So, I told you all the other day that I couldn't talk about this next thing...so here it goes today.
When Gillian was 6, I decided that enough time had passed, I hadn't found another partner and I really wanted another baby. SO, I decided to go ahead and single parent another baby. I started when Gillian was 6, but it wasn't until she turned 7 that I got pregnant. From the beginning it was bad news. My first beta was 8. I scurried around the internet looking for success stories of beta's that were 8. Found a couple, but most were bad news. When I went for a redraw, it had gone to 17. It doubled, but it was still low. I went back 2 days later for another redraw (it was a Friday, I remember) and when they called me back they told me it was a 18 and that they were sorry, but I was probably going to miscarry. So, I went home and cried. On Monday I started bleeding and had what I thought was a normal period. Lasted about 5 days and was normal. I was afraid everytime I changed my pad I would see evidence of the miscarry, but didn't. (It was so early I don't think I would have seen anything anyway). I went back on Wednesday for another blood draw to make sure all of the HCG was out of my system and got a call that blew my mind. My HCG was over 2,000. So, I went in, and had a sono and there was the blink, blink of the heartbeat....in my right fallopian tube. I knew right away that there was something wrong, because it definately wasn't in my uterus. The RE told me that he was so sorry. We started out with methotrexate to dissolve fetal tissue and after 2 shots and continued rising HCG, it became clear that I was going to have to have surgery to remove the pregnancy. My baby. I checked into the hospital and was settled into my room to await being taken to the OR and a woman from vital stats came in to fill out the death certificate. OMG....the questions she asked....did you use drugs, drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes.....I screamed at that woman to get the hell out of my room. She did have me sign the death certificate before she left though. She told me that it was standard for anyone having an abortion to do this. I WASN'T HAVING AN ABORTION! But, I was, in a way, wasn't I? After that woman left, the woman in the bed next to me whipped the curtain back and told me that that lady had been there to talk with her before me. She kicked her out too. We got to talking and she was also having an "abortion" for a missed miscarriage. We talked until they took her down and while she was gone, they took me down. I remember being in the OR, shivering and my RE holding my hand while they put me under. I remember waking up crying, telling the nurse how much I wanted that baby.
A few weeks later we got the results back from the choromosome testing. A healthy baby boy.
I named my baby boy Jared Christopher. I like to think that he's up in heaven with my Dad. My Dad is taking care of his grandson while I am down here on earth taking care of his granddaughters. It makes me feel less sad to think of his spirit being held by my Dad.
So, September 19, 1999 stands in my mind as the day I lost one of my children. Some of you might think that he was a bunch of cells. To me, he was my son.