Stowaway…

You know it’s funny how life goes on while you’re making plans.

We had hoped that having a live birth I would be “cured” of my PCOS and that a conception would take place naturally for us when the time came for a sibling for Kade.  Well after nearly two years of non protective sex we decided that we would make plans to go and see our fertility specialist when we got back from our Plett holiday.

Stephan was pleased to see the weight loss and felt it boded well for a future conception.  We talked about plans for the future and how we were to proceed.  He did a scan, everything looked good and he confirmed that he saw a corpeus luteum cyst on my left ovary and that the lining was nicely progestonised indicating an ovulation of my own at some point.  Then he found what looked like an endometrioma on my right ovary and the plan was to go do my blood work, and wait for my period to start so we could scan again on day 2 to check if the suspected endometrioma was still there or not.  In its absence I would have an office hysteroscopy to ensure uteran readiness for pregnancy and if it was still there I would need to book a laparoscopy.  Once my period started I would go on the pill to prepare myself for our future IVF.

Well imagine my surprise when after a business trip to the mother city which involved hectic gastro and feeling incredibly tired and off colour for a week or so when a thought popped into my head.  A thought so unthinkable that it actually made me laugh out loud at myself.  My period was still missing in action but that is not unusual – me of 157 day cycles.  The thought that popped into my head was that maybe… just maybe I might be pregnant.  So I did what any self-respecting infertile does.  I went and bought a pee stick and peed on it.  I really don’t know what I was thinking, but I do know I wasn’t expecting to see this:

And then this:

I called Cliff and told him that I thought I was pregnant and his reaction was classic.  “How??”

We were elated and so very happy shocked.  I mean what are the chances of lightning striking?  The irony of the situation was not lost on me either.  I was THAT girl.  The one that I had disliked most intensely on my infertility journey.  You know the one.  The one who went on HOLIDAY and RELAXED and fell pregnant.

I immediately rushed out for a beta and it came back beautifully – 2285.  I emailed Stephan who congratulated me and told me to see my gynae for my 8 week appointment.

We lived in a cloud of happiness and told our families that we had been given an amazing little gift.  A stowaway from our time in Plett.  Then Kade broke his leg. It was a time of super stress.  Everyone kept telling me to take care of myself and the miracle growing inside me.  I figured that all was fine with the baby on the inside, I was feeling and having that first trimester tiredness and the fact was that my baby on the outside needed me more.  He had to be my focus.  Still I believed that this pregnancy would be just fine.  That our Stowaway was growing as it should.

Time came for our first scan.  We were excited and so chuffed to have dodged the IVF bullet.

U know what happens when you’re on cloud 9 right?  When you fall off that cloud you fall damn hard.  There was no heartbeat at that scan.  A fetus and a yolk sac but no heartbeat.  I think a part of me knew at that moment it was all over.  That our little Stowaway was not meant to be.  Our doctor told us to go through the Easter weekend and to have a beta done on the Monday and again on the following Wednesday and to rescan a week later in case we had our dates wrong and it was just too early to have seen that little beating heart.

There was no way I was waiting an entire Easter weekend to know what I already knew in my heart of hearts.  I did a beta on the Thursday – 32 954 – perfectly in range for a 6 week pregnancy.  I breathed a sigh of relief but did not allow myself to believe that it was going to be ok.  The next beta on Saturday showed me in stark black and white what my heart and body already knew.   The numbers dropped.   30 500.  The death knoll of hope.  Fucking 30 500.

Having your gynae away for a long weekend when all you want is a scan to confirm what the numbers, your body and heart are already telling is a special kind of torture.  Having your niece tell you that she still has hope and will pray that God saves your miracle baby is a special kind of hell.

I went in on Wednesday for an emergency scan to have the miscarriage confirmed.  I was admitted straight away for a d&c.  I lay in that hospital bed cramping and bleeding from the medication that was given to soften my cervix to make the evacuation easier and felt completely numb.  Cliff needed to be at home to care for our injured son.  I have never felt so alone in my life.

Its been two days since Stowaway was scraped from my womb.  I feel all manner of things.  I’m heartbroken, pissed off, confused, upset, sad, stupid… the list goes on and on.  I know I’ll never understand why Stowaway could not go all the way.  I’ll never understand why I was allowed to fall in love with the idea of being a family of four.  I’ll never understand why we had to say goodbye.

What I will say is that for a short time Stowaway made me believe that things could be different for us.  Stowaway gave me a glimpse of what could be.  And honestly, whilst I am supremely pissed off right now, I do cling to the fact that God is faithful.  That He loves me and that He only wants what is best for me.  I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but I know this is true.

Our little Stowaway, our ray of hope and sunshine, you are missed.  I will always wonder what you could have become.  I will always love you.

Thank you for being mine even if it was for such a short time.