A special little soul

Sometimes, on a blog that is 99 per cent about the death of a baby, when the time comes to drop news about a new or subsequent pregnancy, it is better not to beat around the bush with said news. Best to just come out and say it.

So here goes. I am pregnant again.

For the most part, this goes a long way to explain my blogging absence in the last few months, as this is certainly not a brand new pregnancy. I'm already past the half way point. In fact, I'm just over 22 weeks along.

At this very moment, everything appears to be perfect with our third child, however, it has been a long and terrifying road to get here and not just because of the stillbirth and death of my first born in my past.

Let me take you back and fill you in on the story.

Just before Angus' first birthday in November last year, I got an itch I had to scratch. I wanted to be pregnant again, and I wanted it to happen fast. Once you flip that switch, I find there really is no going back. A couple of girls in my mother's group were already pregnant with their second children, and I'll admit the jealousy kicked in, as I should have already had two children and if anyone was going to have another baby, I wanted to be the first. The best I could do was aim for a second living child and while we were keen to build our family quickly, we probably did move our plans forward a bit as my hormones surged onwards and out of control. Simon stood little chance in the decision making here. I had well and truly made up my hormonal mind.

Of all of our three children, this conception was the easiest and on December 20 last year (my sister's birthday) I took a positive pregnancy test.

The test was very, very faint - not like any I'd taken with my first two babies. When I first looked, it was negative. So I put it on the bench and walked away. I really wasn't that worried as it was pretty much the first month we'd tried. I took a phone call, then five minutes later, walked in to the bathroom and picked up the test to throw it away. Lucky I had one more quick look before I did. I had to squint, but there it was - that elusive second line. I could hardly believe my luck. With both of my other babies, I have always taken the test first thing in the morning with Simon still home so I could share the news with him instantaneously, but this was all very different. When Simon came home from work, I showed him the test and he said what I had said to myself a few hours earlier: "oh well, negative". I told him to have a closer look, and he was just as surprised as I was.

I took a few more tests over the next few days and they were still all very faint and not really getting any darker, so I decided to save my money and sanity and stop testing. I really was ok about it all. A week later, we had a rare night out at the movies while my MIL babysat and I bought another test before the movie started and took it in to the toilets. It was so blazingly positive, I nearly fell over backwards in the cubicle and couldn't wipe the smug grin off my face as I came out and showed it to Simon in the foyer of the cinemas. This was really happening. However, I couldn't shake this deep, nagging feeling within that something wasn't quite right and that this baby was in grave danger. When I talked to another babyloss friend about it, she assured me this was just my grief and anxiety talking and not to give it any more thought. Simon told me said I said exactly the same things early on with Angus. But still, I felt different. The pregnancy felt different. I was almost certain I'd lose this baby, and if I did, it would be early. A little bit of spotting early on certainly did NOT help.

Unlike with Angus' pregnancy, we decided to sit on this news and not tell a soul. I shared with a few very close friends online, but that was it. This was our little Christmas secret, just like the Christmas three years earlier.

I dodged all offers of wine and champagne at Christmas and kept a low profile during our camping trip over the New Year. A few days after New Years Eve though, my sister finally guessed and I wasn't going to lie to her as she knows me better than anyone. I think I had dodged one too many wines and given Angus was down to just two or three feeds a day, I couldn't always get away with blaming my wine-dodging on breastfeeding.

So the next day, as we sat on camping chairs in the cooling waters of the Buckland River, we told my mum who had absolutely no idea. (I was sure she would have guessed or sensed it). I really think no one saw this coming. With all we've been through and Angus having been a tricky baby at times, I think most thought we'd put a bit more distance between Angus and our next child.

When we got home from camping, just past the six week mark, we went to see a GP to get the first round of blood tests and get referrals for obstetricians, ultrasounds etc. My GP was on leave due to the time of year, so we saw a young doctor we'd never seen before. When my blood test results came back, he told me my liver function test numbers were slightly "off" but said they were most probably nothing to worry about. I asked what this meant for the baby and he assured me it was nothing, and most likely just the baby depleting me of all my resources, but he decided to run some more tests, just to be sure. And I went home and didn't think too much about it. The very next day, I was able to secure a spot for an early dating ultrasound, in the hope of seeing a heartbeat and to alleviate some of my very early pregnancy fears and sure enough, there it was - the little flicker of life, once again growing inside of me. I didn't cry, just like my previous two early scans - I once again looked dumbfounded up at the screen while Angus babbled away on Simon's lap totally oblivious. We took a printed picture home from the scan, and I stared at that for a good while, just as dumbfounded.

Finally, I could breathe a bit easier. I was now just past seven weeks and I already felt like I'd been pregnant forever. I knew seeing a heartbeat was a great result, so I let go of some of those fears and started to trust that this little soul would make it, just like the big brother who came before.

But the following day, quite frankly, that all went to shit. My sense of relative ease was very, very short lived. I got my second round of blood test results back and the GP very nonchalantly said, "oh, I see you've tested positive to CMV". My response, "what's that?" I was told it was a common virus that really doesn't have many symptoms so there would have been no way of knowing I'd had it. The only way to really know was to have a blood test. Based on the numbers in my blood tests, it looked as if the infection had been very recent, most probably within the time I'd been pregnant. It also looked as if it was the first time I'd had the virus, which was also strange as most people have had it and have some immunity to it, as it is commonly passed around in childhood. My next question was then of course, "what does this mean for the baby?" to which the young doctor said, he had no idea. Great. So as he sat pulling dusty text books off his book shelf (oh yes he did) I sat googling on my iPhone and all I could see was bad news. Really, really horrible, dire news. In a similar sort of way, walls started closing in around me, just as they did when we found out Hope died (though obviously no way near as severe). I also had Simon and Angus sitting in the car waiting for me, as we were due to leave as soon as I was done for a week at the beach with my brother. I just wanted Simon in there with me. I all of a sudden felt very alone and I was obviously incredibly scared.

The GP couldn't really offer me any concrete answers, as with a diagnosis like that, there weren't any. Given the time of year with so many doctors and obstetricians on holidays, he referred me to the high risk doctors in the perinatal department at our hospital and said he'd be in touch once he'd got hold of them (because of course when he called, no one answered).

So I got in the car, tried to explain the confusing news to Simon, and we set off to my brother's house, who still had no idea I even was pregnant. And for the entire one and a half hour trip, I sat with my eyes glued to my phone reading everything I possibly could. All I could see was the bad news. The really scary, horrible stuff.

While the odds seemed low the virus could pass on to the baby what I did learn was this - the virus is very common and relatively harmless in healthy adults, but a primary infection of the virus in pregnancy is just about the worst case scenario, and that's what I had. Also, I read it was one of the most common reasons why babies could be born with birth defects. My eyes zoomed in to things such as blindness. Deafness. Mental retardation. Long term complications. Death.

Fair to say, I was a mess. And remained that way for the next few weeks. I fell in to a very large, very deep black hole and I was absolutely certain this baby was doomed and I'd be burying another one. And given by this stage we knew we had another August due date, I figured this would be just our luck. I was also certain at this point, the baby must be a girl.

When we got back from our week away, we had an appointment with the perinatal team of obstetricians and after looking through our already very heavy and complicated file, they were so, so sorry to be seeing us and thankfully treated us incredibly kindly. The actual obstetrician we saw on that day was brilliant and while she told us the chances of anything going wrong were slim, she did not mince her words about how bad things could get if we once again fell on to the wrong side of statistics.

There was roughly a 50/50 chance the virus would pass on to the baby, which really didn't make me feel great. But thankfully, even if it did, there was roughly a 90 per cent chance the baby would be born just fine, with no long term complications from the virus. But if we somehow fell in to that 10 per cent, things could have been bad. Very bad. She said things like "no walking, talking, eating, deaf, blind and no quality of life". I was told that no matter what I'd need an amnio around 21 weeks to test the baby and there was no way to do it sooner as the baby would secrete the virus in his or her urine, so we had to be far enough along for the baby to be producing enough. At that point, around 8 weeks pregnant, I was fairly certain I'd never even get to 21 weeks. If the baby did test positive, I would then need a fetal MRI at 32 weeks to check the baby's brain development, as that would be the main area where things could go wrong. And if we were looking at the worst case scenario after the MRI, we were told most parents in that situation chose to "end the pregnancy". And at 32 weeks, I knew this would be SO much more than a "termination". It was practically unfathomable to us and we left feeling sick to our cores to think this was actually a slim possibility for this poor little baby. Our much loved, much wanted, third child.

We kept the news of the pregnancy very close. Told practically no one. I went to ground and stopped answering emails and phone calls. I stopped attending mother's group and I avoided all social settings and parties. I was an absolute mess, not to mention I had rampant morning sickness and could barely eat. I lost six kilograms but somehow still managed to chase my crazed toddler around, who just wanted to destroy everything in his path. It was an incredibly tough time, but I really had no choice but to just solider on and get through it.

But you know, I was ok. For the most part, I really was ok. We had ultrasounds every two to three weeks and saw the high risk obs just as often. And they were brilliant. I felt so glad to be in their care and not just in the regular clinic for regular pregnant women. While Angus' pregnancy was considered high risk, technically it wasn't. They just termed it that way because of my rather fragile mental state.

The baby passed each ultrasound with flying colours. Always measuring on track for dates and not showing any signs in the brain that anything was wrong. But we were always warned at the end of each scan that those good results really meant little, as changes from the CMV could show up much later. So the 20 week scan was the big one, then the amnio the week after that. We just had to hold on until then. As the weeks ticked by, we told a few more people as we began to feel a bit more comfortable. No one could believe the unlucky set of circumstances we'd landed ourselves in. Again.

One of my big fears and reasons for wanting to stay quiet about it all was that people would link this problem in my pregnancy with what happened to Hope. A few even went so far as to ask, "so, is this why Hope died?" I think people want to protect themselves alleviate their own fears and insecurities by asking things like this, because they can then say "well I don't have this problem, therefore my baby shall not die or be born ill". But no, this had nothing to do with Hope or her death. This was just another set of totally random, shitty circumstances and while I'd been very lucky to have two very normal and healthy pregnancies, this was all new to me. I'd never had a true high risk pregnancy with real possibilities of things going catastrophically wrong. I was sure it was my smugness in my ability to have normal easy conceptions and pregnancies that caused all of this.

Roll on 20 weeks, and our ultrasound thankfully went really well. At this point, we were given permission to relax a little. The baby still looked perfect and we were told that things were most likely going to be ok. We still needed the amnio to be sure, as there was still a slim chance things could go wrong later in the pregnancy, but we were almost in the clear. Still, I was hardly running out buying new baby booties or writing birth plans.

The following week finally arrived (last week) and Simon and I went in for the amnio. I'd honestly spent so little time thinking or worrying about it, that once I got in the car to leave, I got upset. All of a sudden I thought, I really don't want a giant needle in my precious preggy belly going anywhere near my beloved third child. No thank you. I mean if they told me they had to stick the needle in my eyeball, I probably wouldn't have hesitated, if it meant they could guarantee the baby would be ok, but I all of a sudden felt very exposed and vulnerable. And yes, absolutely shit scared.

What didn't help was, we had a giant jerk of a doctor doing the amnio who of course had not read our file (they never do) and had the most arrogant bedside manner. He also talked down to the junior doctors in with him which was totally inappropriate and made everyone in the room feel horribly uncomfortable. And I must say, the amnio itself was awful. Probably worse than I thought. It hurt a bit more than I thought, took a bit longer than I thought and was just more unpleasant than I thought. But overall, it was quick, the jerk doctor seemed good at what he was doing (which is why they booked us in with him) and we were back home to Angus before we knew it. Simon then had the following day off to make sure I got plenty of rest as I was on strict orders to take it easy with no heavy lifting. And my chubby 17 month old Angus who likes to stick to me like glue these days is most certainly considered heavy lifting!

Quite a few people by this point knew about the pregnancy and knew we were awaiting our amnio results and it was all getting to me. I just wanted to run away. Two days later, when I knew the results were due back in, I didn't even want to call to get them. I had practically got to the point where I was sure everything would be ok, which was a far cry from where I was at 7 weeks pregnant, but I knew it was the anxiety and concern of others that was weighing me down. I can't blame people for that. Everyone just wants the best for us, especially with all we've already endured. So at the latest moment in the day, before the very long Easter break we get here in Australia which I knew meant we'd then have to wait days for results, I made the call. Of course the doctor I needed to speak to was busy with a delivery, but he did call right back - and it was negative, the baby did not get the virus. I could now carry on as a "normal pregnant person". Huge sigh of relief. Weight off shoulders. Deep breath out.

This was last Thursday.

And right now, on this lovely, autumn, Wednesday night, I am feeling pretty good about things. All of a sudden I look more pregnant. I feel more pregnant. I have a very active little baby in there who reassures me daily with his or her rolls and swooshes and I can almost believe, that come August, we'll welcome another child in to our lives. We're making room in our little two bedroom house for another occupant and we're purchasing the extra bits and pieces we may need for him or her. We already know we have plenty of room in our hearts to love this special little soul, who has already given us the fright of our lives and possibly carved another few years off my life in the short time we've known about this pregnancy.

I knew I needed to share this news once I got some all clears and green lights, as it did feel as if it was weighing me down, especially with my blog reading and commenting. I feel as if I've been awfully deceitful in many of my comments of late, and I've hated feeling that way. While I know we're still a long way from the finish line and I still have all my regular babyloss fears to contend with, this does feel a whole lot easier. In some very twisted way, it was the virus diagnosis that made things easier. As it forced me to worry about a whole new set of issues and took my mind off random, full term stillbirths and healthy babies dying in utero for no reason. Now that the virus fears are behind us, some of the old ones are starting to creep back in, but this is where I can thankfully say having Angus has helped. I now have some faith I can do this - after all, I have done it once before. And he keeps me so busy, there isn't always the time for the anxiety. I am still using my doppler, but not nearly as much as I did with him. I seem to be kicking my dirty doppler habit, as I just managed five whole days without using it, so I can't be doing too bad as I used it daily, if not more, with Angus.

I know this news will also be upsetting for some. Because once again I have something that is so precious which seems to be almost impossible for others to achieve. And I am sad about that and always will be. But I also can't apologise for my good fortune, luck, youth and fertility as it has been a tumultuous road for me to get to this point - both with Hope's death of course and the harrowing first 21 weeks of this pregnancy. I expect people to be happy for us, but I also expect to lose readers again. That is just the nature of announcements like this in a community like this. It is what it is.

I don't know how much I will blog about this baby, but I do hope to find the time to pop in occasionally to try and articulate how this special little soul fits in with my grief over Hope and with parenting my darling Angus. It is still really mind blowing to me that I am here. While I look and feel pregnant, I still can't believe this is really happening. Again. I must be crazy to have considered this all those months ago. Some of the spine tingling fears are still lingering from Angus' pregnancy, but so are some of those butterflies and bursts of pure excitement, left over from Hope's pregnancy. And all I can do is try and balance the two extremes and hope for the best.

And if you wouldn't mind, I'd love if you did the same for me. Thanks.