On Our First Sonogram...

In the weeks that followed our positive beta test, I had so many thoughts and emotions going through my heart and mind. I wasn't yet able to share those here, or on my other social feeds, but I wrote them down anyway. It was such an important release for me. Now that the secret is out, I'm ready to share. As always, thank you for reading and for your unending support!

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April 12, 2017

So much has happened since that first sonogram two weeks ago. I’ve meant to write about it every day since, and yet for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to sit down, open my laptop and type. Maybe because it’s all been so overwhelming, and simultaneously surreal.

On March 29, Greg and I drove to our fertility clinic, filled with nervous expectation. Usually we get right in and see the doctor or nurse right away, but this particular day we had to wait. The wait in the lobby and the wait in the exam room, though really not all that long, felt like eternity. While sitting on the exam room table — undressed from the waist down, a sheet over my lap, my legs dangling and feet tapping with anxiety — I joked to my husband, “Are they trying to kill me?”

Finally Dr. Rosenbluth, the same doctor who performed my egg retrieval, came in. As he slid the probe in for the ultrasound, I grasped Greg’s hand. I could already feel the tears coming and I held my breath to stop them from falling. Then, on the screen, I saw a dark space; I knew it was the gestational sac and I silently prayed the doctor would find something inside. He continued to move the probe and suddenly a small blob — that’s the best word I have for it! — appeared inside that dark space. Dr. Rosenbluth, explaining what he was seeing as we were seeing it, told us it was the yolk sac. At that point, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I started to sob. Then I started to laugh. And the whole room did, too. My husband, the doctor, even the nurse standing by, all laughed with me as I dabbed the joyous tears from my eyes and Dr. Rosenbluth exclaimed, “I haven’t even shown you the best part yet!”

We got to see our baby. Our beautiful, tiny miracle. His or her little flickering heart. And then we got to hear it, the most wonderful sound in the world: our baby’s heartbeat. 

There was so much crying, so much laughing. So much joy and relief.

The sonogram happened the day before my 32nd birthday, and seeing our baby was the only present I ever wanted, the only present I wished for.

We left the clinic; I called my parents and Greg called his. Once home, I called my best friend, too. With the important calls made and the good news shared, we decided to go out for a celebratory dinner. 

This is where the story turns into something straight out of a soap opera or Lifetime movie.

Just outside our neighborhood, not even a mile from our house, we got in a car accident. (We were driving in the righthand lane, traveling straight through an intersection, when the car next to us in the left lane, just slightly ahead, decided to turn right — right into us.) In a moment, all our elation was wiped away and replaced with worry and stress. We had to exchange insurance information with the driver, who didn’t even acknowledge what she did wrong. We had to call a tow truck because while the other vehicle was able to leave the scene, my car was un-drivable. We got home, Greg went back out (in his car) to get fast food for dinner (In-N-Out) and then he called our insurance company to get the claims process going. Meanwhile, I sat on the couch worried about how the jolt from the accident, which caused the lap band of the seat belt to tighten suddenly around my abdomen, may have affected the baby.

The rational part of us knew everything was most likely OK. But having been through IVF, pregnancy feels so fragile, and so possibly fleeting. I had to work the next day but I called my clinic in the morning to let them know what happened. My nurse assured me that baby is well protected inside the water-balloon-like gestational sac, which is held securely inside the uterus, which at this point in pregnancy is still small and well shielded by the pelvis. Long story short, this was the best time (at 6 weeks pregnant) to have a car accident. It would be much more worrisome later in pregnancy.

Still, she recommended that I call my new OB to fill them in, too. I followed her advice the next day and the office very graciously offered to squeeze me in for an ultrasound that afternoon to put my mind at ease. (I hadn’t even been in for my first official appointment yet, so this offer was so very much appreciated!) Greg and I waited an hour, and it was technically after closing when the midwife finally came in, but it was worth it: Baby looked just fine. Praise God!

Yesterday, April 11, I was back at the OB’s office (for what was supposed to be my first appointment) and seeing the baby never gets old! I cry (and then laugh at myself) every time. And my sweet husband always has a tissue at the ready. He knows me so well. At 8 weeks and 5 days, Baby Thilgen already looked bigger than at the last sonogram. He or she is only the size of a raspberry this week, and when I’m not feeling incredible fatigue (my main symptom) or nausea, sometimes it is still hard to believe that I’m pregnant. When I’m busy at work or focused on a task, I’ll even forget for a moment. But every morning and night I try to quiet my mind and give thanks for this little life and pray for its continued growth.

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ICYMI: Read about the day we learned we're expecting and waiting for our first sonogram.

(Top image via French Press Mornings)