35+5

35+5. That is the gestation that I found out Stella & Joy had passed. The day I learned that my daughters had no heartbeats. The day my life changed. The day my world shattered. Now, at 34 weeks, I find myself hyper-aware of everything around me. As 35+5 draws closer, my anxiety is peaking and I struggle just to make it through each day.

Everyday I carry with me the guilt I harbor for losing my daughters. They were inside of me. I was their protector. My only job was to take care of them and bring them safely into this world, and I failed. No matter what anyone says or tells me, that guilt will always be there. I should have known something was wrong. I should have known something changed. I missed something. I thought I felt movement that day, but I look back and I can’t remember.

One question I hate, even thought I know people mean well, is “how’s the baby?” The truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know how Oliver is doing except for the moments I can physically see him on an ultrasound screen. I think he is doing well. I think he is growing, and “breathing”, and getting ready for his arrival, but I also thought Stella & Joy were doing well. I thought they were okay and everything was going great. I do not trust my judgement. As much as I want to believe I will get my happy ending, there is still a part of me that is bracing for the worst. Bracing for my world to shatter once again.

With Oliver, I am acutely aware of every movement, every change, every pattern. I do my daily kick counts, I take mental notes of when he moves, what I am doing before and after he moves, and what his movements feel like. With this pregnancy, I refuse to miss something, but I still fear that I will. I have gone to the hospital three times now for decreased fetal movement. The first time was at 3 am. I woke up in a a panic that I hadn’t felt him move all day or night. Zach was in New York so I called my parents, trying to hold it together, and asked them to take me to the hospital. In my mind, I already accepted that Oliver was gone. I had failed once again. I went to labor and delivery, ready to be told just that. Instead, I was met with caring nurses who hooked me up to monitors and did an ultrasound, showing me that he was in fact okay. This happened two more times. Each time I had convinced myself something was wrong. Each time I prepared myself for the worst. Each time I was wrong and Oliver was still alive. Each time I went home, still pregnant, still growing life.

In addition to my unscheduled trips to the hospital, I am also doing non-stress tests (NSTs) twice a week. It was at a routine NST that I was told Stella & Joy’s hearts had stopped. The feeling I get when Oliver’s heartbeat is first picked up on the monitor is a sense of relief like nothing I can describe. The first three went off without a hitch. He moved and wiggled around, showed periods of acceleration and deceleration in his heart-rate just like he was supposed to, and I was sent on my way. At the fourth appointment, however, it was different. His reading just did look the same as it had before. His movement seemed to be less to me. Instead of the normal ~30 minutes on the monitor, it was over an hour. Of course, I began to panic. His heart was beating and I was feeling him move, but it just was’t the same as it had been. Of course, I assumed the worst. In that moment, I knew he was still alive, but I also knew just how quick everything could change. I just couldn’t leave until the doctor came in and reassured me that everything was okay. Even then, I couldn’t shake that feeling that something would go wrong, but I had no choice but to leave and go to work as scheduled. I still worried that something was going to go wrong. I don’t know that I will ever be able to shake the feeling that something is going to go wrong…

These last weeks before Oliver comes are not going to get any easier. The closer I get to 35+5, the more anxious and nervous and emotional I get. I don’t even know how I will cope when I pass that point. The death of my daughters is by far the hardest thing I have experienced. This pregnancy, a pregnancy after loss, is a close second. I can’t wait to hold my son. To see him and touch him and just watch him live. I anxiously await his arrival, as I try to maintain a sense of normalcy and calm. I hold on to the hope that this will be my happy ending. Oliver will come, healthy and alive.