Long post here . . . sorry!
So the new day is dawning, the house is quiet, and I cannot sleep, so I decided to--one day after the fact--post my experience on here in the hopes that other women in my same situation might gain from my experience. I did not, when I was lurking on here, see many stories like mine, but I know there are women on here in my same place.
So it was almost two weeks ago when I went in for my routine mid-pregnancy ultrasound. As this was my third (very wanted) child, and I had two healthy children so far (ages 5 and 3), I made my way to the appointment with no qualms. But, the ultrasound seemed to take a long time, and the technician was concentrating very much on one particular area of my stomach. I shrugged it off as the baby "not being cooperative" because that's the way the other two were too. I was told it was a boy (which my husband and I were hoping for), set off, sent a congratulatory text to DH, and went home . . . only to be called about an hour later by my doctor telling me there were significant brain anomalies.
Thus set off a round of more testing--a more detailed ultrasound, an amnio, a fetal MRI, only to confirm this was a baby with a severe brain malformation leading to an excess of fluid in the brain ventricles and, consequently, important parts of the brain not developing because of the fluid. The diagnosis was that this child would never have any awareness of us, if he even survived being born. We were DEVASTATED. I cried and cried and eventually became numb as we proceeded through the testing and appointments with specialists. My husband and I, though practicing Catholics, came to the decision that we could not allow our child to be born only to live a very limited existence, or to go through extra heroic, invasive, life saving measures in order to live (a limited existence) . . . so we decided termination would be the best parenting decision we could make for our baby.
Selfishly, we knew we were not strong enough emotionally to navigate what this would mean for the marriage (stress leading to divorce? It happens too often, and we did not want that); for our other children (less and less attention on them, because of the overwhelming needs of this baby); and our own emotions.
So thus began my appointments with the clinic where the termination would take place.
It was a bewildering experience. Because I was so far along, my procedure ultimately took three days. On the first day, there was an ultrasound and then then inserted some seaweed sticks called laminaria into my cervix to dilate it. I was also given a shot of something right into my stomach to stop fetal heartbeat. That was tough, not because it hurt me (I was so numb with grief I hardly felt any pain through this whole process) but because I knew what it was doing. Over the coming night, the baby's movements gradually stopped. The laminaria were uncomfortable, but as I went home and basically went to lay down, I didn't feel much.
The next day, I went back to the clinic. I had another ultrasound (to ensure fetal heartbeat had stopped--it had), and to insert more laminaria to dilate me further. As I understood from talking with the nurses, the sticks of seaweed are rolled up tightly, but that as they are in your body, they gradually enlarge, ultimately dilating the cervix so that the ultimate procedure is safer. This day, as the nurse was inserting the laminaria, I began to bleed, which was extremely upsetting to me. (Most women don't bleed.) There was a lot of blood. I began to worry that I wouldn't make it alive through the procedure, that I would bleed out during the experience, and that my DH and would lose not only the baby, but me, too. I began to worry that I wouldn't make it out of anesthesia the next day, with the same results. My mind and imagination were going to catastrophic places . . . it was horrible. I kept asking, "I'm going to be okay, right?" The nurses said yes, they were going to take good care of me. The thing is, all the literature they give you so that you are making an "informed choice" planted these things in my mind . . . particularly women that have had previous C sections, which I had, tend to bleed more and in less than one percent of cases, a hysterectomy needs to be done, etc., etc., etc. So, of course, my mind was going there. I was sure that I was going to be one of those "less than one percent" women.
(Because, after all, I was one of those "less than one percent" with a baby with Dandy Walker Malformation, but I digress.) Read on:
Nevertheless, DH and I went home, where I spent the evening, uncomfortably, in bed. I slept not a wink past 12:30, knowing what was coming in a few hours.
Yesterday, the last day, DH and I arrived at the clinic. Knowing that I bled the day before, they would have two attending physicians in with me during the extraction procedure, which made me feel better. I waited a bit with the other women there, all of us prepped for the same procedure. Waiting. It seemed endless, but once things happened, they happened rather quickly. I was brought back into the room, the anesthesia was given, and the next thing I knew, I was coming to in a nice recliner as my vitals were being taken. I slurred, "Thank you for taking good care of me," to the nurse, because I was immensely grateful that she had. As the nurse told me, I was only out for about ten minutes total, the actual procedure taking about two to three minutes. Very quick. I felt pain "down there," but it wasn't a sharp pain, just a dull crampy pain. I could live with that; actually, I had--when I was a teenager, I had horribly crampy periods, so bad I sometimes had to leave school. Nevertheless, we were encouraged to use the restroom if we needed, so I did, and I was pleased to see I wasn't even bleeding as much as the day before. I felt immensely better. Back in my recliner to fully come to, I also gave thanks to God for walking with me through the procedure and restoring me to consciousness and all my faculties.
I was in the recliner for a bit (about an hour) before they took out the IV and let me get dressed. I was then given medicine (antibiotics and something to help shrink the uterus and Advil for pain) and DH was summoned to drive me home. Once home, I drank a nutrition drink and laid down to (hopefully) sleep and watch TV. (A guilty pleasure of mine is to fall asleep watching TV.) Surprisingly, I only slept about an hour! My DH napped for longer than I did! I felt good enough for another car ride to go fetch my children from my mom and dad's--I was SO happy to see them and hug them, and it was after bringing them home that we settled in our bed with them and let them know that mommy's baby was now with God.
Overall, though a very bewildering experience, surreal even, it was for the best, and I don't regret our decision. Of the clinic, I would say that they acted very "business like," but then I would think that's appropriate for them too, knowing that it must be hard to see so many women come in like me and knowing what we're there for. The nurses and staff always would ask, "How are you?" and my best advice is not to say you're fine, because you're not. Be honest (as I was) and say, "I'm nervous" or "I've been better" or "I'm scared to death" and they will respond to that with a smile, and a pat on the back or a hug. I always got reassurance and compassion when I was honest about how I was feeling. I did try not to cry while there because my tears are copious and the kleenex was so crappy and industrial and worthless. Also, while I was waiting in the pre-op room with the other women on three successive days, we broke the ice and began to talk to each other. At first, we all avoided each other's eyes and didn't say a word, but then one of us spoke up, and then another, and then we began to talk, especially on that last day before the final procedure. It was immensely anxiety reducing, and we got to share a bit about how we felt bewildered and we talked a bit about our child's anomalies (because all of us were there not by choice, but because of our babies' conditions). Some of us already had children, and some were there because the first pregnancy went awry. (That especially broke my heart!) It may seem uncomfortable to break the ice, but I'm glad that once someone did (because it wasn't me!), I opened up and chatted because we all felt better talking about it than keeping it bottled up. We all knew we would probably never see each other again, and we would all deal with the decision differently and as best we could, but for the time being we were able to function as an impromptu support group.
I haven't cried since the procedure, and I'm not sure where the grief process will take me. But, I thank you for the support of this board in the last (almost) two weeks, and I hope I was able to offer some support to others here.
Suffice to say, I've cried much since all has happened, and they've been bitter, sorrowful tears. But I am gradually getting hope and putting this grief to work constructively; this Blog is proof of that.
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