We've got to be at our drama quota for the quarter or even the year by now. The past few days have just been so draining. Last night was another of those sleepless, sad, lonely nights and I couldn't be more relieved that as I type, mom is boarding a southbound plane to come stay for the week. I need my mommy.
First, we were nearly wiped off the face of the earth on I35 on Sunday. Leaving the remembrance ceremony, southbound, we watched in slow-mo horror as a northbound jacked up SUV swerved out of control and straight at us. We were screaming and and braced for collision, sure the cement center divider wouldn't hold the monster truck and we were about to be smushed, and unable to move out of the way because of characteristic parking lot traffic conditions on 35. The truck smashed into about 5 cars as he swung all over the road, then directly into the divider just 4-5 feet from our car, and thank the good Lord.....didn't break through. Scared the hell out of both of us, how easily a Sunday afternoon could have turned into tragedy.
Yesterday brought some very sad news from Dr. S's office. Nurse K, who has to be the sweetest, most empathetic nurse I've ever met, called late in the afternoon with the results of the chromosomal testing on our baby.
Grover was a boy. A sweet little boy for J, just as he has always wanted, although we would have loved ANY baby that could have been healthy and joined us here on earth. It breaks my damn heart that I couldn't give that little boy to him, although we now know without a shadow of a doubt that this miscarriage was NOT my body's doing. Grover had Trisomy 22, which is a chromosomal problem incompatible with life. Survival beyond the first trimester is very rare. I've done some reading on this in the past 24 hours and while it's horrifying to know our little boy wasn't healthy, I feel a sense of peace knowing our baby boy was spared a lot of pain and suffering...he never had a chance at being strong and healthy and able to live with us in this world. K explained this happens at conception, and is very unlikely to repeat itself. Comforting, but still not any easier to handle his death. I'm conflicted, and we're more heartsick today than we were yesterday, as this news sinks in and we begin to mourn a specific baby...not just an "it" or "fetus". I will never forget the look on my sweet husband's face when I told him the news. As J does, he showed very little, but I'm coming to know that flicker of sadness in his eyes all too well. It's been a very hard, very emotional time. I sit here looking at the notes I took during my call with K yesterday.
Abnormal chrom.....tri 22....incomp w/ life....conception....Boy. I wonder why I wrote that last word down. Did I think I might forget? And how crushing that THIS is our "big" moment of finding out the sex of our child. I had been so very excited for the day we got our "big ultrasound" and found out whether our first born child would be a boy or a girl. I imagined having the ultrasound tech write it down and seal it in an envelope, so J and I could take it with us to open at home or at the park or in some place where we could savor the most exciting news and celebrate the impending arrival of our son or daughter. Quite a different experience to get the news by phone, from a nurse who sounds on the verge of tears, home alone, adding more grief to this whole experience. Don't get me wrong- I'm glad we know. It's just much more personal now. I miss my little man.
There was another discovery in my bloodwork, but one that, according to K and Dr. S, was unlikely to have caused this miscarriage. It's doubtful to have caused the first one, but we can't say for sure. In doctor speak, the test showed "Antinuclear Antibody- positive low tider". I'm still not 100% sure of what this means, but the prescribed antidote from Dr. S is a simple baby aspirin once a day. According to one of my 85 books on pregnancy and miscarriage, the success rate of a subsequent pregnancy after such a diagnosis is as high as 90% with the correct treatment- usually baby aspirin or a prescription drug. From what K said, it's very common and they aren't concerned. This is where I need to trust in the fact that I have a great doctor and not let my worries or paranoia overtake my already cluttered head. If they say it's not concerning, I can't let it concern me. I just can't handle more worry.
Last night brought one more dose of drama (and trauma). We met up with L and her very sweet husband G for margaritas. A great way to salvage a very sad day- newfound friends who understand our pain and tell us funny stories, a calming marg or two, and a gorgeous warm night to sit out on the patio. As the night came to a close, suddenly there was shrieking from the table behind us, and the horrifying scene as an elderly woman....I don't know....died? I'll spare the details and say we don't exactly know what was happening, just that it looked very, very grim and that the 911 operator apparently decided J had his MD and went on and on asking him 100 questions about the poor woman's condition and medical history which he calmly handled in a way only J can. We left the restaurant amidst resuscitation, sirens, flashing lights, and a bunch of chaos as diners and waiters scrambled off the patio and out of the way. Just another reminder that one minute life is manageable....the next, it's gone terribly awry. I can't get the pained, shocked look of the woman's daughter out of my head. Or the cries of the poor little boy out front who just witnessed this at his table. The same pained, shocked look we've had ourselves all too much lately, the same hysterical cries of despair. Ugh.
ENOUGH ALREADY. No mas.
