Half way through - looks like we've won the baby lottery

I've now ticked over the half way mark of this pregnancy. We've had no signs of trouble and I'm really excited about the pregnancy! I'm getting so much more joy and have so much less fear this time around. I know things really could still go wrong, but I'm just not worrying anywhere near as much.

We did our morphology scan last week. The baby look perfect! It seems we have won the baby lottery and are having a girl. I couldn't believe it when the sonographer said bubby was a girl! My husband and I (and my mother-in-law who will finally have a grand-daughter) are thrilled!!!!

B2 from this moment to birth, shall be referred to as mini morgy.

Big W are having a big baby sale right now and in a show of my much more relaxed approach to this pregnancy I actually stocked up on newborn nappies and infant girl nappies. I bought a couple of super cute newborn girl onsies too! I will be re-using most of our newborn stuff from first time around, but I had to get mini morgy a couple of special little outfits of her own.

A couple of weeks ago I felt mini morgy's first movements. Everyday these are growing stronger and more prominent. Can't wait until they are strong enough for my husband and son (who had no idea what's going on) to feel them.

I think being so busy with part-time work and the day-to-day coordination of a 16-month old is good for the pregnant woman. Too busy to sit and worry, but just enough time to enjoy the wonder that is having a baby.

B-day locked in

Unfortunately our placenta scan didn't go the way I'd hoped this week. Through the whole pregnancy I've been told our placenta is low lying and that it would need to be checked closer to delivery. Usually the placenta moves upward as the uterus grows, so low lying at 20-weeks isn't usually cause for concern. This week's scan showed that our low lying placenta had an edge covering the cervix. The obstetrician even pointed out the piece of placenta that lifted when we had the edge bleed (antepartum haemorrhage) that was still hanging over the top of the cervix.

Once I'd seen the scan I thought this isn't looking good. Still, we sat down with the obstetrician afterwards and talked through what he could see and what that could mean if we still wanted to proceed a normal delivery. The obstetrician clinically described the result as a minor placenta praevia. He advised that based on how much placenta is covering the cervix there is a chance we could still have an okay normal labour and birth. The placenta might move out of the way as the cervix opens. However, given that we've already had one bleed, it seems more likely that more bleeding will occur and then just how much bleeding seems to become the problem.

The placenta is an organ made up of blood vessels and is designed to transfer blood. So when it is bleeding, it isn't good. The ob also says you don't know if given the bleeding etc, if the uterus won't start to kind of freak out and then the whole placenta could come away. I can't remember the exact clinical descriptions for these things. But the ob says they are genuine dangers for us given our history of miscarriage, having had four D&Cs and having already had a bleed that required hospital admission during this pregnancy.

The obstetrician then said if I asked what he would advise he would advise we have a caesarean. He did say there are still some issues that can occur with the placenta being delivered by caesarean, that my uterus might not contract as well as it should, but from what I can gather, this risk is much less dangerous for me and for baby.

The ob tells us the perfect time to do a caesarean would be 39-weeks gestation, however there is a chance I could go into labour, which he is now very keen for us to avoid. So 38-weeks is next best time. Baby should be fully cooked by then. So we left our appointment with a due date locked in for 11 October 2013 - exactly 38-weeks gestation.We were pretty excited to have a date set and to know exactly when baby will be arriving.

It is a little strange to go from expecting baby around 25 October, to knowing baby will be here on 11 October. Despite my normal, rational thinking, I was hoping if anything baby would be a bit late because of - please don't think less of me - star signs. Mini Matty could alway have been a libra, but his due date was scorpio and late would have guaranteed scorpio. I've known a few libras in my time and my significant ex was a libra - so I'm a little scarred when it comes to male librans. I know I sound crazy. I've even been googling libra horoscope info to try and find out more good things about the sign. Maybe my ex would have been the same if he were a scorpio. Okay - so that's my little bit of crazy. I have to get over it, as mini matty is going to be libran.

When it comes to genuine concerns, I am concerned about the medical procedure. I was much more comfortable with the idea of lots of pain pre-birth and then (hopefully) a relatively quick, simple recovery. I know this isn't the case for all vaginal deliveries. I am now faced with zero pain pre-delivery and a plethora of drugs to help manage pain while I start a lengthy recovery. I'm a sook when it comes to surgical recovery and am all about the really good pain killers. I hope I'll be able to take the awesome painkillers they gave me after my keyhole surgeries - oxycodone is the business! - even if I'm breastfeeding.

Even as I'm writing about all this, I keep thinking, really what does it matter. I know come 11 October we are going to finally have the hard fought for baby we have been dreaming of. Our little family will grow from 2 (+1 furry kid) to 3 (+1 furry kid). I'm sure it is going to be amazing.

After the scare is over - the final trimester continues

I ended up spending two nights in hospital. I thought they were going to keep me in another day at least, so I was pretty happy with being discharged early.

Once I was admitted to hospital the bleeding settled down and thankfully I had no new bleeds. Every time they ran a trace on mini matty he was as happy as a baby swimming in the perfect amount of amniotic fluid can be. Kicking and swooshing away. They also did six hourly observations on me, where they did an ultrasound of mini matty's heartbeat too.

On the first morning I woke up and was looking at my patient information white board. It contained the name of the current midwife, frequency for my observations, frequency for the baby trace, my condition and there was a little section for things my doctor wanted me to do. Written there was ICN tour.

ICN tour. ICN tour. I remember my ob said he'd like us to do a tour of the nursery. The IC nursery? The penny drops - the intensive care nursery. It's 6am, I've barely slept being pumped full of steroids and full of worry. Thinking about going to the intensive care nursery I start to cry. I keep thinking about mini matty being born now and how little he would be. I don't want to get myself unnecessarily worked up. I text hubby to tell him I'm awake and am pleased with his reply that he has packed my bag and will be heading back to the hospital shortly. Not long for me sit on my own and over-think the tour.

When Matt arrives we decide it is time to call our families and let them know we are in hospital. It is hard to tell your family when this stuff is going on as you don't have a lot of information and can't reassure them.

When my ob visits in the morning he again feels my tummy and asks questions about whether I've had any tightening or additional bleeding. All good on both fronts. He says he is going to have me sent for an ultrasound, but that they might not be able to do it that day as it is a Sunday. He says getting the ultrasound won't make any difference to the outcome (that is, if I'm going to go into labour, it is going to happen whether I've had an ultrasound that day, or the next). The ob says we definitely aren't going to our antenatal class that day either. Resting is the order of the day. He says bed rest doesn't mean I can't get up and go for a walk. A walk around the ward is fine, even into the hospital grounds, just don't be going down to Southbank (that would be about 1 kilometre from the hospital).

Matt pops down to the antenatal class and tells the midwife we aren't going to make it to the second day of classes as we were instead trialling the facilities.

I'm all washed out with terribly dark circles under my eyes so we decide after we've had the first trace that we will go to the cafe in the hospital foyer and sit in the sun while having a coffee. It is a beautiful day outside, a bit of sun on the skin is a delight. Matt goes back to the car to get something sorted out with the parking and I head back into the hospital.

Being in the hospital is pretty boring for Matt, but as a patient I feel relatively busy, with all the regular monitoring, meals and snacks arriving every couple of hours. Being hooked up to the trace for 30-45 minutes twice a day sucks up a lot time just watching what baby is doing.

Matt trying to rest on the hubby day bed

One of the downfalls of the monitoring is that it gets you hooked on monitoring. I know this from our early pregnancy issues. You don't believe everything is okay until you are getting the ultrasound. The post ultrasound happiness and confidence wears off in a few days and you find yourself counting down to the next ultrasound, to be reassured the baby is still okay.

I quickly got obsessed with the monitoring. I wasn't worried about my observations, just mini matty's. What his pulse was doing, how much he was moving. If he was quiet for a little bit during the day I'd be looking at the clock counting down to the next trace or baby heartbeat ultrasound. I could sense I was getting a little too into it. I started on the self talk to get myself back to earth - you can feel him moving - he is okay. He is moving as much as he was before the incident - he is okay. All the monitoring has shown he is okay.

On the Sunday we finally are ushered off for the intensive care nursery tour. I've confessed to Matt during the day that I'm nervous about going to pieces during the tour. When we get to ICN the team leader asks questions about how many weeks we are and if we've been told an estimate of the baby's weight. When we say 30 weeks and 1.7 kilos, she says that's great, he's a good size. Another couple joins us at this point for the tour - they are 28 weeks and don't know an estimate of their baby's weight.

The nurse explains the different nursery rooms to us and starts our tour in the most intensive care room. We have to disinfect our hands before we go in. She points out to us a tiny little baby that was born at 29 weeks, and weighs about what our little fella would. Baby is in an incubator, with a feeding tube in his nose. The nurse explains he isn't on a respirator, but is breathing for himself with a CPAP machine (like people with sleep apnea use). The baby is so tiny and so cute. The room is so quiet, with 8 - 10 of these incubators with tiny babies in them. One of them is glowing blue, which the nurse explains is a treatment for jaundice babies.

We go to the next room. There are more mothers in this room and the babies are in a mix of incubators and cots. A mother kindly let's us look at her little baby who is in a cot. He is now 4 weeks old, having been born at 29 weeks and weighing around 1.5 kilos. He has gained 500 grams and looks absolutely adorable, although tiny. He is wrapped up tightly in blankets and is making this cute squeaky sound. He looks perfect. He still needs a feeding tube, but is being trained to moving to sucking for his food. I thank the mum for letting us see him and congratulate her on her cute baby.

We then move onto the last room. This room has loads of people in it. It is the last room the babies go to before they go home. We can't go in as it is already so busy. The nurse tells us that from here, the parents then come back to hospital for a couple of nights and have the baby room in with them and they have the same type of support as women who have their babies at full-term do, to help them get used to taking care of the baby on their own. She tells us that babies are usually the equivalent of about 35-36 weeks before this happens (quick mental calculation - mini matty would be about 5-6 weeks in ICN if born now).

The tour is over and we head back to my room. It was a lot better than I thought it would be. A lot more comforting. A lot calmer. I thought there would be beeping machines and wailing mothers. But no, it was all very quiet and all those tiny babies looked so cute. But still, we want mini matty to stay put!

We have a few visitors on Sunday afternoon. Matt goes home again overnight. I have my second baby lung maturing steroid injection and settle in for the funniest baby trace ever, with mini matty going at full speed pumped up on steroids. They ended up having to leave the trace on a really long time to get a base rate where he wasn't moving.

Mini Matty's roid rage trace. The black squares on the bottom trace indicate when he moving!

Monday was about the same as Sunday, with the only thing to break up the day being the ultrasound, that didn't happen until after 4pm. Mini matty looked perfectly fine during the ultrasound. They did all the measurements again - and again he had a 97th percentile tummy! They did an internal scan to try and measure where the placenta was in relation to the cervix, but the bleed was in the way, so they couldn't really make out the edge of the placenta. The best thing about the scan was the 3D face images. I usually hate ultrasound images especially the 3D images. I always think it they make the baby look wrong. The last one I'd had at 20-weeks, the baby looked like voldemort! Here we were at 30 weeks and finally picture of mini matty's face was quite cute. He looked like a baby. 

Mini Matty's face, with his arm behind.

A couple of hours after the ultrasound our ob arrived and explained the result of scan. The scan had confirmed the diagnosis of a placenta edge bleed. Although they couldn't quite tell where the edge of the placenta was due to the remaining bleed, that will slowly clear, we didn't have any big nasty bleed clots over the cervix that would be cause for concern. So, would we like to go and rest up there for the week instead of in a hospital bed. We are advised about what to do if more bleeding occurs - come back to the hospital - if it is a big bleed call an ambulance and come back to the hospital. Rest is the order of the week. Don't venture far from the hospital. Don't do too much. My ob encourages Matt to spend the week at home so that someone is around if anything goes wrong.

Hooray. Of three bad things and one good thing that could happen, we are looking like we are going have the one good thing happen - nothing!

At home I get a chance to really rest - including having a much better night's sleep in our own bed. We made it through seven days with nothing else happening and both of us started to breathe a little easier. We missed out on a family wedding in northern New South Wales, as the ob thought just in case anything did go wrong - it was too far from the hospital.

In fact I'm now an amazing 32-weeks pregnant! Mini matty is still in utero having a lovely time swishing around. I'm not worried about the monitoring, because our baby moves and moves. I know some people don't love it, but I LOVE my baby moving. The bigger the better. I love it when I can see my whole tummy wobbling with mini matty swooshes and kicks.

Crashing down

By the time we went into our appointment with the obstetrician I think my hope was outweighed by my doubts. When the ob asked "how are you going?" I was very quick to reply that we weren't so great. I quickly explained the result of the ultrasound from the week before. The ob said it was probably best we get straight to having a look, rather than spend half an hour talking about pregnancy management, just to find out things aren't looking good. He also told us a story about a woman he'd seen whose first scan didn't look good, with the baby having a heartbeat of 78. He said when she came back he felt nervous about what the scan would show, but that everything was great, the baby had a heartbeat over 160 and had really grown.

A glimmer of hope just as we get on the bed for the scan. 

He starts with an external scan. By this time, 8 and a half weeks, the baby should be clearly visible from an external scan. By how hard the ultrasound thing was pushing on me I could tell it was hard for the ob to see the baby, and from what I could see on screen it didn't look good. He switched to an internal scan where he confirmed that things didn't look good. He said he was sorry, but from what he could see the baby didn't have a heartbeat and the size hadn't changed from our last scan. 

Procedure from this point is to have a high resolution/diagnostic scan. The portable scanners the obs have apparently can miss stuff, so they are reluctant to recommend the curette without the diagnostic scan. Our ob rings the women's diagnostic centre and gets us an appointment in a couple of hours. He asks if the result is as expected if we'd like to have the curette that night if they can get a theatre booking.

We head home for a couple of hours. Given we have the chance of having the operation in the evening I've got to eat something now, and then I'm on nil by mouth, just in case we can secure the evening theatre time. An hour before our appointment I drink the obligatory pre ultrasound water, knowing no matter how full my bladder is they will still need to do the internal scan. 

It's funny that it doesn't really matter that we already know that it is pretty much over, when the sonographer sympathetically tells us she can't find a heartbeat I still can't help but cry. She confirms the baby is still the same size it was a week and a half ago. She looks around to make sure the other embryo isn't tucked away somewhere it shouldn't be, but there is nothing else, just the one that is no longer a viable pregnancy. 

With our results in hand we head back over to the obstetrician's office where he quickly sees us between patients. He asks if we'd like to have the curette that night or tomorrow morning. I opt to have it done that night, so that way only one day revolves around the whole ordeal. 

We head home to pack 'a just in case' overnight bag and by 5pm we are back at the hospital being admitted. By 6.30pm I am wheeled down to pre-op and by 8pm I'm back in my room texting home. They keep me in for a few hours and then we are allowed to go home.

Despite having a body full of sleepy drugs I didn't sleep well. I couldn't get into a deep sleep. I don't cry, just toss and turn. 

Scanning

Well, I've been on holidays at the beach for the past 12 days. We holiday in a small beach side town each year. It is an incredibly beautiful part of the world. I had decided to take the risk and book in our first viability scan for the day we were leaving for holidays. I thought this showed great faith in that the pregnancy would be okay. If it wasn't okay, I planned to head to the beach anyway and drink myself into oblivion.

The scan was with our fertility specialist - the first viability scan. I've actually never managed to have a viability scan with him due to bad holiday timing over the past year. As it turned out, this time he was going on holidays for the same days as us, so we managed to squeeze the scan in.

I was a little disappointed with the scan. He showed us one baby, with a heart beat, right at the top of the uterus. He was pretty happy about it. He said "I'm not hearing any oohhhs and aaahhhhs". So he tried to hear the heartbeat. I tried explaining, it wasn't that we weren't pleased, it's just that we've seen a lot of tiny babies, that don't even look like babies, with heartbeats. He printed a picture for us.

I have grown to hate ultrasound images. I hate everybody's ultrasound images, not just my own. If a see a friend post their ultrasound image to facebook, I have to delete/hide the post. To me they just look freaky. So Matt took the picture. He thought his family might like to see it, I said "really, why would they want to see that?"

Due to my specialist usually being on holidays, our first scans have generally been with ultrasound clinics. These scans give you sooooooo much information. You get the crown to rump length, the heartbeat rate, the size of the gestational sack, the gestational age. So when the fertility specialist showed us a blob with a heartbeat and said it looked about the right size, I was underwhelmed.

As we were both about to head off on holidays the fertility specialist gave us a referal to get a diagnostic scan done, just in case anything went a miss during the week of holidays.

We packed the ultrasound referal in our gear and headed off on holidays hoping we wouldn't need it, but that wasn't to be the case. The very next day I had a pretty heavy bleed, dark red with little clots in it. I lost it. I was crying and crying. I just hate it. One day everything is 'fine' the next day, it seems like we are about to have another miscarriage.

The worst part is, there is nothing to do about it. You just have to go to sleep, get up the next day and somehow try to enjoy your holiday at the beach. The bleed was on a Saturday so we couldn't even go for the scan until Monday at the earliest.

So we soldier on. Force yourself to get outside and enjoy the beautiful place you are in. Try not to think about it all the time. Try not to let your bad mood spoil it for everyone else who is there.

On Monday we get the diagnostic scan. The baby is still there, but we are told it is only measuring 5 weeks and 6 days and the heartbeat is 96 beats per minute. Basically, the baby is more than a week smaller than it should be. The sonographer also told us that the heartbeat would preferably be over than 100. In closing, he said the pregnancy was viable at this time, but given the result no doubt another ultrasound will be needed in another week or two.

So the baby is small, with a slow heartbeat. The same sonographer gave us similar news last year with our heterotopic pregnancy, and that baby miscarried soon after. We don't leave with smiles on our faces. My husband says on the way to the car "We know how this played out last time, but I guess we just need to give the little trooper a chance."

We had a little more spotting over the next day, but for a week now I've had nothing. I've had not bleeding. I've also had no morning sickness or other symptoms that wouldn't be caused by the progesterone pessaries I have to use morning and night.

Our first appointment with the ob/gyn I chose for this pregnancy is coming up, so I haven't bothered following up with our fertility specialist about getting another scan. I have some hope - hey, maybe it will be fine - I really hope that it is. I also have some doubts.

All positives

My HCG blood test was positive, with my HCG coming in at 183. My second HCG blood test came back at 382. This is all positive. They are looking for the HCG to double at this early stage, and mine did that.

There is nothing extraordinary about these numbers, that is, they didn't say 'wow that's big, maybe it will be twins'.

Two week wait is officially over, however once you know you are pregnant it is just more weeks of waiting. I am again waiting for the first ultrasound. The ultrasound will confirm if obiwan and obitwo are both still hanging on. Waiting to find out if the pregnancy is viable at this time. Then, if the first ultrasound is good news, it is just more waiting, to find out if the pregnancy will last the next week, 2 weeks and so on.

Thankfully after our last pregnancy loss we sat down with our fertility specialist to discuss what was going on (here's my blog on that). He told us that despite having lost 5 babies in early pregnancy, that we really were just unlucky, versus there being something specific causing the problem. Four of the five pregnancy losses were completely random and could happen to anyone. The fact that they all happened to us is apparently just really bad luck.

Armed with this knowledge, I've created myself a new mantra or two during this pregnancy:

• Short mantra - there is no reason this pregnancy shouldn't work
• Long mantra - millions of other people find out they are pregnant and don't worry about losing it and there is no reason this pregnancy won't be like the ones all those other people have.

I wish I didn't need the mantras, but I do. I am occasionally overwhelmed with it all and not even the mantras help. I've downloaded an anxiety information sheet and read it when I'm feeling really anxious to try and help diffuse the feelings.

There is nothing more I can do about it I guess. I just have to wait it out.

The low down and the down low

Damn you fertility treatment and your insidious infiltration of happiness and general well being!

This treatment cycle moved so quickly, I'm already on the 2-week wait roller-coaster and once again, it sucks.

Last week I went in for my first blood test on day 12 of my cycle. When I rang my fertility specialist to be told when I needed to do my next blood test I was surprised that I needed to go back the next day and go in for an ultrasound. I thought it must just suit the specialist to see me on that day for the ultrasound (which is to check that my uterus lining is looking like a nice soft cushion that little embryos would just love to snuggle into) and that he wanted the blood test result to check my hormone levels that corresponded with the ultrasound.

Once again the ultrasound is internal. To try to elevate some of the embarrassment about the whole situation my specialist starts a funny conversation about how his teenage son asked him what sort of deviate he was to decide to become a gynecologist. He assured me it wasn't because he wanted to look at girls private parts (phew).

Throughout the scan the fertility specialists say he thinks I ovulated the day before. What? Really? He needs to check the blood test result to be sure.

Once I'm re-dressed from the waist down I wander across to the doctor's consultation room. He is looking at my blood test results and confirms he thinks I've already ovulated (on day 12 of my cycle!). He confirms he is going to request my embryos are thawed that day and that transfer will be on 3 days time.

Crickey! I'm stunned by the speed of it. I usually get blood tests for a week and half, before we get to ovulation (which usually happens between day 18 and 21 of my cycle!).

I mention to the doctor I've had some spotting for the past few days. His face then looks perplexed. He explains while it can happen around ovulation, it is not ideal. He wants me to start progesterone medication immediately and to let him know if the bleed develops into a full blown period. If that happens, we will potentially have wasted the embryos that are being thawed.

Thankfully once on the progesterone the spotting disappears.

The thaw of 2 embryos for transfer results in 3 embryos being thawed, our last 3 embryos. One embryo didn't survive the thaw but the other kicked on, slowly at first, but by transfer day 1 is a blastocyst, the other still a morula. Both apparently look pretty good. I've nicked names these embryos obi wan and obi two, a tenuous link to Star Wars famous princess Leia plea - help me obi wan kenobi, you're my only hope.

I decided at the last minute to throw acupuncture in the mix again this time. I saw the acupuncturist just before transfer, that day after transfer and again 5 days post transfer.

And so, we wait. It sucks. Some days I think it has worked, other days I think it won't have worked. I really struggle at work at this time. I just don't cope well with the everyday frustrations and difficulties of the office. Everything that is crap about work is so amplified. All week I've been fighting with myself just to get to work. I get there every day and it isn't as bad as I've made it out to be in my mind.

Not long now before the home pregnancy test obsession will be let loose and we will see if obi wan and/or obi two have settled in.

Mission failure

Today I am recovering from a curette. This is the third time I've had this procedure, which is necessary after a partial miscarriage. I'm certainly a lot more philosophical about it today than I was on Wednesday, the day before the curette. 

Wednesday morning started like any other. I happily rolled out of bed preparing for work. After going to the loo I noticed a very small streak of pinkish, redish blood on the toilet paper. I immediately grab more paper and wiped again - nothing. I repeat this again, still nothing. 

I've had bleeding in every pregnancy. Every time doctors have told me bleeding happens in loads of pregnancies and that it is fine. This is smallest amount of bleeding, it is so tiny, I actually consider if I should even bother with telling Matt. I know the effect telling him will have.  

I have a shower and think about all the possibilities, I wonder if it is because I stopped the progesterone support on Monday, perhaps I need to start taking it again. I decide I will ring my fertility specialist's office, even though I know my doctor is on leave still. I'm hoping they will have someone on back up who can make a call on what I should do. I tell Matt about the spotting and tell him I'll ring the doctor and see if I can get a blood test or even better another ultrasound. As I'm leaving for work I tell Matt I'll call him once I've spoken to a doctor.

On the train to work I keep thinking about it. I was going to wait until I got to work to make some calls in private, but I just can't get it out of my mind. I decide to make some discreet calls on the train. My first call was to my fertility specialist and again, with my doctor on holidays it is hopeless. The receptionist suggests I ring my obstetrician. I ring the obstetrician, her receptionist initially recommends I speak with my fertility specialist - once she knows he is on leave she suggests I make an appointment with my GP to get a referral for an ultrasound. I ring my GP, she is on holidays too, however now she is in a GP super clinic so I make an appointment with another GP for 4.30pm. 

I ring Matt and tell him I'm going to make a sneaky appointment, before I have the ultrasound referral, so once I've seen the GP we can go straight to the ultrasound. 

My fertility specialist's receptionist rings me back, she has spoken to another specialist who said the bleed might be a reaction to going off the progesterone and that I can start taking them again. Personally I didn't really find this helpful. Then my obstetrician's office rings me back, the obstetrician has given me a referral for an ultrasound and has already made me a 1pm appointment with the Women's Diagnostic centre at the Mater. The receptionist is even going to take the referral up to Women's diagnostic for me, so I just go straight there. Awesome, this is super helpful.

I'm really impressed and relieved. This obstetrician is supposed to be the best. She is really hard to get in to see. I figure now that she has organised the ultrasound that she'll be on hand to review the results of the scan and will take me on, two weeks before my initial appointment, if I need any medical intervention at this point.

At 12.30 Matt comes to pick me up from work and we head to the Mater. I was genuinely thinking this is just another crazy pregnant lady scan. I'm 99% sure everything is fine. Maybe even more than that. Our last scan was only 11 days ago and it was perfect, bleeding in early pregnancy is normal - I've been told that soooooo many times.

As per usual for these scans I'm busting to pee. You need to drink 600ml of water the hour before the scan as it is easier to see the uterus with a full bladder - or something like that. The sonographer gets the scan underway with squirt of cool gel onto my tummy. This room has a screen at the end of the bed, so it is really easy for Matt and I both to see the scan. 

I can see where the baby is, the sonographer zooms in. It is different to my last two scans. I can see the baby, it looks still, completely still, no flicker, nothing. The sonographer pokes around a little bit more and then says, I don't think I can see the heartbeat. She asks when the last scan was and suggests it is best to do an internal scan to get a closer look. She sends me off to pee before the internal scan and in the toilet I start crying. I can't believe it. This was supposed to a reassuring scan, not a confirmation of the worst scan. I try to pull myself together and head back into the room. When Matt sees me he looks a little shocked, I must look bad, or maybe he still had some hope, I'm not sure.

The internal scan is no better. Definitely can't see the heartbeat. Baby measures 8 weeks, which marginally smaller than the last scan. The sonographer wants to bring the doctor in to be extra sure. The doctor is also certain. They both say they are sorry. When they leave room for me to redress I lose it. I just can't believe it. I'm growling a series of questions out loud. Why is it always that the baby stops developing almost immediately after our last scan? Why do we have almost 2 more weeks thinking everything is great? Why do we get further along than before, with an absolutely perfect, no signs of trouble pregnancy only to once again lose the baby? How many times can this happen to us? How much of this can we take? I finally say I don't even know what to do anymore.

Matt is more the quiet thoughtful type, so he says nothing. We are both gutted. 

To their credit the Women's Diagnostic unit is all kinds of awesome, unlike the ridiculous situation that occurred last time we had the same result in the Mt Gravatt Qld Xray. This time they bring all the paperwork to me in our room, so we don't have to go back out to the front counter and pay in a distressed state at reception. They recommend we head straight down to our obstetrician's office, that they will ring in advance and let them know the outcome.

When we get downstairs the obstetrician has already left for the day and the receptionist will have to reach her to find out what to do now. She doesn't think they will be able to fit me in as the obstetrician is fully booked and besides doesn't have any of my complex medical history. Again she suggests I ring my fertility specialist and find out who he has on call for him. I already know the answer is no one, that is the answer every time. She suggests Matt and I hang around the medical precinct for a while so she can try to sort something out with our fertility specialist. 

Matt and I head down to West End and have some lunch. I can't believe the obstetrician can't help me. I thought that she would, given that she'd arranged the ultrasound. I know I need a curette, I know this is a really common obstetrics procedure, but my obstetrician won't take me, my fertility specialist is holidays until Monday and I'm stuck ringing around like a beggar trying to get someone else to take me. I ask my fertility specialist if the doctor who did my last curette, because my specialist was on leave, can take me? I tell the obstetrician's receptionist that another doctor in their group did my first curette, can she take me? The receptionists start ringing around for me. 

The first offer from the fertility specialist is a Friday appointment at 4.30pm. I know I won't be able to get the curette on the same day, so it will probably be Monday before I am having the procedure. I accept it as it is the best that can be done. Great we have days of carrying around the dead baby, with the chance that it could start to fully miscarry (which is apparently very painful and has the risk of me hemorrhaging and losing lots of blood). 

Matt and I decide to head home as there is little chance we will be seeing anyone today. We are almost home when the obstetrician's receptionist rings me back having made an appointment for me with the newest obstetrician in their group. She can see me right now. We have to get over to Spring Hill. We head back to town and meet another doctor. I think she's a good fit for me because she is a part of the Queensland Fertility Group (where I get my fertility treatment) and rivercity obstetrics (where I've had my small amount of obstetrics).

The new specialist has to ask all the horrible questions about my gynecological history:

• How many pregnancies? 4
• How many live births? 0
• How many miscarriages? this is number 3
• What other problems? 2 ectopics - 0 fallopian tubes left and I had my gallbladder removed.

At this point 3 + 2 doesn't equal 4, so I explain the last pregnancy was heterotopic, so I had the pleasure of ectopic and miscarriage. Once again, the new specialist tells me how rare heterotopic pregnancy is and reflects on what a tragic year 2011 was for us. 

Thankfully she has taken the liberty of already making a surgery time for us. At noon on Thursday at the same day specialist surgery most of the QFG stuff is done. She steps me through the risks of the procedure. She is very sympathetic. I'm really grateful she would take us on. 

Matt and I head back to the car. I tell him I'm glad we got with in with someone, I have a little moan about how stupidly hard it has all been. I then say, I'm not looking forward to having to ring the family. Matt says, neither am I. 

A happy new year

As of today I'm eight weeks pregnant and I've seen in the new year with everything looking rosy on the baby-making front.

We had a pregnancy viability scan in Cairns while we were on holidays and it was everything I could have hoped for. Only 1 baby, measuring 0.49cm, which equates to 6 weeks and 1 day with a heartbeat of 113 beats per minute. I asked the sonographer to have a good look around to check that another gestational sack wasn't implanted somewhere it shouldn't be, but nothing else could be found. This is the first time I've left an ultrasound place happy. The result was conclusively excellent!

I felt mixed feelings of relief and disappointment that only one embryo took. Having two babies seems like a great long term outcome and takes the pressure off needing to try to get pregnant again any time soon. However, I know that one baby has a much better chance of progressing to healthy, trouble free pregnancy and birth. That's exactly what we need, fewer troubles.

In the last couple of weeks early pregnancy symptoms have truly kicked in. Fatigue is my worst symptom. I nearly always need a nap. I'm also experiencing a touch of morning sickness, which for me has been a lot more like all day sickness. I feel a little bit sick, not enough to vomit as yet, nearly all day. I'm trying to pin point what makes it better and what makes it worse, but haven't been able to nail it down. I've also become a champion burper.

At eight weeks the baby is still really small. Apparently it would now be around 1.4 - 2.0 cm and would still have remnants of a tail. Gross. If all continues to go well, the tail should be gone soon enough.  :)

Slow news days

For the first time in pregnancy I have experienced slow news days. Literally nothing is happening.

Last Thursday I did my follow up blood test and my HCG levels had more than doubled to 420 - which is great and exactly what should be happening in those early weeks. In my three previous pregnancies I had spotting/bleeding to different degrees by this time. But this time, I have nothing.

This week Matt even asked when my next test will be. I had to tell him I don't need to have any tests because nothing is going wrong. We were both kind of laughing about it. How strange it was that I wasn't running in to do blood tests every other day and then waiting for the result. I told Matt that I actually don't feel like I'm pregnant because my experience of pregnancy has always been so stressful and worrying. Without the worry, it feels just like normal.

We do have a viability ultrasound referral. Unfortunately due to the Christmas holidays I can't go into the specialist's office for the viability scan. The good thing about going to an ultrasound place is they have better equipment so we should be able to see the baby (or babies - slightly freaking out about that now it seems it could be a real possibility). The bad thing is if something is wrong I then need to track down a doctor to interpret the scan.

I know exactly what I want to see during the ultrasound. A great big strong heart beat. A baby (or babies - still freaking out) that measures within a day or two of the size it should be. I want to see a conclusive result so we know the baby (or babies...) is well and doing what it should do.

Occasionally I catch myself and I know I am really excited. It feels like this time it is for real. Then I have days, like today, where I wake up and think "maybe it's blighted ovum, I've never had that happen and that would be just our luck." There is no reason to believe this is blighted ovum, I just can't believe that finally this could be it.

Today I am 5 weeks and 3 days pregnant and everything is looking good, although it is still super early days.

The old adage no news is good news rings true.

More ultrasounds more tears

My first impression of the alternative specialist I am booked into is good. He is really understanding of everything that has been going on and helps me feel at ease.

He goes through everything that has been chased down by his receptionist and my fertility specialist's office, tracking back through all the medical incidents of the past few weeks. Dates, dates, dates. We agree the baby should be bigger than the 6 weeks it measured at the ultrasound. He then adds, the heartbeat is a little slower than he would liked. He asks if he can do an in room scan.

I'm across the hall in a foreign ultrasound room. It is fancy! There is a big TV high on the wall, so it is easy to see the screen when reclined in the bed. Matt is with me, standing next to the bed. I'm looking at the TV and even though the doctor isn't even scanning I'm looking at the big screen thinking I'm going to be looking at the baby up there and it might be dead. Oh crap, this is going to be hard. I'm already getting choked up.

I am just holding it together when the doctor comes in. He is quickly getting on with the scan, another internal scan. He is poking around I can't see anything of note on the screen, then the doctor starts talking me through it. There is the gestation sack, there is the baby, there is no apparent heart beat. The baby measures 6 weeks. He says he is sorry, but there doesn't appear to be a heart beat. He leaves me to get dressed and come back across the hallway to the other office. I am crying as I get redressed. Matt is angry. He says he is just sick of it.

The specialist explains that the in-room scan is not as good as the diagnostic ulstrasound, and although it doesn't look good, he would hate to recommend a curette (to clean out the uterus) without getting a diagnostic scan done. He refers me to have another scan done. I feel it is all over, but I'm hanging onto the little bit of hope, perhaps the diagnostic scan will miraculously see an 8 week old fetus with a strong, fast heart beat.

The next day Matt and I again roll into an x-ray centre. In the diagnostic ultrasound the sonographer says the baby is still the same size as our earlier scan (which was nearly a week ago) and there is no longer a heartbeat. Even when you are expecting it, it is horrible. I am weeping on the bed. I want to have a private and dignified grief, but here I am stuck with a stranger in a clinical little room and I can't contain my sadness. And I know I have to pull it together enough to get up and go out and pay (I had asked if I could pay before I went in, given the expected result, but apparently this is not possible). We ditched waiting for the scan films - all those baby ultrasounds of babies just look freaky to me these days, let alone knowing it is your dead baby.

As this was the mostly expected outcome, the alternative fertility specialist had tentatively booked me in for a curette on Friday. A curette to remove the products of conception (this is now the medical term for what was only days ago called the baby). In just a couple of phone calls the procedure is confirmed.

I don't understand my own thinking through all of this. In part I'm relieved it is almost all over. This has been such an incredibly traumatic experience and if the pregnancy did continue, I don't know when, if ever, I would have stopped worrying about the damage all the drugs I had to take early on might have caused. In part, the much larger part, I'm devastated. Why has it been so hard? Why have we had so many pregnancies, but no babies? Why all the loss?

For certain, the whole of me is worn thin. I can't fathom going back to work as it has been for the past few years.

Something's got to give.

Antibiotics, ultrasounds and patience

IV anitbiotics are the business! After a full night in the women's ward I am only oozing a bit and the smell of the ooze has disappeared. My temperature is also under control. By this time I've had IV antibiotics for more than 24 hours. Of course I am stoked when the consulting specialist says he is happy with how the infection has responded and I can be discharged. Again, given that my specialist has already referred me for the ultrasound, which is now only two days away, the consulting specialist says just to go in for it as planned.

Matt was coming in to visit in the morning and as it turned out he was able to take me back to the beach house. I'm given a prescription for a some serious oral antibiotics that I need to take for the next week.

Back at the beach house Matt and I settle in for a quiet week.

I try not to think about the upcoming scan too much, knowing there is absolutely nothing I can gain from worrying about it.

On Thursday morning we drive to Byron Bay for the scan. Again, only the gestation sack can be seen through the abdomen, so we need to do the internal scan to see how the baby is going. To my great surprise the sonographer starts saying here is the baby and this little flicker you can see here is the heartbeat. It is beating at 91 beats per minute, which is normal for a baby measuring six weeks old, which is the size your baby is measuring at. The baby is 4.3 millimetres long from crown to rump.

I'm stunned. Matt seems pleased.

We ring all our family who we know are waiting. I'm cautious to tell everyone that while the heartbeat is good news, that the baby should be about eight weeks old by now, so I'm concerned it is developing too slowly. We discuss whether this could just be because of all the other things that have been happening and hope it will simply catch up in the weeks to come.

I wait until Friday to ring my fertility specialist's office - they still hadn't received my scan results. I hope even though my specialist is on leave (still!) that they have someone lined up who can give me a clinical opinion on the scan. I have to explain to the receptionist why I'm concerned about the scan result. I'm also concerned about my expected return to work. I'm supposed to be going back Monday week, however I can't help but think, if the baby isn't developing as it should, then next week I'm going to need more tests and at the worst I'll physically miscarry, or need to go in for a curette. All of these things will mean I will need more time off work recovering. I just don't want to go back to work and then again be off on more sick leave. The receptionist tells me she will chase up the scan results and contact some of the specialists from the group to see if she can have someone see me, or look at my scan.

I'm lucky another doctor from the group can fit me in on Tuesday but I start to cry on the phone. I was hoping to get an opinion on the scan today.

That afternoon I'm crying. Matt says "I don't understand why you are upset". I know he doesn't. I know I should be happy, but I'm not. I wanted the scan to give me certainty. Certainty the baby was kicking arse and well or certainty the baby was not viable.

I tell Matt that I've spent the whole day trying to get an opinion on the scan and arranging appointments with other specialists. I was hoping that the scan would put an end to it. I secretly hoped there would be no heartbeat and I would know it was over. This result of a heartbeat, but a small baby just seemed so uncertain. The baby just seemed too small. Now we had to wait until next Tuesday to know for sure.