There is nothing more heartbreaking than seeing a man who doesn’t readily show emotion, openly crying. Even more heartbreaking when it is your own husband.
However, I misinterpreted his tears, and this difference of opinion, or faith, may be our biggest challenge yet.
We went in for an ultrasound today. Our appointment was scheduled for 10:00 and they didn’t take us back until 10:50. When you’re already in such an anxious state, that extra 50 minutes can really push you over the edge.
When they finally called us back, I was relieved to see it was the kinder, gentler ultrasound tech. This immediately put me more at ease.
Right away she identified that there were still two sacs. She went about measuring everything. I asked her if there was still a heartbeat, and she said that there was, but the heartbeat was slow. It had dropped to 75.
That was when I became aware of my husband crying. I assumed he was crying because the heart rate had dropped, and that was not a good sign.
After we were done, we sat and waited to talk to the doctor. He basically told us what I already knew: things were not looking up. He would not recommend intervention yet at this point, mostly because he didn’t want us questioning ourselves.
After much discussion, we decided I would come back on friday and do a follow-up ultrasound. If things hadn’t improved by then, we would schedule a D&C. Due to my previous miscarriage and how violent it had been, it would be best to take care of it rather than waiting for me to bleed out.
Another “perk” to a D&C is that they can take a sample of the tissue and do some analysis and get a better understanding about any possible chromosomal abnormalities.
I think today’s appointment was much harder on my husband than it was on me. That is because I have basically been mourning the loss of this pregnancy since last Wednesday, when we had our first, less than stellar, ultrasound. Every day I have shed numerous tears.
Don’t get me wrong. My heart, even today, still feels like it is literally in my pieces in my chest. There is an actual ache in my heart. It hurts. It feels like it might fucking kill me.
BUT. I realized a long time ago through therapy that radical acceptance is the best gift you can give yourself. Since Wednesday I have been practicing accepting that this pregnancy is over. Therefore, the pain today was dulled a little bit by that.
I was wrong however about my husband’s tears. He told me he was crying not out of sadness, but out of hope, because our baby still had a heartbeat.
Break another piece off of my heart.
Here is where we are having fundamentally differing opinions.
I believe that if things have not improved on Friday, we should go ahead and do the D&C. Todd doesn’t necessarily think that. He is searching for a number where he would feel comfortable doing that. For instance, if the heartbeat drops down to 30 versus 75, is that low enough for him to be ok with the procedure?
I want to do it for a number of reasons. First of all, if we don’t do it, we are basically waiting for me to miscarry. Again, this brings about fears of all that blood and where I will be when it happens. Second, if it’s over (which it certainly appears to be), I want it to be over. In the meantime while we are holding on to *hope* I still have to get a shot in my belly every morning and in my ass every evening. I have to avoid foods I like. I feel like I am in limbo.
This is really putting my ability to handle my anxiety disorder to the test.
Once this is done, we can begin to heal, to look forward, to begin planning the next chapter.
I don’t know if I am equipped to nurture my husband’s heart, and take care of myself, during this transitionary decision-making time.
Perhaps one of the most loathsome things about this to me is that a D&C is basically thought of as a nice word for an abortion, an idea that, for me, is abhorrent.
But that is just semantics. Ultimately I need to do the right thing for myself, while taking my husband and his feelings into account.
But at the end of the day, I am the only one who fully has to live with my decision, physically and mentally.