The pain…sneaks up. It’s like it’s a stealthy little varmint that picks the time I can least defend myself. Tonight, I was driving the kids home from an activity…and my thoughts turned to my conversation with my doctor yesterday…
I asked him, “Have you ruled out progesterone deficiency as a cause? I mean, did we stop the injections too soon?” And so he gave me an “introductory” answer, first, in which he assured me how outside the mainstream he is for treating progesterone deficiency during pregnancy at all.
I assured him, “Well, I’m fairly certain if you didn’t treat me for progesterone deficiency all these years and monitored it so closely, I would have miscarried one of my other children.” And, the doctor agreed with me and mentioned going over my records and agreeing with the treatments in the past as well as with the first trimester treatment this time. And he reiterated that some association of OB/GYN had declared it not necessary and he was considered “fringe” — kind of “out there” for being willing to treat it at all. And he also mentioned that there are few studies — like there hardly exists any evidence he can use — to point to the fact that it truly helps. And there’s nothing out there that says it wouldn’t cause birth defects with continued use. And my doctor is nothing, if not cautious and focused on treating and caring for both mom and baby throughout pregnancy.
But…then…then, he said all I probably needed to hear on the topic:
“In the future, if I have an older patient — perhaps someone approaching 40 or in the forties — who has had trouble, I would probably double-check myself before stopping the treatment, or in the very least monitor it closely while stopping the treatments.” (Paraphrasing from my memory)
And it was those words that rang through my ears as I began to cry tonight. It is those words that are causing the tears to resurface. Right now, the thought that we might have stopped treating my progesterone deficiency prematurely, which may have caused me to lose Gregory is breaking my heart all over again.
I’m not naive. We could have continued to treat my progesterone and I may still have lost Gregory. I know that. But right now, knowing how hard we worked to get through the first trimester…God…I would have taken injections for as long as they were needed. I would have. Sure, I complained a bit and honestly, I suffered some skin irritation around the injections sites that made me happy to set the injections aside. But my number had increased — not to the level it increased to when we stopped injections with Vincent…but we thought we should be good in the 2nd trimester.
But…we weren’t, possibly.
I don’t understand why something that has been so helpful to me (progesterone supplementation) is not embraced by the medical community that is supposed to help women save their babies. I find that I dislike it very much that my doctor thinks that he’s a “fringe” doctor simply because he does what he has learned helps to save babies and save mothers from pain like I am experiencing. I know not all miscarriages are due to progesterone deficiency. But I also know many doctors won’t even consider treating progesterone deficiency in pregnancy unless a woman has had a miscarriage before.
There are still many tests out that my doctor hasn’t received the results to yet. He mentioned a couple of genetic blood clotting disorders that he’s awaiting results on. But I pressed him: “But nothing points to me ever having a clot, does it?” and he admitted that was true. With no evidence of a clot, it really doesn’t matter if I have genetic tendencies for clots or not in this case.
So, I’m left with my “advanced maternal age” and my progesterone deficiency. My damn body that won’t make enough of a hormone required to maintain and nourish pregnancy. And now I miss my baby. Now, I start crying on the way home with absolutely no apparent prompt whatsoever.
I’d be angry if I weren’t so freaking sad.