Schrödinger's Uterus

I have been wanting to tell people, this past week. I am tired of living inside myself, of walking around worrying about things only I know about, of holding back.

I have become very aware of how isolated I am on campus. This year's IVF adventures are at least partly responsible: I've been physically gone for all but the most minimal set of job-required activities, and I haven't been telling people why, and I've said so little that they can tell that I'm not telling them why.

My grandmother's health is a generally applicable cover story. But people notice when you don't tell them details. Hey! I told you all about my father's illness and death last year, how I struggled with choosing a home care aide and how long it took to settle the estate! And _I_ told you all about my divorce! Why aren't you telling me about your sorrow? Don't you trust me? (And it just makes it worse, I think, that there's a whole other category of sorrow that I haven't been telling them about at all.)

I have finally been happy, full of a good secret. I wanted to let it out and make other people happy too.

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The doctor located the heartbeat at least 3 times, but didn't say anything for a while. I could hear it, and see the pulses on the screen. That's too slow, I thought. Slower than mine, only like a beat per second.

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What are the odds at this point? I couldn't get a number out of him. I wanted to kill him. What he said in words translated to between 10 and 50 percent chance of miscarriage. His tone, his body language, the way he put a hand on my knee and said, "Don't tell anyone yet," read to me as 70 percent, or higher.

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At 7w1d, growth was normal, or nearly normal (6w5d), but the heartrate was only 67. The combination of normal growth and slow heartbeat seemed to throw the doctor off. "There's only one indicator. Usually we see more than one. Come back in a week and get a scan on the 3D machine. We'll be able to see structural abnormalities then. Sometimes there's a heart block and the rate can correct itself."

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Two questions:

1. This scan saw the remnants of a second implantation, like the first one did. But if there were two implantations, doesn't that mean my initial low progesterone reading (13 at 4w0d) is even more worrisome? (Today's doctor didn't know about that. Would it have changed his estimates?)

2. I've been bad and reading a due-date-club over at MDC. When it gets started this early, there are unavoidably going to be miscarriages. It seems that these often occur, in the non-infertile population, in something like the following way: someone goes in for a scan at 8 or 10 weeks, and learn that the fetus stopped developing at 6 weeks or so. If those women had gotten scans at 7 weeks, would they have seen what we saw today?

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The hospital has remodeled some of its lobby restrooms to "family" restrooms. I waited to use one on my way out. It was silent but locked for a long time.

Finally a short, middle-aged female doctor rushed out; her eyes held sideways, sniffling a long harrumphing sniffle as she went through the door. I went in and looked around the space. If I needed someplace quiet to cry, if I worked there and needed to hold it together the rest of the time, it'd be a fine place to go. Space. Locks. No one would know where you were.

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As I drove back to Granolaton, clouds gathered and it started to rain. Huge drops thwacking on the windshield, like the beginning of a thunderstorm. Ha! I thought. Exactly.

But then the clouds drifted away and, by the time I took the exit ramp into town, the sun streamed through their grey remnants.

Whatever.

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Today's doctor said to stay on the progesterone and come back in a week. I need to confirm that with Cornell, of course. But I made an appointment for another scan next Thursday.

Meanwhile I am pregnant. There is something in there growing. I am not crazy when I feel bloated or tired or nauseous or crampy or cranky. But what is growing is probably broken.

If you read infertility blogs (and if you read this one you must have been reading them for a long damn time!) you know that any bad news at all this early is honestly bad news. I know that too.

I'm not going to ask Dr. Google about this one. It was overwhelming back when when Miss T. measured 6w5d at 7w0d. I'm just going to wait for the next observation.

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Of course I was lying about not asking Dr. Google. And, as it turns out, Dr. Google has a strong opinion.

CONCLUSION: An embryonic heart rate of 90 beats per minute or less early in the first trimester carries a dismal prognosis, with a very high likelihood of fetal demise before the end of the first trimester. Demise occurred in all embryos with heart rates less than 70 beats per minute.

Comments

[ChrisinNY]

I am a total stranger, but have been reading since before Miss T was born. Even if you can't share with those you see on a daily basis, you can share with us. Fingers crossed for a positive outcome.

[BrooklynGirl]

Oh, honey.

Hoping the next week goes quickly and that the sun is shining next Thursday.

[Jody]

Oh, Emma Jane.

I'm so so sorry.

[Erin]

I'm so sorry.
I will hope that the week goes quickly and with it comes good news.

[Elizabeth]

I am so sorry. I will be thinking of you this week.

[Ewan]

I feel as though I want to say "Oh, sweetheart!" which is highly inappropriate seeing as how I don't actually know you... so anyway.

Sorry. I/we realise more each day, I think, how lucky we were.

[Renee]

Oh, I am so sorry. I am just so sorry.

[long time lurker]

I am shy -- perhaps shyer than you -- and almost never de-lurk. But my heart goes out to you on this cold, frosty evening and I want to offer whatever warmth and connection I can.

You were actually my gateway into the world of fertility blogs. I found yours four years ago (maybe more??) through an entry about tenure on the Chronicle of Higher Education website and then was mesmerized by the world I discovered by clicking on your "Is your family too small?" link. Why yes, yes it was. You led me to Julie, Cecily, Grrrl, Julia, Jody and everyone else at a time I desperately needed to know I wasn't alone.

By reading the tea leaves over time, I've deduced that I am about 6 months younger than you are, but four or five years behind you on the tenure hamster wheel. Tonight I was flooded with gratitude all over again as I tucked my hard-won, never-taken-for-granted 7 month old daughter under her snowflake-printed flannel blanket. Sometimes there are happy endings, and then there are the ones you aren't sure you can survive. While I'm hoping fervently for the former, I know the odds of the second are significantly higher for you right now.

Please know that another academic quasi-fertile in the Indiaohiois (sp?) region is sending her warmest and fondest wishes your way tonight.

[Twice]

So sorry, I hope things somehow turn around and Dr. Google doesn't know all the possible eigenvalues.

[luolin]

I'm sorry.

[Mac]

I'm sorry - I really hope you beat the odds.

[Cecily]

I'm still here, and I'm going to just go ahead and hold out a bit of hope for you. Can't help it, honey.

I'm so sorry you are going through this.

[j]

I'm so, so very sorry. Waiting to know for sure is so hard, too.

[ivfcycler]

so so sorry, and hoping against hope that you don't have to experience the empty, empty comfort that you were right not to be telling anyone about the pregnancy.

just remember that you have done, and are doing, everything in your power to give that embryo the best possible chance. the best. the rest is out of your hands.