I have worried. I have been nervous. I have lost sleep. But last night was the first time I had "that feeling." And no amount of talking myself out of it was going to convince my brain that it was just the "flashback effect"...the remembering of what happened after our last ultrasound last year.
So I snuck downstairs in the dark while my husband and son slept and dopplered my belly. I almost vomited on the way down to the silent living room. The tears formed but wouldn't fall from my eyes. My heart raced and I suddenly started to shake. My skin was cold and clammy. I quietly begged God. Yes, this would be the ideal way to find out my baby is dead...in the dark silence of my own home instead of the sterile brightness of an examination room somewhere...alone...without any strangers giving me that damn sympathetic look that makes me want to scream.
I dopplered and found the heartbeat right away. GB gave me a swift kick for my efforts, as if to say, "Hey, I'm trying to sleep, would ya knock it off?" I sat in the darkness and tried to talk my heart rate into slowing. I contemplated staying put in the chair all night (my back/shoulder have been bothering me the last couple of days so sleeping is not quite as comfortable as it could be), but I decided against it because I couldn't let Steve wake in the morning to find me sitting in the chair with the doppler beside me (yet somehow it's better he read this blog entry...I know...I don't make any sense). So I gathered up the doppler, crept back upstairs, and feeling temporarily reassured, fell into a deep sleep. I don't think Steve noticed. I know Sam was still sound asleep. This was my own personal little freakout.
The thing about this is...
When both boys died...I knew. I had this feeling that "something wasn't right." And now I can't even trust that feeling anymore. Now I not only get to worry, but I get to worry that this baby will die and I won't even know. When I get that feeling now, I know it might not be an indication that something bad has happened...but only and indication of my overactive imagination. Great. Just great.
I may have to skip weekends. They come without the benefit of my office chair...which is apparently just the right ergonomic setup to feel this kid wiggle and jiggle (as he's doing right now). Or maybe I could take my office chair home with me on the weekends. Now there's an idea!
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Big hugs to you Catherine.
Catherine, what continually amazes me about you, is that, in the midst of all of your distress(that is a lame word...sorry!), you are still thinking about how this post will hit your readers! In the very title, you assure us that all is OK! I hope little GB just wiggles and jiggles every few minutes all day at work today, to bring a quiet smile to your mind as you go about the tasks at hand!
Wish I was closer...I'd find your office with chocolate in hand...and a big hug!
ohhh, how I wish there was some way to send some true peaceful worry-free rest your way. I am so glad that lil' guy seems to know just when to give you some reassuring kick action! thinking of you...
I found "that feeling" only got worse the longer I tried to stop myself from feeling worried. For some reason it would always return in the middle of the night. I ended up putting the doppler in my bathroom because the walk to it was the worst. I even contemplated making a "doppler purse" so I could carry it with me at all times.
Wishing you as much peace as possible and for your little boy to be a non-stop kicker even if it does interrupt your sleep.
the part of this that broke my heart, Catherine, was the "I get to worry that this baby will die and I won't even know." that you feel robbed even of the security of that mother instinct that you had with Alex and Travis...for what it was worth, because i gather it must have been worth something or you wouldn't have mentioned it.
i never had that sense of certainty that i knew what had gone wrong with Finn, and thus through my pregnancy with Oscar i suffered not only terror that the same thing would happen but the much more overwhelming horror of being sure that i, again, would fail to recognize the warning signs when it did. it was hellish. and i cried a lot in the middle of the night, alone by myself. and i have tears in my eyes thinking of you doing it now.
it is your "overactive imagination" trying to protect you, and instead causing pain.
peace and endurance to you.
Dear Catherine, I can only begin to imagine your state -- this stage of pregnancy is bound to be terrifying after all you've gone through. May all your fears be unfounded with this one, and may everything, everything turn out all right.
I got nothing but cheesy internet (((((hugs)))))...wanted you to know i have been thinking about you and how you must be feeling these days...
After A died, I was thinking of inventing some kind of a strap on continuing monitor that outputs to a device worn like a wrist watch. I anticipate having a very close relationship with my dopler if/when I get there.
All of this is by way of saying it must be very hard. And all I have is this fervent wish that this one will pull through, that all the worrying will just be the game your heart and head are playing on you.
Thank God for dopplers! I couldn't get one back when I was pregnant with Mac. (They didn't make them for home use) I swear I must've lived at the ultrasound clinic and the hospital ER. Must've driven them all nuts.
Buy one of those chairs for home. Seriously.
Oh I just feel sick for you.
And the huge problem is, not matter what anyone says, those feelings wont go away till you have bub in your arms safe and sound.
Huge hugs
xxx
Catherine, night is beginning to fall, and I just sat at the computer and realized that I had left your blog "open" for several hours while I was away....so I just want to take a minute to say that I am soooo hoping that tonight will be better for you. As I fall asleep, I will be saying special prayers for you to have a quiet, peaceful sleep tonight...and that tiny GB will give you a couple of healthy, lively, and confident kicks at just the times that you need it most! Oh, how I wish I could do something! I just hope is helps, on some level, to know that people care deeply about you and your tiny boy! Sleep well tonight!
I'm so sorry Catherine. I hate reading this kind of post because I can practically feel that feeling that you had and I know what an awful feeling it is. Many hugs.
Sorry this comment is sort of weirdly off base - after C. died I was angry that we didn't have something like in Star Trek that would allow us to monitor our babies vital signs at all times and the overhead computer voice would warn us the moment something went awry. Then they could instantly beam the baby out. A bereaved geek, that's what I am/was.
I am sorry that the worst of these feelings always hit in the dead of night. I did the same walk of terror downstairs one night, so as not to scare my husband.
Now, make your plans to take your office chair home this weekend (and make sure someone is there to photograph you pushing it out the door on Friday).
Hoping you are feeling a little more peaceful.
Unfortunately, you never get a chance to have another naive pregnancy. There is no such thing as normal for you again.
I understand the feelings you are having. I've been there, too.
I'm sending hugs your way.
I'm so sorry you have to feel this terror. Sending you hugs my friend.
Buy the same chair for home. I have no other words of advice, because this fear cannot be resisted, I know. I hope you slept better last night though....
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