As far as I am concerned every single baby is a miracle. Even if the pregnancy is perfect, and the birth is perfect and no complications whatsoever -- the baby is a miracle.
Sometimes though, you realize what a miracle it is that the baby is alive. I nearly lost both of my babies.
In the fall of '98 we had been trying to conceive for 1 1/2 years. One of the agonies of infertility is that each month you feel hopeful and think you are noticing pregnancy symptoms and then you take a test.
And it is negative.
And you feel like crying.
I had another negative test and then was waiting for my period so we could try again. A few days later, still waiting, I took progesterone to start things up and . . . still no period.
Then I started cramping.
But somehow it was different.
So for some reason, I took another pregnancy test. This time it was positive. The elation of finally having a positive was countered by the fear that I may have killed my baby.
I called my gyno and was told to come in immediately. Because of the progesterone I had taken, I needed to continue taking progesterone in order to keep the pregnancy. I had a sonogram and everything looked fine, but there wasn't anyway to tell if there had been damage done yet so I was given another appointment in a week.
At the time, I didn't realize how much the doctor was worried for me.
At the next appointment, I saw a former co-worker there with her husband. They were there to have a follow-up ultrasound to check their pregnancy, there hadn't been a heartbeat the week before but maybe the baby was too young. I saw them as they left and could tell from the look on their faces the news was bad. This made it harder for me to be optomistic, especially since I tend to be a glass-half-empty type.
When I was finally called back for my appointment, there was a beautiful, strong heartbeat on the ultrasound.
So I thought I would have an easy pregnancy after that. But I was wrong.
to be continued Part II