One Little Blighted Ovum.

I've gone back and forth over whether or not I should share this, and what exactly to say, but I've finally decided I wanted to explain my absence here lately, and shed a little light on this dark subject that many of us mamas and mamas-to-be go through quietly.

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We found out, in the beginning of March, that we were expecting again; four home tests, and a positive blood test from the doctor's office, and we were scoping out a new OB in the area. It all seemed really surreal. It took about 4 months before we got pregnant with our girl, and this time it was within a single month; so it was tough to absorb from the beginning. Positive test after positive test rolled in and we finally chose a doctor and set up our first appointment.

Even though it's only been (almost) 17 months since Kenley was born, I already felt I had forgotten all my tiny baby knowledge and lost my newborn-finesse, so I dove right back into BabyCenter and What to Expect When You're Expecting, of course. I quickly became immersed in page after page, article after article, throwing myself back into baby-mode-- so when I wasn't passed out on the couch from sheer exhaustion, I was soaking up baby-literature. I needed to know exactly what was going on with that little bundle of cells each week, and eventually had to drag Kev to the baby store to pick out a little first gift, to make it more real.

I took my vitamins. I cut drastically back on my caffeine intake, (which pained me with a toddler.) I ate much more healthy. I let myself sleep in and nap when I could, instead of cracking open my macbook. I was finally hopeful for a good first appointment with our OB; but I knew as soon as I spotted the first time that something wasn't right.

I remember an immediate panic, but I tried to reassure myself that some light spotting can be perfectly normal. The second spotting episode that came a week later brought on a little more panic and a little more desperation for reassurance, but also came with the relief that our first appointment was that Friday; we'd finally get an ultrasound and get some answers.

All we got were more questions.
After a minute or two of silence and prodding, I realized something didn't look right on the screen-- I didn't see anything at all. The sonographer checked my ovaries thoroughly, and after another few quiet minutes, concluded that all she could see was an empty gestational sac-- measuring at about 5 weeks. She asked again about my dates, telling me that the dates could just be off and it was just too early to see anything.

For me, I think this is when I really knew what was going to happen; I knew an empty sac this far along was not good news, but I couldn't bare to tell Kevin and rob him of any hope he had left.
I tried my best to keep it together as the sonographer directed us to the waiting room, telling us she needed to find a doctor to speak with me, and she didn't think I'd need to meet with the coordinator and have my weight and blood pressure taken today. But as soon as they sat us down in an exam room, with a poor doctor brought in on his day off because my new doctor was behind in surgery, I took one look at him and knew that he wasn't brought in to deliver good news.
As patiently and gently as he could, he proceeded to tell me that he believed I had a blighted ovum, or an early pregnancy failure, and that no embryo was going to grow in that sac.
He told me that it is like a pregnancy that never really got off the ground. That the fertilized egg implanted, but simply stopped developing-- most likely due to a chromosomal abnormality. He told me that it was not my fault. That there was nothing I could do about it. That it is very common, but that most women don't talk about it, after it happens to them; and that if he was correct-- that I will miscarry.

Bloodwork was done, and an appointment was set up for another ultrasound the following Friday, to essentially confirm their findings. I got a call on Monday from a midwife at the practice, telling me that my numbers looked great-- to not get my hopes up, but the numbers didn't suggest anything was up. It was nearly impossible for hope not to creep in after that call, but with that tiny inkling of hope came confusion, and more research. More google searches, more forum hunting, more and more reading. I needed to know if it was possible for an anomaly like that to happen.

We made it to Tuesday. Tuesday it seemed like my body finally caught up with what my mind already knew. It was over. There would be no baby #2 for us right now. I began spotting more heavily, but intermittently. After a 3 hour wait for the nurses line to call me back, I was squeezed in for an immediate ultrasound, which yielded the same results. Just an empty sac. I was more prepared this time, so when my next ob came in and jumped right into explaining how they should definitely have seen something by this point, she was confirming the early pregnancy failure, and began explaining my options at that point, I just sat, quietly trying to absorb it all.

It seemed so surreal. My pregnancy was just beginning, but was ending at the same time. Instead of starting to compile the lists for our epic names battle, or perusing the the sweet newborn clothes section, I was preparing myself for surgery 2 days later. I stayed up late both nights trying to figure out how this happened and if it was real. When the texts and phone calls came in asking how our appointment went, my throat closed on me, and I'd have to pass the burden on to poor Kev.

My doctor had recommended a D&C, or a dilation and curettage, and Thursday morning I went in and quietly had it done. Having no family in the area, Kev had to stay with our girl in the waiting room, and I had to prepare for surgery alone. When the only familiar face I saw finally got to me right before I went in, and asked how I was doing, I lost it. All morning the hospital's sweet staff tried to keep me company, and give their condolences-- but when my poor doctor told me "I know. It just sucks." I just couldn't keep it in anymore. I had accepted it was over, and rationalized that there was no fetal pole at all to lose, but the abstract loss of the second baby dream, finally coming to life, was too overwhelming at the time.

I woke up, healed up, and felt nearly back to myself again 2 days later. Kev ended up taking a week off of work for a mini-vacation around the area to give me a little break, get our minds off of things, restart, and just be together.

And while I can finally talk about what happened, I can see the belly photos from my pregnant IG mama friends, I can peer at a card congratulating us on the new baby news, I still cannot pull down the little storage tote in the closet and look at those little ivory newborn booties I drug Kevin to buy.

But I know that someday, hopefully not in the too distant future, they'll be filled with baby #2's tiny newborn feet.




For more on early pregnancy failure and miscarriage from BabyCenter.
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If you need someone to talk to:
In the BabyCenter Community Grief and Loss Directory Miscarriage Support Helping Friend Through Loss Miscarriage, Stillbirth, and Infant Loss Support Group Trying to conceive after a loss

For help: Coping with Pregnancy Loss How to support friends and family after a loss.