Defective

Part 8

Defect

As soon as we hit the six week mark when my doctor said it would be safe to try again, that's exactly what we did. We still weren't ,married but at the time I didn't care. I felt married already after 3 years together. I couldn't see any reason not to have a baby. Ian wasn't crazy about the idea but he wanted to see me happy again so he gave in and we tried again. I was also determined to not let any future pregnancies be anything but planned. Why? Guilt. I kept thinking I must've done something wrong before I found out I was pregnant like soaking in a hot tub for an hour. Or maybe God was punishing me and Ian for living together without the benefit of marriage. But the worst guilt came from thinking my body was defective and a tiny, defenseless, little baby had suffered because of it. What if it was karma for all the wild nights I had spent in my early 20's, a moral judgement? (I wasn't a Christian yet.)

I did my best to push those thoughts away and remember the statistics (at that time) said that 85% of pregnant women experience at least one miscarriage. I figured I was just another statistic but now that I had, in a way, gotten that one miscarriage over, I thought I was in the clear.

So, this time I bought an ovulation kit and made Ian “wait” until my body said it was fertile. (It's funny to me now because we have three kids who demand all my attention so Ian is pretty much in perpetual “wait” mode.)

We got pregnant again on the first try.

Nine weeks later, the bleeding started and the panic set in. An ultrasound revealed no heartbeat at all. I was at the doctor's office alone and burst into tears. I asked him why this had happened again and when did he think the miscarriage would be complete. It was my first time seeing this particular doctor at the practice and he'd rubbed me the wrong way from the very start. He seemed...almost bored...with my tears and questions. He gave a long sigh as he made his way to the door just five minutes after I had seen the ultrasound. “Look,” he said. “Every woman is different. Every miscarriage is different. Unlike most women, you probably (And I quote verbatim here) won't be a spectacular miscarrier.” Then he had his nurse usher me to an office away from the waiting room so my cries wouldn't be heard and I couldn't upset the other mothers-to-be.

I used the phone in the little office to call Ian and as I was dialing I heard two nurses talking about me.

“I don't know why she's so dramatically upset. She knew this was a possibility. I told her myself the first time she called in about the bleeding.”

I stood there with the phone in my hand, my mouth agape, and when Ian answered I could barely choke out the horrible story. When I was finished he made me promise that we would wait until after we were married to try again. I don't know, maybe he thought we were being punished too.

This time, no one was waiting for me when I got home. I made the phone calls to my family and my boss (the only people I'd told this time) and I felt like, once again, I had failed all of them but failed another baby as well. What was wrong with me?

I had chosen not to have a D&C this time but as the weeks went by and all I did was bleed, my uterus wouldn't expel that tiny former life so I made an appointment with my OBGYN practice. (I made sure they would never schedule me with that lousy bedside mannered doctor who said I wouldn't be a spectacular miscarrier.

I got a kindly older doctor this time. And some answers. After looking at my records he said he thought that I might have low progesterone. Some doctors call this a Luteal Phase Defect or Inadequate Luteal Phase. When I'd told him that I had used an ovuation kit this time and that I had ovulated just five days before my period it was like a lightbulb went off in his head. You see, you're supposed to ovulate mid-cycle so the uterus can prepare itself by thickening so an embryo can attach to it. An average luteal phase lasts 10 – 16 days. Mine lasted only five days and the uterus became inhospitable to full implantation and sustenance.

After my D&C, the doctor told me to call him the minute I found out I was pregnant again so he could prescribe progesterone. With any luck, the third time would be the charm. I went home high on hope but also hating myself for needing help with something that seemed to come so naturally to other women. Look at how many teens have babies without meaning to? How many women never lived with the fear of losing baby after baby? What about all those women having abortions in their perfectly healthy, normal uteruses?

I decided to focus on our upcoming wedding. Well, not really. At this point I didn't care about much and the wedding seemed like it was just the right thing to do. A natural progression. I looked like crap on my wedding day. From the pregnancies and the depression I had gained 25lbs and I didn't even try to lose weight for the big day. I picked the third dress I tried on because it fit and didn't need too many alterations. My family took care of almost every wedding detail for me. I didn't get my nails done and thanks to a girl fresh out of the beauty school, my hair was limp and mousy and they had to call in the owner of the place to attempt to fix it so I could wear my mother's veil. It took so long that one of my bridesmaids left me to go pick up the rest of the bridal party. Unfortunately, I hadn't lived in that town for more than three years and I gave her the wrong directions and she got lost. Our best man was supposed to drive Ian to our wedding location but he'd gone out partying the night before and was passed out drunk as we all desperately tried to contact him because I had the car and Ian had no other way to get there. Our wedding was supposed to start at 11:00 am. At 11:00am neither I nor the groom were at our wedding. A customer at the salon named “Jennifer” offered to drive me to the wedding. So, I arrived late but with two unexpected guests I didn't even know. I figured I owed them for driving me there. The best man and Ian arrived a few minutes later. However, most of my New England family wasn't there because Hurricane Isabelle was threatening travel plans. (That darn hurricane never even came close...stupid meteorologist.)

No, I didn't really care about the ceremony of it all until I was standing at the door with my father. In those few seconds I wished I had put more effort into the day. He looked so proud. Frankly, I was almost afraid he was going to shove me down the aisle and say “take her, she's yours now!”

I saw my groom all nervous and red faced and sweating in the Carolina heat. Oh, I forgot to mention we got married in a gazebo outside where only a few hours before a giant wasp nest was hanging so the gazebo had an odd odor to it.

We made it through our vows but I started to crack up at the “and your people shall be my people.” Couldn't the vows have said “and your family shall be my family?” Nope. And all I could picture as I tried to repeat those words was our families dressed in caveman garb and grunting unintelligably. Although, I pictured my brother, Damon, as Tarzan. The picture kept getting ridiculously more absurd in the few seconds it took me to repeat that line.

One chaste kiss later and a rather fast walk back up the aisle into the air conditioned historic house and it dawned on me that I was married. That no matter what happened on the pregnancy front my fears of being alone would never come to fruition. We'd have each other. I may have been defective but he wanted me anyway.

At last, I was truly excited about the future, baby or not.

I didn't realize it then but joining together in marriage meant that we had just given birth to a family of two.

But we wouldn't stay that way for very long....