The Eternal Guest Room

We have an appointment with the OB on Thursday afternoon; as Thursday draws closer the panic sets in. I’ve still been afraid to look too far ahead because I know how many things can go wrong. I hear so many stories of people going in for appointments and finding out that the baby(ies) stopped growing weeks ago. It’s terrifying.

I try to stay busy, I try not to think about it but in the back of my mind I am always thinking “what if?”

I have to admit that having twins terrifies me – but losing one or both is a much scarier thought. It’s incredible how you can get so attached to something so tiny so quickly.

I’m trying not to eat all the chocolate in the house but I’m alone tonight and it’s proving to be a very difficult thing to do.

We walked into the clinic thinking “this may be the last time we ever come here.” Ironically, I had to give them my license and insurance card and sign new papers because they got a new system. I guess I’ll think of it as “new beginnings.”

In a blur we walked to the sono room. She got the wand where it goes, turned on the screen, and said “let’s see…you’ve got one sac…so you’ve got one baby. We’ll just check to make sure there’s only one in there.”

One embryo implanted.

And then split.

We have identical twins.

“Shocked” is an understatement. There was a 3% chance of this happening. This was the one scenario we hadn’t even considered.

I’ve gotten so attached to my little embryos that I thought I would be sad if one didn’t make it; now I’m relieved.

Both babies (babies!) measured at exactly 7 weeks, where I am today. Both babies had good heartbeats – in the 140s. We saw two babies on the screen. Two babies with beating hearts. As she printed photos for us, she placed them on my stomach. “Here’s baby A. And here’s baby B. And here’s both together.”

Baby A was floating in the middle. Baby B was hiding in the corner. The heart beats were very, very obvious.

As awesome and shocking and surreal as it was to get that positive test, this is a thousand times more, for all of those. I can’t even wrap my head around it. Any of it.

After the sonogram we saw the doctor. He came in with a “congratulations!” and then a serious “here’s the bad news.” They didn’t see a dividing membrane between the babies, which means that there’s nothing to keep them separate in there (they are sharing a gestational sac). It might just be too early to see it, but if it never appears, it’s potentially dangerous – the babies could fight for blood & necessities, or they could move around and get tangled in each others’ umbilical cords. Bad news.

So even though we’re thrilled and happy, we’re still somehow in the bad statistics zone. We’re staying positive and hoping that the membrane will show up soon so that we’ll have less to worry about. Obviously with twins there is always concern, but ruling out monoamniotic twins would be lovely. Our first OB appointment is next Thursday and we’re hoping to find out a little more then.

This is finally starting to feel real and exciting and awesome, even with the big “what if” looming over us. For now we choose to be ecstatic, and happy, and hopeful, and believe this is the amazing thing that we’ve waited for for so long.

It’s totally crazy though.

Tomorrow’s the big day. Twenty four hours from now (2:00). The day we find out if this is real. If there’s an actual living, growing baby in there with a heartbeat.

I’m more nervous than I can even say.

It’s been a long 3 weeks. The longest 3 weeks of my life. Much longer than any 2-week wait. I try not to worry but I can’t help it. The whole thing just feels so surreal, seems too good to actually be true. Everything went so almost-perfectly with our IVF cycle that I’m constantly just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know that’s the wrong way to think, but I can’t help it.

My friend keeps telling me that the statistics are on our side – just because we were on the wrong side of the statistics in getting pregnant, doesn’t mean we’ll be on the wrong side for staying pregnant. I know that’s true, but after so many years of failure and disappointment it’s a little hard to truly believe.

If tomorrow goes well I’ll let myself start dreaming and planning. I’ll finally be able to hear someone say “congratulations” without getting a sick, nervous feeling in my stomach. I’ll start believing it’s true.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.