’re ovulating. Good but necessary pain.

Saturday…well, it started out like this: we met our realtor at a house at 10:00AM. With five to see, it was a big morning. I had to be done by 2:00 as I had a concert to attend with my cousin that afternoon (our first concert ever).

We saw the first house—and we loved it! It is our #1 contender out of the three we’ve seen (why only three?…keep reading). The second…not so great. It’s off the list completely.

11:00AM, I’m driving my husband’s crossover to the other side of town on our way to the third house. We’re talking, laughing, saying we already might not want this house because it’s close to a bad town, we come up on a set of lights in front of a Wal*Mart, I’m in the right lane, the left lane is stopped as the car at the stop line is waiting for a left…

…and just as I am about to pass the first car in the left lane and cross the intersection, a car coming the opposite direction tries to take a left. Right in front of me. I slam on the breaks and swerve, but it’s too late.

Head-on collision. Airbags deploy. I black out for a second. Wake up to J looking like he’s in severe pain, I’m suffocating on the residue from the airbags and screaming at the top of my lungs. Cue the hysteria. Off-duty firefighter hears the crash down the street and comes to our aid. Checks out J, I tell him I’m fine. 911 is called, our realtor (who was two cars behind us) comes up out of nowhere. Offers me water and hugs me as I am hyperventilating. Crying. Terrified. Traumatized.

Ambulance takes us to the hospital. Five hours later, we are discharged: J has abdominal contusions but a CT scan clears him of internal bleeding. I don’t get off as lucky. In addition to serious contusions to my abdomen (are you fucking serious?) and thighs, I have a fracture in my knee. I’m in an immobilizer indefinitely. No surgery needed, thank God. Eventually physical therapy. I see an orthopedist on Friday. I can’t drive because it’s my right knee (and I’m on Oxy, too). So I’m out of work for the week. I can’t do anything on my own, including use the bathroom, so J is going to call his HR office tomorrow and see if he can go off work on FMLA so he can take care of me.

We are supposed to leave for DC on Sunday. How the fuck am I going to enjoy my vacation now?

I’m in the two week wait already. Wondering what the contusions did, wondering what the painkillers are doing. I’m also on Lovenox daily because the placement of the fracture and my fertility treatments put me at high risk for blood clots. I know that won’t hurt pregnancy as women actually take the stuff during fertility treatments. It’s just everything else.

I’ve barely slept. My knee is constantly in pain and when it’s not, I have nightmares. The Oxy makes me drowsy but I only end up half-sleeping, in which I can hear everything going on and still feel pseudo-awake.

I’m angry. Why can’t we catch a fucking break? I’m depressed. Needing to have my husband help me pull my fucking underwear down just so I can pee is degrading. It took me forever to take a shower today. He is doing everything for me. I don’t know where I got such an amazing man as my husband, but he’s in serious pain himself but he’s doing everything for me. We both woke up sore and bruised this morning, which everyone told us to expect.

This entry is so jumbled, but I am literally so mentally and emotionally and physically exhausted. I just wanted to update this so you all could know what happened.

Keep us in your thoughts and, if you’re the type and don’t have anything against doing it for a nonbeliever, prayers. Or send good vibes and juju and luck. After having so much hope and good feeling for this cycle, I am nervous this accident will screw it all up somehow. Be it the contusions, the Oxy, the stress, anything. I feel like our good feelings just went right out the window.

I’ll update again soon, something more coherent and hopefully not clouded by narcotics. I’m still trying to keep the faith, so even though I’m nervous it’s all gone to shit, I’ll sign off with the hashtag…

#teamjunebug (please please please)