I'm in my 12th week. The first one died on the first day of the 12th week. The second had already died at nine weeks and three days, even though we didn't know it until we went in for our CVS on week 12. So technically, this is the furthest I have come with any pregnancy.
Last week, we rushed into the hospital for an ultrasound after I had some spotting. Seeing just a spot of blood takes me back to that first night when everything gushed out, when I continued to drain in buckets until the D&C the next afternoon.
When we went in this past Monday, the doctor first tried to find the hearbeat with a doppler because the ultrasound room was in use. She slathered my belly with some jelly and pressed down the wand. She moved it around and around, and we silenced ourselves to hear the heartbeat. We heard static, irregular beat that abruptly ended, more white noise. After 30 seconds, she said, "This is torture. Let's move to the other room."
In the ultrasound room, the image popped up and much to our relief, we saw the little thing moving around, flashing its heartbeat. We were stunned by how big it looked. We had never seen the fetus past eight or nine weeks. Those had been the size of a nickle. This guy or gal looked the size of a hand, and we could see its legs kicking mid-air.
Walking down the street later that day, I passed a little girl carried by her mom. I realized that I had stopped imagining our fetus as a baby. I stopped thinking about the little outfits and the crib. I just focused on seeing its heartbeat from one ultrasound to the next. I had forgotten that it's supposed to grow into a little baby we would carry around like that mom on the street.
Tomorrow is my CVS. Despite everything that has happened, we are hopeful. Sometimes, hope can make you feel like a sucker. But we've been suckers before.