First of all, I want to say thank you so much to all of you for your very kind words during such a horrible moment in my life. The really do help buoy me up. I am still completely reeling from the news. I still can't get my head around it, and I still can't bring myself to accept it.
The worst part is knowing that I have to wake up in the morning and be reminded of the fact that today wasn't a nightmare. It wasn't a figment of my subconscious imagination manifesting itself in some horrible night vision.
As with all things, there has been some good to come from it. I am astounded at the support system I have in place. Last time I was going through this battle, I was alone. 100% completely alone. I didn't even have my blog back then. This time I have so many wonderful people in real life that have rallied around me and are willing to do anything to help me get through this. In addition to them, I have all of my blog friends who are here to help as well. The outpouring of love and support has been astounding.
My doctor called me back this afternoon at 3:30 on the nose. She told me she had consulted with the fertility doctor and they are ordering a sonohystogram for next Friday. They hope that it will show them just how thin the lining is and how big the gap between the walls of muscle are. If they don't get what they need from the sono, they are going to order up an MRI. The doctor felt that they could perform surgery to close the gap, they just need to know how bad things really are first.
Sounds like good news, right?
I asked what our chances would be if we did the surgery. My doctor told me they would increase dramatically, because as it stands right now, I absolutely, positively should not get pregnant. The baby WILL die, and I could die too. However, she said there is still a 40% chance of a rupture even after the surgery. I thanked her for giving me hope again, but she strongly advised me to talk to my husband about not trying again. How must she feel delivering news like that knowing that some patients will do it at all costs and that she feels a moral obligation to help them even when she doesn't agree with their choices?
DH thinks 40% is pretty shit. I don't think he is comfortable with it. In fact, I know he isn't. However, he is reserving feeling until we talk to the doctor who will perform the surgery and get his opinion on the matter. In the meantime, I am left to my thoughts. Weighing everything, trying to decide what to do. Do I take my chances, or do I face the fact that I may be done having children? I know I can be happy if all I ever have is my daughter, because at least I have her to show for my struggles. I just wish I could give her a sibling for so many reasons. But could she be happy if her mother died trying to give her that sibling? Could I?
I hate this place. I hate being here. I am feeling every negative emotion possible.
I told DH I wish I could point the finger of blame at someone, but I can't because all of the choices that got me to where I am today were mine, with the exception of the removal of the septum. Neither of us chose to have that removed. My doctor just did it. Had he asked me, I would have told him to take it out. Had he asked DH and informed him of the risks of doing so, DH would have told him "Hell no! You leave that damn thing in there!" My husband was seething about it tonight. He yelled about it for a good 15 minutes. That damn septum removal is the whole reason I am where I am. But I can't change it now.
The thing I hate most about being in this place is the unknown. Not knowing if there really is any hope, and if so, how much. I hate feeling forsaken by my instincts. I want to kick my own ass for being so stupid and naive. I knew I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up! I knew it!
Luckily I have a bottle of Val.lium in my cupboard, and I took one to help me sleep tonight. It has just kicked in, which means my thoughts are fading just like I am. I can't wait for tomorrow morning when I get to relive the hell of today.