Tuesday, October 24, 2006

8 Weeks (Or 28 Weeks. Whatever.)

Today marks a milestone. I've been holding my breath for eight weeks now, waiting for today to come.

Since I left the hospital eight weeks ago today, I had this date in the back of my mind. As I gathered my things to go, I asked the nurse what to expect next. "They're sending the material away for a genetic workup. It should take 6-8 weeks for the results to to come in. If you haven't heard anything by eight weeks, give the office a call."

Eight weeks and no word, so I finally gave myself permission to make the call. The nurse in the office put me on hold while she went to fetch my chart. I listened to soothing music until she picked up again.

"Mete? They got the results back from the genetics lab. Unfortunately, they were unable to obtain a useable cell culture. They couldn't tell anything from the testing."

"Okay..."

"Alrighty. Have a nice..."

"Well, wait. So that's it, right? There's nothing else, right? No other tests?"

"Yes, that's it."

I pretty much knew that was going to be the answer. I mean, it had died at least a week before the D&E, definitely longer. They warned me from the beginning that there was not much chance of getting a valid sample.

I'm not really sure how I feel about this. I'm disappointed. It would have been nice to have answers, a place to point the finger, or something to rule out.

But I'm also relieved. One of my biggest concerns was finding out the gender. It would change things tremendously for me to have that knowledge. With this door shut, it can stay an It. Not a boy or a girl; not a son or daughter. Just a lost possibility that never developed into anything more than a bunch of bad cells.

(Think what you will, but denial's working for me right now. Okay?)

So really, getting no answers is a good thing. In fact, I may have overlooked other positive things that came out of this. I think it's time I start looking on the bright side. Why don't we examine:

The Top 10 Reasons Having A Miscarriage Ain't So Bad

  1. You actually fit into - and get to wear, this season - those new pants you bought just before you found out you were pregnant.
  2. You get to use up all those dang 'pads cluttering up the bathroom cabinet.
  3. Fear and worry + no more baby + ensuing depression = 10 pound weight loss.
  4. You don't have to deal with the combination of your major insurance changes coinciding with giving birth and enrolling an infant.
  5. You're saving tons on gas money by not having to drive to the OB-GYN as often.
  6. You can start drinking alcohol, if you so desire. (So what if you don't want to? You know you could.)
  7. Maybe now, the two pregnancy tests you have left from that three-pack won't go to waste.
  8. You get a few extra months out of those expensive family photos. And, a few bonus months of only cramming two children into your tiny house and tiny car.
  9. The food apathy is finally gone, and you get to experience cravings after all. (PMS cravings, of course: "Salt. Chocolate. SALT! CHOCOLATE!")
  10. No more A lot less Slightly fewer mood swings.
See? It's all good. Sheesh. I don't know WHAT I was complaining about before...

5 comments:

lisa said...

Mete, I had the same thing happen with my late m/c. It was hard on one hand to have no answers, but somehow healing in a way to have it behind me. It's not an easy thing, regardless.

Anonymous said...

Mete, I haven't actually read anything in your blog, but one somewhat obscure post from 2005... This one to be exact. It discusses your nickname, the one so-and-somewhat-colloquially used here.

I'm letting you know I'm adding you to my linklist as I enjoy your personality. Please check me out if you wish, I only stand to offer the least you could possibly desire.

Yours truly,
`koa

Anonymous said...

A sense of humor is a good thing. Hang in there.

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