inevitable -> threatened
The last few days have been some of the longest in my life.
Woke up the other day, did a little study, went to the loo.
Blood.
Not good. Not good. Not GOOD! Oh no, not again, please not again....
Several hours later, being ultrasounded: I see my little person for the first time, but the dates they are calculating from these tiny, grainy pictures are about a week earlier than I had thought. It is too early to see a heartbeat or any pulsatile flow at all in the little speck, so I'm told it's 'inconclusive'. Bloody hell.
My GP tells me to get some blood tests taken the next day (I have the distinct feeling she should have ordered them the same day). Having woken myself up early to get into the Pathology centre as early as they opened, I wait all day to get a result.
The result is, well, inconclusive. The beta-HCG is consistent with a fetal age ofaround about the same weeks as the ultrasound. This could mean that everything's alright, it could also mean that Speck stopped growing a week ago, and this means there is no future for it. I have to wait another day and get another blood test on Friday (tomorrow). I am highly tempted to get it done at work (public hospital) because first of all I know it takes them three hours, max, to get a result, and also, I can go into work and look it up myself.
I am in limbo. My tiny Speck could be ok, or it could be another sibling for my little family in the stars.
I don't want my babies in the stars. I want them here. With me. I want to see my babies. I want to smell them, feel them, touch them, watch them grow.
But what I want is irrelevant. The cold hard facts are there. I'm nearly 35, that makes my risk of first trimester miscarriage about 15%. (By the time you're 45 it's 75%).
Please hang in there, Speck. Please, my poor old, abused body, please hang on. Please. I don't know if I could do this again. The grief and the heartache are killing me.
Woke up the other day, did a little study, went to the loo.
Blood.
Not good. Not good. Not GOOD! Oh no, not again, please not again....
Several hours later, being ultrasounded: I see my little person for the first time, but the dates they are calculating from these tiny, grainy pictures are about a week earlier than I had thought. It is too early to see a heartbeat or any pulsatile flow at all in the little speck, so I'm told it's 'inconclusive'. Bloody hell.
My GP tells me to get some blood tests taken the next day (I have the distinct feeling she should have ordered them the same day). Having woken myself up early to get into the Pathology centre as early as they opened, I wait all day to get a result.
The result is, well, inconclusive. The beta-HCG is consistent with a fetal age ofaround about the same weeks as the ultrasound. This could mean that everything's alright, it could also mean that Speck stopped growing a week ago, and this means there is no future for it. I have to wait another day and get another blood test on Friday (tomorrow). I am highly tempted to get it done at work (public hospital) because first of all I know it takes them three hours, max, to get a result, and also, I can go into work and look it up myself.
I am in limbo. My tiny Speck could be ok, or it could be another sibling for my little family in the stars.
I don't want my babies in the stars. I want them here. With me. I want to see my babies. I want to smell them, feel them, touch them, watch them grow.
But what I want is irrelevant. The cold hard facts are there. I'm nearly 35, that makes my risk of first trimester miscarriage about 15%. (By the time you're 45 it's 75%).
Please hang in there, Speck. Please, my poor old, abused body, please hang on. Please. I don't know if I could do this again. The grief and the heartache are killing me.
posted by jen at 5:11 PM
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