I was crying before I even entered the room. Having felt the baby move this morning, you would think I would have had some degree of confidence that I wouldn't be told my baby was dead at this ultra sound appointment. But no, I had none. My husband was late so I was alone, again, as I walked into the dark room, the machine already up and running. The tech, same one as always, asked me if I wanted to know the sex of the baby. I started to answer and the tears just overflowed, stopping my speech momentarily. I finally whispered, "Please just tell me if there is a heart beat, that's all I need to know." She hugged me tight and cried with me and just kept saying 'It almost never happens' which as you all know, means very little when you are living in the land of almost never.
It wasn't even a second before she had me on the table and I don't know if I had even fully laid back and she had the wand on me and said, "There, it's alive and the heartbeat is normal." And so for a few moments this morning I was able to feel like a regular pregnant person, almost. I still was afraid to look, even after she said it's okay to look now, we know it's okay. I guess my fear of attachment is still weighing heavy on me. I did take a quick peek but immediately started crying again. My husband did show up, he walked into the room, having been led back by a nurse, an experience he did not enjoy at all given the last time someone walked him back to an ultrasound room it was to see our dead son on a screen, and his first words were "Is there a heartbeat, is it alive?" Not so much a normal pregnant person/couple after all.
So the bottom line today, everything looks 'normal', AFP test came back, 'normal', baby measures 18w 3d, I am 18w 1d, all the organs and limbs seem to be in the right place and working as they should be. We did not find out the sex, although my husband 'thinks' he knows. Time will tell. A lot.
I go back in 4 weeks. When I do, if I am still pregnant, it will be right at the time that Caleb died. 22 weeks. I delivered him at 23 weeks. These next weeks will be trying at best, this I know. Everything I am doing is reminiscent of what I was doing last summer when he died. The kids camp, our family vacation, the unbelievably hot weather, all of it. I feel as though I am stuck in a horrible version of the movie Groundhog Day. I want everything to be different, to have a different ending and yet here I am, doing everything the same. Do I dare take the same vacation, go to the same places where I was when I now know the last time I was there I was walking around with my dead son in my belly? How fucked up would that be? Isn't that the definition of insane? Repeating the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? If that is true, than I guess just trying to have another baby makes us all crazy insane right? Aren't we all doing the same thing and expecting a different result?
I want a different result, I want to expect a different result. I am not quite there yet, where I can expect it, maybe I will never be. So for now, I guess, you can just call me crazy.