These last two months have been incredibly eventful. At the end of August, after weeks of wondering and hoping, and a few negative tests, we found out that we were expecting again. Equipped with new knowledge and a positive attitude, Kevin and I were (cautiously) ecstatic. We only shared the news with a few people, because we really just wanted to be sure that everything was going well before we spread the word. I went in a couple of times to check my hCG (the pregnancy hormone) and progesterone levels, to make sure that they were increasing as they should (in the first trimester they should double every 48-72 hours). All appeared to be going well! My progesterone was fairly high, hCG was more than doubling, and overall I was feeling great. In fact, the absence of nausea made me nervous and scared. I was reassured that every pregnancy was different and not to worry and a few weeks later, the nausea came, and then the vomiting. It wasn’t as terrible as it had been last time, so I felt confident.
We finally made it to the 8 week mark and our first ultrasound appointment. Unfortunately, we were not given happy news. After a few silent minutes, my doctor stated that she did not like what she saw and that it looked like I was having a molar pregnancy. I had vaguely read about molar pregnancies on the internet a time or two, but I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. I didn’t ask too many questions because I was so shocked that yet another pregnancy was ending in disappointment instead of a baby. The doctor had my blood drawn to check my hCG levels and let me know that I would have to schedule another D&C. We left the office and waited for the call to schedule the procedure, but instead, we were informed that my levels were not as high as would indicate a complete molar pregnancy. They wanted to make sure there was not a viable pregnancy before continuing with the D&C, so I would need to come back in on Wednesday (today) for a repeat ultrasound. I wasn’t offered a lot of information, because they did not have much else to give me, and was not happy about having to wait another week to figure out what was going on. I didn’t want to have to wonder for another week if I was pregnant or not, much less think about the impending doom of having surgery.