These are the words that go with my last post. First off, thank you so much for all the congratulations! It means the world to me.
I am pregnant. I’m due February 18th, and it’s a girl. Those are my stats. Yes, this is the reason why I’m not running. And, yes, I realize most people announce their pregnancies before the third trimester.
I’m going to go ahead and bare it all here. Start from the beginning and include the gory details. If that isn’t your cup of tea, now would be a good time to check out. I promise I will not be offended.
I know multiple people who have struggled with infertility. For no particular reason I always worried I would find myself in the same boat. That years of being careful not to get pregnant would have been for nothing. It never occurred to me to consider the next part. I suppose I thought I would just twiddle my thumbs for 9 months and then pop out a baby.
As it turns out I had it backwards. We were one of those disgusting couples that got pregnant straight away. We celebrated with ignorant bliss for about 1 week before the spotting started. Now apparently spotting during the first trimester, “while not normal”, is considered “common.” Clear as mud? Translation: My doctor told me not to worry so long as it was brown and there wasn’t much of it.
This carried on for about a month without an explanation. I read plenty supporting the notion that spotting in the first trimester is common. But nothing about spotting for a month straight. I felt sick with worry (despite my doctor’s recommendation) and kept expecting the miscarriage to start.
At the end of the first trimester I had an ultrasound. The baby was still there, alive and appeared healthy. My spotting had stopped, and miscarriage rates were down. I breathed my first sigh of relief. I planned an elaborate dinner to celebrate. I even bought new dishes.
About a week later (and two days before we were to dirty the plates) the bleeding started. I say bleeding to differentiate it from the aforementioned spotting. This time it was bright red, there was a lot more of it and I was in the second trimester. I was convinced I was losing the baby. That the miscarriage had finally come. It lasted about a day and was tapering off by the time I saw the on-call doctor the next morning. She told me a lot of things it wasn’t, confirmed that the baby was okay and that was that.
A few days later the bleeding started again, and I repeated the same drill with my doctor. By then I was frustrated. This wasn’t normal, it wasn’t common and I wanted some kind of explanation. Up until then I think my doctor had mostly tried to ease my nerves. And I appreciated that. I also appreciated it when she finally wiped off some of the sugar.
“It’s probably a little bit of a placental abruption.” I suppose I’m far enough away from that day now that I can find some humor in that statement. She just had to leave some of the candy coating.
Now if you Google placental abruption (and believe me, I have) you will find all kinds of scary things. Bare in mind the severity of the condition is directly related to how much of the placenta has detached from the uterine wall. And, as my doctor so eloquently put, it’s probably only “a little bit” of mine.
I asked her what that meant and she candidly explained that I would probably need to see her more often, my risk of pre-term labor was higher and I may have to “be admitted at some point.” Yuck. I was put on pelvic rest, told to “take it easy” and that “walking was okay.” So I shelved my running shoes, and I’m starting to grow roots in the couch.
There’s more to this story but this post is already way too long, and this feels like a good break point. Be on the lookout for Part II (if I haven’t already bombarded you with too much information.)