Ron and I went to the doctor's this morning for my post-op follow up ... the appointment I was simultaneously anxiously waiting for and hating the idea of going to since the day I called to schedule it. I think I hated the idea of going because I was so afraid there would be no answers.
But that's not what happened.
There were answers. A few. Enough to make the pain even more bearable; enough to guide me through the oncoming waves of grief. I know they're coming ashore again. They're going to wash over me once all of this sinks in a little more.
The pathology results came back showing molar cells. They couldn't confirm through pathology if it was dizygotic (twin pregnancy) or a partial molar pregnancy. We had a heartbeat at 8 weeks, but that can happen with either (thanks Dr. Google). We still only know one thing for certain and that is this baby wasn't meant to be ... and that's OK.
Am I a horrible person for thinking, "Oh thank you God for making the decision to end this for me?" Or is it a testament to my faith that all things happen for a reason and it's simply out of our hands? I'm questioning that, but at the same time I know the answer. I am so very fortunate - to have had this pregnancy and have had the support and love from our friends and family while we move forward from this.
While the answers make it hurt a little more today, I also hurt less knowing this. How is it possible to be at peace with this knowledge and want to punch the wall at the same time? Coping. I'm right back there again.
Now, as we begin the new year, we also begin the weekly blood draws to make sure my hCG levels come back down to 0 and make sure there's nothing that decides to take up residence in my uterus other than what is supposed to be there. If those numbers don't go back where they need to be, then we see another doctor and get them there.
If they start going up again ... then we go back to square one and feel like teenagers who forgot how to use condoms. We're not going to think about that right now. Well, we are, but we aren't.
My doctor and I talked about a lot of things during my appointment - an appointment where I was told she'd want to do an exam so I sat there naked from the waist down and covered in a paper sheet for the duration only to be told since I wasn't having any abnormal pain or bleeding that I didn't need an exam - and Ron sat right where he sat the day we found out we weren't having another baby in June. He sat and listened.
But we didn't cry.
OK, maybe a few tears, but for me it was relief.
It was getting an answer.
It was telling my obstetrician that I've shared my story with you, that I hit my anger wall and screamed and yelled ... and coped.
It was hearing her tell me "It's only been two and a half weeks," that physically I'm healing well, but emotionally it's going to take a while.
It was talking to her about grief, that we all grieve a loss differently but that it doesn't change that one simple fact - it was still a loss - and that we need to be able to talk about this.
It was having a chance to laugh despite our pain because I was sitting there half naked.
It was hearing her apologize for the long wait today and for dropping the bomb on me right before surgery that we might have been dealing with a molar pregnancy because that's a lot to take in and understand in that situation.
It was having the chance to thank her for preparing me for that answer, and preparing me for the possibility of not getting an answer at all.
She shared with us that, statistically, a pregnancy following a molar is perfect and healthy. But when that time comes, they're going to watch me like a hawk ... and I can't imagine a better group of physicians to watch over me.
So, there's hope in all of this - we're still holding out hope for a rainbow ... and butterflies.
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