I met my boyfriend in November 2001. He is 41 and I am 34. He is such a wonderful man and I never thought that I would love someone as much as I love him. We had both been married and divorced for years, and neither of us had children.
Toward mid-August 2002, I wasn’t feeling right. I was very tired and all I wanted to do was sleep. My period was late but I attributed that to stress at work and every-day challenges. I decided to go to my general practitioner and have him do a pregnancy test (Rob and I had taken many, but we couldn’t quite figure out if we were seeing the pink lines or imagining them). The test came back positive! We had not been not planning on this, but we were thrilled. I immediately called my OB/GYN to schedule an appointment, and he confirmed that I was 8 weeks pregnant. Everything was progressing normally, and he didn’t see any complications (although he didn’t listen for a heartbeat or do an ultrasound at this visit). So Rob and I were scrambling to come up with a game plan. Where were going to live (our apartment was too small), what about child care? Money? We knew we would get through it together because we would be blessed with this beautiful little baby, a creation of our love for each other. Every night he would talk to my stomach and kiss my stomach and tell us how much he loved us.
My 12 week appointment was on September 25 and Rob was scheduled to come with me that morning. He had a hectic day ahead of him, and after assuring him that I would be okay on my own, he reluctantly went to work. Little did I know that my world would be crashing down on me in a matter of hours.
I arrived at the doctor’s office, and everything appeared to be fine. He went to listen for a heartbeat and could not find one, but he didn’t seem very concerned. I had only gained 3 pounds (mostly in my chest), and he said that the fetus might be small or that the position of the fetus might be the reason for not getting the heartbeat. Next was the sonogram. While the doctor was performing the sonogram, I was looking at the monitor and thinking, “I don’t see anything that remotely resembles a fetus…what’s wrong with me?” After taking a few shots he shut down the machine and proceeded to say that the fetus had stopped growing right after my 8-week appointment. The lack of a heartbeat or any sign of growth confirmed that I had miscarried but that my body hadn’t terminated the pregnancy. I now had to try and pull myself together, drive myself home and figure out a way to tell Rob. As far as I was concerned, there was no easy way. I felt as though my life were over and as though I had let Rob down, not being able to carry this pregnancy. Rob was very supportive and reassured me that it wasn’t anything I did or didn’t do and that we would have a future filled with children. So I went in for a D&C on September 28, and as strong as Rob was, on that day he lost it. We sat in the admission room and looked at each other and cried. When they wheeled me into the operating room he walked as far down the hallway as he could until the nurse told him to leave. When I turned and looked at his face, he was crying hysterically. This man who normally puts up a macho facade had been brought to pieces, and I still felt this was my fault.
The D&C went okay. When I went back to the doctor the following week for a postoperative examination, he told me that every 1 in 2,000 or 3,000 women have a partial molar pregnancy and explained that the pathology reports had confirmed this finding. I thought to myself, “I can’t win the lotto but something this rare I can manage to have. What else can be thrown at me to handle?”
So I have been going every week since October 9 to have my blood monitored. Thank God my beta levels decreased and eventually became a negative two visits ago. I am now scheduled to meet with my doctor in 2 weeks to determine the next steps. We so desperately wanted to start trying for a baby around Christmas time, but plans will need to be put on hold until the doctor gives the okay.
This has definitely changed my life. I know that my work is suffering, I have lost 12 pounds, and I am not the same person I was when I found out that I was carrying the love of my life’s baby. It is not getting easier with each day—it is getting more difficult. Every holiday or date should have been bookmarked with a happy doctor’s appointment or ultrasound, but now all I can do is keep busy and surround myself with people who truly love me.
Update: February 27, 2003
My levels went to negative the first week in November. I was told to have my levels tested every 2 weeks until a scheduled check-up in December, but I still had not gotten my period. In December I went back on birth control pills, and my Christmas present was that I finally had my period. For me it was just as normal as it had been prior to my molar pregnancy. The levels and examinations have been negative to date (my last check-up was earlier this month), and the doctor said I can have my levels tested once a month until June, at which time I will go off the pill and hopefully begin trying to conceive in August.