I’m 20 weeks tomorrow. I have my 20 week OB appointment tomorrow. This is the last doctor’s appointment I had while still pregnant, last time. 20 weeks, and then I didn’t make it to 24. I wish I was less fixated on dates, but it’s hard not to fixate on this one. On all of the ones coming up.
Four weeks from today, I plan to be the most pregnant I have ever been, 23 weeks and 6 days. But in between now and then is a minefield.
20 weeks: My last OB appointment. My last healthy ultrasound. The last time I got to see our baby and feel joy and excitement. The day I started to really relax and enjoy this time.
20 weeks, 5 days: This was the day I woke up with a lot of cramping and pain, followed standard orders to put my feet up, rest, and drink a lot of water. I had no idea this wasn’t just normal pregnancy pain (and no reason to think anything else), but in reality this was probably the beginning of everything. Continued in milder fashion for most of that week.
22 weeks, 2 days: This was the day I had one strong, painful, actual noticeable contraction. I was an idiot and had been led to believe this could be Braxton-Hicks, not actual contractions. Particularly when it didn’t happen again, I thought nothing of it.
22 weeks, 4 days: Probably oh-so-related to the above, this is the day the “copious discharge” began. That I called the nurse about, who told me it was likely normal. Because there still wasn’t really any reason to think anything different. It continued all week, and I felt crappier every day, until…
23 weeks: This was the night I started having contractions, except I had no idea they were contractions. They just felt like cramps. They weren’t.
23 weeks, 1 day: Contractions 25 minutes apart. Called the doctor, and still thought I was overreacting (since I didn’t know they were contractions). This is the day I was hospitalized, told I was already 2 cm dilated and in labor, put upside down on hospital bedrest and on magnesium in a desperate hope to save Amy. This was also the day we named her. And on this day, we still foolishly believed things would be okay, one way or another.
23 weeks, 3 days: The day my water broke. The day we started realizing we might not be bringing her home.
23 weeks, 5 days: The day our daughter was stillborn. The day she was born, the day she died, the day our pregnancy ended. The most pregnant I’ve ever been. 3 weeks and 6 days from now.
If I can just get to 4 weeks from now, maybe I’ll feel like I can breathe, again. Until then, it’s all white knuckles and high hopes and attempts to distract myself with things that don’t matter. And reveling in every single kick, even when they’re uncomfortable, even when they’re distracting, just keep kicking in there, baby.