Ok all – time for a bit of a confession.
Things haven’t been all sunshine and roses in Shmerson-land over the last couple of weeks. In fact, up until a couple of days ago they were downright shit-tastic.
That’s the truth of why I hadn’t updated here in two weeks.
The truth is – I spent most of that time scared out of my mind, and not wanting to post here for fear of becoming a freak show.
So at our 6 week scan of B5 the doc wouldn’t confirm seeing a heartbeat. It was barely visible if at all, and B5 was measuring behind. This was my RE, so that same day I called my regular OB/GYN freaking out. Just like the RE, he told me to wait a week and then come in.
I spent that entire week in emotional detachment. This was a total self-defense mechanism, but I did what I could to get through the week. Mostly slept really.
The next week we came in. I was 7 weeks 6 days and B5 was measuring 6 weeks 5 days. There was a strong heartbeat and the Russian, my OB/GYN, wasn’t concerned.
He told me to come in at 12 weeks for the NT scan. That was it.
Only anyone who’s been reading me for a while knows that immediately after the NT scan, because of my history, I’m having a cervical cerclage and going on complete bed rest until 37 weeks. Which means that where I was at the time, just short of 8 weeks pregnant, I had some preparation to do.
I’m going to be housebound for 6 months. That means:
1) I have to put school on hold
2) I have to stop teaching
3) I have to find content clients who are willing to hire me knowing that I will not be able to meet them in person.
4) I have to tell my existing clients that I can only have skype meetings from now on.
That means telling a bunch of near-strangers that I’m pregnant, when I’m barely 8 weeks and measuring a full week behind.
I don’t know about you guys, but that’s just effing surreal to me. Telling a random HR lady. Telling the head of the psychology department at my college. Telling the administrative head of the film program where I teach. And this week – telling my students why I was leaving them, because I already had to stop teaching a few of my classes (and no, I don’t believe in lying about these things, so I had to put my money where my mouth was).
So inevitably, on Tuesday, just after writing my last post, I freaked the eff out. I just lost it completely.
At some point I had a major anxiety attack, and after taking to twitter for support I finally woke Shmerson up crying about how I was sick of being “brave” and “strong” and I just wanted to be a freaking stupid ignorant pregnant lady.
I bawled and keened. Over being a freak show. Over the fact that this is my FIFTH first trimester. Over the fact that I will never, ever have a calm blissful pregnancy. Over having to share my pregnancy with total strangers when I’m barely ready to acknowledge it myself. Over my freaking SSRI withdrawal. Over everything.
The next morning I called the Russian’s office and asked for a sanity ultrasound. He obliged, though said that he can only humor me so many times.
So at 9 weeks 2 days, B5 was alive and kicking. Measuring 8 weeks 5 days, so catching up. Strong heartbeat. All was well.
So I felt better. I feel better all around now, having seen B5 again. Though I know I will have to pass most of this pregnancy emotionally detached in order to survive it. Hoping against all hope that all of the steps we’re taking to protect B5 will be enough to make him or her a healthy full term baby.
During the two weeks of sheer terror I was considering coming here and writing about it. But each time I thought about it all I could envision were empty platitudes and sentiments in the comments section. Lots of “I’m sorries” and “I’m hopings”. All nice and good, but nothing that would have helped me in the slightest. And lurkers coming in and rubber-necking the babyloss freak show once again. I just couldn’t stomach it. It’s not that I don’t love and appreciate all of you guys and your comments. It’s just that they don’t seem to help one bit at this point.
The proof was in the pudding: though the twitter ladies were awesome and supportive when I came clean there, it didn’t make me feel better. It made me melt down. Because each time I write about things going wrong it’s just a reminder that I’m not a normal, blissful pregnant lady. It’s a reminder that I’m a freak of nature. It’s a reminder that I will never be normal.
And that freaking sucks.
So yeah, now that I know things are fine I can talk about it. But things are fine for now. This whole pregnancy will be about waiting for the other shoe to drop, and hoping against all hope that it never does.
I just wish I was a normal stupid fertile person. It would make things so much easier.