A new perspective

One of the many challenges that people face in life is the difference between expectations and reality. When we are confronted with new information or situations that force us to adjust, reevaluate, or abandon our plans, this can be very painful. Maybe it’s just me. Or maybe it is just that this has happened a lot in the last two years. 

We want a baby. We can’t have one. 

We want to build our family through adoption. We can’t afford that. 

Embryo Adoption looks like a good option. We follow the process and get pregnant- exactly what we wanted! With triplets. Not what we wanted and certainly not what we expected.

Now, please don’t misunderstand me. We are so grateful and we love these growing babies. But, we did not give in to the moment of temporary insanity that gripped me days before our transfer. I wanted to transfer three embryos. I wanted to make sure that we had the highest possible chance of getting a baby. Thankfully my wise husband said no, that the reality of triplets is not something that we wanted and so we should not risk it. And here is the irony, of course. The less than one percent chance of getting triplets when we transferred two embryos did not even factor in to our decision. It could not happen to us. 

Oh, but someone is in that one percent. Never forget that. Those numbers that I clung to so much all through our journey really did matter. Statistics are made of people. 

Lesson learned.

Back to my point. We did not intentionally seek out triplets. We got them as the biggest surprise of our lives. And it is oh-so-complicated. 

We just wanted a baby. What we got was a high-risk pregnancy full of more potential for complications and problems than we could have possibly imagined at that time. This has required yet another huge re-alignment in our thinking and our expectations for the future. And this one is so painful because the overwhelming terror that I feel is mixed in with joy and hope. We could have three beautiful babies. But we have a long, long way to go. It is one day at a time, for sure. 

It is this painful transition between our expectations and our current reality, between our greatest hopes and our worst fears.

And no one can tell me that it will be okay.

Things get a little more complicated

We have live babies. 

There was such joy in this fact that it was almost too much of a shock to process that there is a plural noun at the end of that sentence. 

Speaking of shock, my husband’s face was priceless. And my mother-in-law’s. And the stunned silence and the (more-often-than-not) swearing on the other end of the phone as we shared the news with family. I can picture the big eyes and the round O of the mouth as it hangs open. Classic.

“You’re joking.”

Nope. Not even a little.  We are unequivocally having triplets. Five ultrasounds have already been done since we found out.

Yes, five.

From the moment that Dr. Slater’s office confirmed triplets, my care was transferred to Maternal Fetal Medicine in Boise. There isn’t a doctor in Twin who would even be willing to see me. We needed a specialist I was told. A high-risk doctor. We would be monitored very closely from that moment on.

“A Maternal Fetal Medicine (MFM) specialist is an obstetrician/gynecologist who deals with high-risk pregnancies or special problem pregnancies. MFM specialists have completed additional formal training and have advanced knowledge of the medical, genetic, surgical, and obstetrical complications that can occur during pregnancy.”

It was explained to us that I would need to go to Boise every two weeks for an OB appointment and ultrasound to monitor the growth and progress of the triplets. My first visit with the MFM office and my new doctor, Dr. Seyb, lasted three hours. They were and continue to be very thorough. Dr. Seyb is patient and kind, but refuses to be a fortune teller and speculate about possible dire outcomes. 

They keep telling me that it is still early in my pregnancy. This is so hard to hear when we have been doing all of this since April. 

Some days it is hard. But, to quote a friend, "What a beautiful problem to have."

Ultrasound

My mother-in-law offered to drive us to Boise, which was really nice. I had intentionally scheduled the visit after school got out so that Brian could come too.

We were worried that we had a dead baby or a miscarriage, but I still felt like puking all the time so maybe that was a good sign? We ran endless scenarios of how this ultrasound would play out.

We went to the clinic and got set up. I was once again in the stirrups, but this time the stakes seemed so much higher. Then the ultrasound tech did that thing that freaks you out: she started scanning and then switched screens suddenly, clicking lots of buttons and looking concerned.

“Can we tell is something is wrong?”

“Well... let me tell you what I see.”

“Here are the two embryos that you implanted (TWO!!!). And here is where one of them split. These are identical twins and this other one is a fraternal. There are three.”

THREE.

As in, triplets. 

Tres.      Trois.    Tri.         Tre.       III. 

…

The Hardest Night

A few days prior to our first ultrasound I started spotting late one evening. I had very painful cramps and then I started bleeding. 

And crying.

We were terrified. We called the clinic’s emergency number and phoned a medical friend. I stayed on the couch, drank a lot of liquids, and tried to relax. Yeah right.

They told us that if I started bleeding heavily to go to the ER immediately to make sure that I did not have an ectopic pregnancy. A small chance apparently, but one that could cause me to bleed to death. If I continued to have bleeding or cramping I should go in to the ER to have an ultrasound. If not, I just needed to take it easy and wait the few days until our appointment at the clinic.

I took it easy and the bleeding stopped. But we were scared. It was a long night and an even longer few days.

Oh, the sickness

Almost immediately after transfer, and especially during the bout with cellulitis, I was exhausted all the time. I was still teaching of course, and the end of the year is always tiring anyway. But I felt like I got hit by a bus. And then backed over. Again. And again. 

I was too tired to cook, to clean, to function. At the end of the school day, it was all I could do not to sob from sheer exhaustion. 

Well, maybe I did that too. My poor husband. Where was the glowing, happy pregnant lady? Yeah, she is passed out on the couch. 

The other wonderful realities of pregnancy had also hit me. I had to pee all the time. Oh my goodness! I thought that happened waaaaayyy later! Like third trimester there is a kid stomping on your bladder of course you have to pee all the time! I usually sleep like the dead, but suddenly I am awake three times a night to use the bathroom. 

On a more painful note, my breasts became two objects whose sole purpose in life was to make me miserable. Even gravity hurts. 

Whine. I know.

At six weeks along, I almost instantly traded tired for nauseous. I still felt tired sometimes, but the extreme fatigue had faded away and given leave to something much worse. Food became the enemy. Eating sounded horrible, but if I got hungry, I started to throw up.

Lovely. 

We ate out a lot for those two weeks at the end of the school year. The idea of cooking food made me feel wretched, but I needed to eat something. One day one thing sounded good, but the next day it was something different. 

I am still struggling. Some days I am throwing up all the time, food or not. 

My pharmacist told me something funny: He said that he would rather be in pain than feel nauseous. He said he would rather snap his femur in half than feel nauseous for months on end. 

That’s one way to put it.