Nice to Meet You: Part 2

After the mental ward debacle, I had, under the advice of my psychiatrist, switched from a midwife to an OBGYN. I wasn’t going granola this time; no warm fuzzy midwifes coaching me through one of the most natural and magical experiences of a lifetime. No “managing” my depression using the sheer willpower of a determined and loving mother. I wanted beeping machines, lube, metal instruments, tests, and full-fledged M.D.’s. And I definitely wanted my Zol.oft. When Jason and I were ready to try again 9 months later, I got off the Kolon.opin and started taking the lowest effective dose of Zo.loft. All I could do was just hope that me and any future children of mine wouldn’t be part of a study 30 years down the road reminiscent of the DES Daughters.*

In September 2009, Jason proposed to me in Barcelona with a perfect ring in a perfect restaurant by the sea. He gave me a wonderful story to tell my kids and grand kids unlike my first husband whose proposal went something like, "do you still want to get married?" Jason and I tried to conceive for the second time in Barcelona. It didn’t take; I blame excessive chocolate intake and a lack of A/C. This marked the only time in which we failed to conceive while trying – good sign as They say – “At least you can GET pregnant.”

We did conceive the next month back at home. Like my first pregnancy I had a disturbing lack of symptoms, though this time even my breasts weren’t tender. Having learned that in my body, a lack of symptoms equals no fetus, I was fully prepared to hear bad news on our first visit to the new doctor and even stopped the nurse mid-spiel to say that we probably didn’t need to go into all of the details since I was pretty sure I wasn’t pregnant anymore.

Well didn’t I feel like a silly doomsday drama-queen when the nurse came back with a positive on the urine test. My HCG’s were also rising appropriately. All seemed well at this early stage which was around 6 weeks. They told me to visit them again in two weeks for the transvaginal ultrasound. “Great,” I thought, “more waiting.”

Waiting is excrutiating. Waiting drains my energy and places me in limbo – and not the fun Caribbean dance kind of limbo. Purgatory more like. Those waits, whether they are 2 days long or 2 weeks long, are endless and deadening; they harden me into a brittle piece of glass, and the competing forces of hope, fear, doubt, resignation, and biting anger threaten to break you into a million shards of sharp loss before knowing if there actually is a loss. It is the waiting that leaves me breathless with panic - like a child walking alone through the forest, imagining monsters in the trees. I fear the waiting more than the actual loss.

The seven-week ultrasound revealed another empty sac. A D&C followed.

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* Zoloft is the recommended antidepressant for pregnant women since it has been on the market for the longest amount of time and, thus, offers us the longest view of the effects of this drug on children who have been exposed in utero or through breast feeding. The recommendation is based on the fact that no significant damage seems to have resulted in exposed children over the past 20 years or so. Comforting stuff, huh?