Today, as I sat having my blood drawn for the millionth time, the phlebotomist asked me why my doctor sends me in for lab work every three days. I explained my doctor's caution by telling her of my normally short luteal phase and the resulting low progesterone levels that have ended three of the six pregnancies I've had. Before I finished speaking, familiarity shadowed her face.
"I lost a baby once -- at sixteen weeks," she said. "I was in maternity clothes and everything."
There she stood in her middle age, in her workplace, drawing blood from my arm, and she couldn't find her way back from the past.
Showing posts with label 9 weeks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 9 weeks. Show all posts
Monday, January 12, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Because I'm Not Immune to Melting Down
Last night, I had a major meltdown. I'm sure a good bit of my emotional outburst was induced by my currently raging hormones, but I had a moment of being completely overwhelmed.
With lots of crying.
Along with some snot.
First, I should say that I have an incredible sense of peace about this pregnancy. I don't necessarily know what to predict as far as an outcome goes. I'm hopeful that we'll come home with a baby in July or August, but I know whichever way the tide turns, God is faithful and He will sustain me. To clarify, I don't feel an imminent sense of doom, and I don't necessarily feel like I'm going to have another miscarriage. I really just feel sort of ambivalent about this pregnancy, disconnected -- like it's something that's happening to me instead of really being a part of me, a part of who I am, a part of my core makeup. I find that I'm excited with reservation, hopeful with a healthy dose of reality, and most of all, confident that my strength lies outside of my own abilities -- regardless of what outcome befalls me.
But last night, this whole pregnancy "situation" just sort of overtook me.
I'm a very self-reliant person, but because of lifting restrictions, I now have to wait for James to unload the groceries, move bins of Christmas decorations into the garage, and do various other sorts of suburbany feats of strength. I suddenly felt overwhelmed by my new found "disability," as well as the dishes, the laundry, the decluttering, and the newly-spayed dog pinned in her crate. I felt overwhelmed by kids making messes and needing snacks and being sick. I felt overwhelmed by appointments and practices and play dates and lesson plans and wondering how it would all work if tragedy should strike.
And then I felt overwhelmed by how it would all work if tragedy didn't strike -- if, say in 6 months or so, I brought home a squirmy little person who would need lots of me in the midst of kids making messes and needing snacks and lesson plans and having play dates and practices and appointments. How would all that work then? Could I hold it together? Could I keep all the plates spinning? And if not, which plates would fall? Could I or could I not do it all?
Then I felt guilty. I felt overwhelmed by guilt because I felt so overwhelmed in the first place. I felt guilty because my emotions absolutely seemed like a lack of trust in what God can and will do in my life, and in this situation, however it goes. I felt guilty because I knew how extraordinarily terrible I would feel if I did indeed miscarry -- like I'd wished the whole thing on myself.
Rationally, I know this is a season, but emotionally, I was momentarily consumed. I know as far as my new "disability" goes, I'm sacrificing so little for the potential of such reward. It's just that I'm in those weird weeks of waiting -- those weeks where I feel okay physically, but I don't really feel anything else. Since I'm not yet far enough along to feel the baby moving, it's all still so abstract, and that makes me feel like I'm not pulling my weight around the house or in life in general. May this be a time that I look to the Lord for the simplest of needs, and may God meet me at even my basest place.
With lots of crying.
Along with some snot.
First, I should say that I have an incredible sense of peace about this pregnancy. I don't necessarily know what to predict as far as an outcome goes. I'm hopeful that we'll come home with a baby in July or August, but I know whichever way the tide turns, God is faithful and He will sustain me. To clarify, I don't feel an imminent sense of doom, and I don't necessarily feel like I'm going to have another miscarriage. I really just feel sort of ambivalent about this pregnancy, disconnected -- like it's something that's happening to me instead of really being a part of me, a part of who I am, a part of my core makeup. I find that I'm excited with reservation, hopeful with a healthy dose of reality, and most of all, confident that my strength lies outside of my own abilities -- regardless of what outcome befalls me.
But last night, this whole pregnancy "situation" just sort of overtook me.
I'm a very self-reliant person, but because of lifting restrictions, I now have to wait for James to unload the groceries, move bins of Christmas decorations into the garage, and do various other sorts of suburbany feats of strength. I suddenly felt overwhelmed by my new found "disability," as well as the dishes, the laundry, the decluttering, and the newly-spayed dog pinned in her crate. I felt overwhelmed by kids making messes and needing snacks and being sick. I felt overwhelmed by appointments and practices and play dates and lesson plans and wondering how it would all work if tragedy should strike.
And then I felt overwhelmed by how it would all work if tragedy didn't strike -- if, say in 6 months or so, I brought home a squirmy little person who would need lots of me in the midst of kids making messes and needing snacks and lesson plans and having play dates and practices and appointments. How would all that work then? Could I hold it together? Could I keep all the plates spinning? And if not, which plates would fall? Could I or could I not do it all?
Then I felt guilty. I felt overwhelmed by guilt because I felt so overwhelmed in the first place. I felt guilty because my emotions absolutely seemed like a lack of trust in what God can and will do in my life, and in this situation, however it goes. I felt guilty because I knew how extraordinarily terrible I would feel if I did indeed miscarry -- like I'd wished the whole thing on myself.
Rationally, I know this is a season, but emotionally, I was momentarily consumed. I know as far as my new "disability" goes, I'm sacrificing so little for the potential of such reward. It's just that I'm in those weird weeks of waiting -- those weeks where I feel okay physically, but I don't really feel anything else. Since I'm not yet far enough along to feel the baby moving, it's all still so abstract, and that makes me feel like I'm not pulling my weight around the house or in life in general. May this be a time that I look to the Lord for the simplest of needs, and may God meet me at even my basest place.
"But may all who seek you
rejoice and be glad in you;
may those who love your salvation
say continually, "Great is the LORD!"
As for me, I am poor and needy,
but the Lord takes thought for me.
You are my help and my deliverer;
do not delay, O my God!"
Psalm 40:16-17
"And this same God who takes care of me
will supply all your needs..."
Philippians 4:19a NLT
Cross-posted on Mandigirl Muses
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Monday's Numbers, Again
The nurse called this morning with the results of Monday's lab work. My progesterone level was at 46.5!! I have NEVER had results like that, ever! It makes me feel good about weaning off of the progesterone supplements next week. I can't believe it's that time already.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
And now I'm stressed out...
I've been handling medical crises with ease, but I just announced my pregnancy on Twitter and Facebook, and now I'm sick with worry. I've had no morning sickness to speak of, but now I feel like I could easily throw up. What's wrong with me?
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