I would have been 22 weeks pregnant right now. I would be feeling the swishes and sway of our daughter. Her siblings could have laid their hands on my stomach while their eyes grew wide feeling the taps from within. But I’m not. Our baby’s heart was just not strong enough for this side.
Before I tested, I was convinced I was not pregnant. I knew well before the others that I was in fact eating for two. Even after negative tests with each, there was a feeling I couldn’t shake that always came to fruition. I was happily surprised when two lines appeared this time. Just as happy on the next test, and the next and the next. At just under eight weeks we were able to see her heart beating. She measured smaller than my dates, but no one was concerned.
As soon as the screen lit up at our 14-week ultrasound, I knew it was no longer okay. I’ve had 12-week ultrasounds with all three of my children. The peanut on the screen was nowhere near the size of a 14-week-old. The flicker that every experienced mother holds her breathe to see was not there. No blinking light in the center. Everything on the screen was still. Everything in that room was still. My cracked voice broke the silence. “There’s no heartbeat is there?”
Our doctor further confirmed there was no longer “cardiac activity” as the report reads. The report that I could use as a monologue at any audition. A report that I can close my eyes and see. The report I’ve read looking for any clue or reason that she is not still growing in me.
Before going into surgery the next day, my doctor met with us to go over the operation and answer any questions. “At this point, there is no reason to believe that you can’t try again after a cycle”. This was the raft of hope keeping me afloat while the dark waves surrounded.
To say that we were heartbroken does not do the ache justice. Describing it as devastating doesn’t seem enough. Trying to explain to our children why our baby was “sick” and couldn’t be fixed is something we will never forget. I wanted in the most desperate way to get back to normal. The day after my surgery I packed up the kids and took them to music time at the local library. I kept moving forward on my raft.
Several weeks later my pathology results were back. My hand shook while holding the phone to hear what went wrong all the while counting down until we were cleared to try again. Hopeful that this was a twist of fate and nothing more. There was never anything they could have said that would have changed the sadness ringing in me. But I never expected that it would get worse; until it did.
“Pathology concludes it was a partial molar pregnancy. You won’t be able to try again for a minimum of 6 months to a year and will require weekly blood draws”. I didn’t know what any of this meant and now I know too much.
A molar pregnancy is a rare complication of pregnancy characterized by the abnormal growth of trophoblasts, the cells that normally develop into the placenta. In a partial molar pregnancy, there may be normal placental tissue along with abnormally forming placental tissue. There may also be formation of a fetus, but the fetus is not able to survive, and is usually miscarried early in the pregnancy. A molar pregnancy can have serious complications — including a rare form of cancer.
There you have it ladies and gentlemen. When you thought the miscarriage itself would be the worst part, but then you hear that simply wanting to expand your family and add even more love to your home could result in you having cancer. And it’s rare, which somehow makes it seem worse. We couldn’t just win the lottery or even a tropical vacation, but I am the unicorn of pregnancy complications. I never thought I would wish to just have a “regular” miscarriage. I wished that we hadn’t seen the heartbeat at all; that somehow it would have been easier if nothing was ever there. Molar pregnancies are often called “never-ending miscarriages” because the treatment and monitoring could last months and even over a year or more.
The following week I began blood draws. The blood test is to check the HCG (a pregnancy hormone) level. The goal of my blood draws was the exact opposite of any other I had previously had performed. I needed a negative number. I needed that negative to show that everything, including the possible molar tissue, was out of my system. Any increase in HCG could note choriocarcinoma, a type of cancer brought on by the molar tissue.
After three weeks of consecutive negatives, I would be allowed to switch to monthly blood draws for an additional six months. On August 7, I received my third negative. I was happy and thankful to be negative, which only added to my anger. You are literally cheering and crossing fingers to eliminate the very sign that let you know life was growing inside.
Each pregnancy before has had ups and downs. I was on bedrest with #1 for five weeks before he still came two and a half weeks early. Most of the pregnancy I was so swollen my skin ripped and I could only wear slippers. I had “excessive amniotic fluid” that they closely monitored and I began contracting at 32 weeks. Baby #2 was four days late and only upon birth did they find he had a “true knot” in his chord that was slowly eliminating all oxygen. He was several pushes, or a few twists in the womb away from not existing. We had weekly ultrasounds with #3 for the last two months of her journey, after a hemorrhage in my uterine lining and placenta previa, because she was so small they worried that something was inhibiting her growth. Not quite the information people include with their styled birth announcements chosen from hundreds of professional photographs, but it’s reality. It’s true life.
Don’t compare your story to someone else’s when it comes to children, jobs, marriages, homes or successes. Everyone has losses and everyone is fighting in some way regardless of the perceived size of the battle. Don’t assume that “full hands” don’t long to be fuller and that empty hands wish to be overflowing. We all have experiences which change us and the world we live in is different than it ever was before. Be kind, be conscious, check on your strong friends, be honest with those who care enough to ask, trust your gut and most of all cut yourself a damn break. In most cases, every struggle we are experiencing someone else has been through and has come out on the other side. Life is hard. Sometimes seemingly impossible and you are minutes from drowning, but there is always a raft and sometimes you must swim like hell alone to get to it. But you can and it will always be worth it. To the families who are working to bring their baby dreams to reality, you are not alone, you are heard and your pain is valid and your hopes are very real. Let’s all just swim, swim, swim together.
Then Life Happened 