Back in my church youth group days, we opened each meeting by going around and sharing good news and bad news. For a while, my blog felt more heavy on the bad news side, then, with last week’s discovery of triplets, it started swinging the other way.
Today, it’s sort of in the middle.
I started bleeding some last night right before bedtime. I didn’t feel any different, but I was definitely bleeding. Rob, God bless his soul, came into the bathroom with me after I yelled out to him that I was bleeding.
We ladies see that sort of thing on a regular basis, but it’s the sort of thing you wish you didn’t have to ever deal with and thus keep that all private and to yourself. Women often reach the point with friends where bathroom talk can be discussed as easily as what was on TV last night – we all go through it in some fashion – but our men? It’s just not meant for them.
Thankfully, I married a matter-of-fact kind of guy, and our battle with infertility up until this point has really blown apart a lot of those privacy barriers that many hold sacred.
It’s a good thing, because I’m not sure I would have left the bathroom last night if it weren’t for Rob’s strong arms around me, guiding me to bed. I didn’t sleep much last night, even after the bleeding tapered quite a bit. I was up again at 3 to use the bathroom and started bleeding again. I might have gotten another hour of sleep before the alarm went off, signaling it was time to leave the house to make it to the doctor’s office when they opened at 7.
Rob was able to go with me this morning, something I could thank him over and over for, but I really don’t see a point. I’m not sure he would have been anywhere else this morning, regardless of how difficult being there might have been.
At the ultrasound that revealed our sweet triplets, our doctor warned us we may not make it through with all three. Baby C in particular was questionable, measuring a couple days behind in size and with a slower heartrate.
Preparing for a possibility is so much different than facing a reality, though.
My mind flipped through any number of bad-news scenarios between last night and this morning, as you can imagine. I did my best to prepare for the worst while hoping for the best, and finally, to trust that God would take care of us all.
The bad news: Baby C stopped developing at 6 weeks, 2 days. Its heart was no longer beating today.
The good news: My cervix is closed, and Babies A&B are doing well. Baby A’s heart was beating 155 beats per minute this morning, and Baby B’s heart measured at 158 bpm.
I saw Baby A’s heart flickering right away on the ultrasound and squeezed Rob’s hand as a tear left my eye. One deep breath. When the doctor got Baby B on the monitor next, I also saw its heart flickering and teared up a little more. Another squeeze, and another deep breath.
At that point, I could tell something was wrong with Baby C. Its sac had been right above Baby B’s in our first ultrasound, but I really couldn’t see anything today while looking at Baby B.
The doctor found our sweet Baby C but determined that its heart had stopped.
Rob and I are both enormously grateful for the health of Baby A and Baby B so far. They both looked great today.
But, Baby C. We’re just so sad that our littlest peanut didn’t make it.
On one hand, we know this is for the best. An early loss is better than a late one – better for my health and for the health of the remaining occupants. The loss of Baby C may also mean a better chance for A and B. They’ll have more room to grow and should have an easier time staying inside and baking longer.
Still. We would have done our best to see all three to a healthy gestation.
It’s confusing. It’s bittersweet. I’m sad for the loss of one but thrilled to see two thriving.
Goodbye, Baby C. You have two older angel siblings who I know are already taking care of you, along with plenty of angel friends. We’ll always love you.