Expecting Salvation: My Second Pregnancy
Expecting Salvation, a Sunday series on my pregnancies, births and losses.
“All the soarings of my mind begin in my blood.” – Rainer Maria Rilke
A year passes and despite how good it felt to hear my OBGYN say, “You’re 37, you have plenty of time!” it was untrue. (I regret not seeing a Reproductive Endocrinologist months earlier.) So with our doctor and and the heavy cloak of failure, we turned to Clomid/IUI therapy. (I also regret not jumping straight to IVF.)
I popped pills to stimulate my ovaries, received ultrasounds to make sure the pills worked, timed ovulation and received two catheters full of my husband’s semen. (We also had sex, as back then it was terribly important to me that a natural conception still be in the picture. This would change.) I hated the IUIs. I never shined to stirrups but a catheter through my cervix was pure perversion. I suffered miserably the needles, the tests, the prods, the pokes, the mechanics. I was a wretch. I resented every single medical moment of that past year.
But how grateful I was to get the nurse’s phone call: “Your beta is positive!”
I tested several times at home waiting for my period that never came until eventually the lines turned a faint pink. Well, a line is a line is a line! A blood test confirmed it, oh joy! Pregnant! A new year, a new baby and renewed hope that we were past our problems.
Unlike my first, this pregnancy was over fast. While still celebrating, dreaming, planning, before I even got to the panic and worry of what I knew could happen, it happened. The blood started to come just a few days later. I paged Dr. Google incessantly. I devoured stories from other women who bled early but delivered a healthy baby nine months later. I ignored everything else. But this wasn’t spotting and this wasn’t stopping. This was real. Another blood test to confirm. It was over.
I went home and started drinking.