Well….it ain’t for sissies, that’s for sure. (So, yeah – I sort of butchered the late great Bette Davis’s oh so wise words about aging to fit this post…and I would apologize, but it totally works, so I’m sticking by it. :P)
I thought that experiencing infertility (and recurrent losses) would be the hardest thing I would ever have to live through.
And it was.
Until now, that is.
Being pregnant again, after having gone through all of that, is a new kind of scary that I don’t even know how to begin to describe. Each day lasts so much longer than it did before – minutes feel like hours, and that’s because I have a very important finish line to not only make it to, but to cross. Every day that passes, is a day closer to that end….but man, is time dragging.
It’s been over 3 years since our last loss. All of our losses were difficult, of course – but that last one hit my husband and I hard. We had seen a heartbeat. We were filled with hope because the odds seemed to finally be in our favour. When that leaves you, it’s absolutely devastating.
During the years that followed, we began to lose faith that this would happen for us. I think that’s only natural. We told ourselves we were still “trying”, but not TRYING trying. If it happens, it happens, and we’ll deal with it then – but we weren’t actively working at it. I don’t think we could bear the vulnerability that comes with admitting that you really want something, and working hard to get it (only to be let down again), so we kept our hearts safe by not really trying.
I can’t speak for my husband, but I know a big part of me did NOT want to get pregnant again, even though I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. (explain that!) I was am terrified to go through all of this again, because I honestly don’t know if the shattered pieces of me will come together one more time if this falls apart. I am already so patched together as it is – if I fall apart again, will that just be it for me? Will I forever be in pieces? Those thoughts scare me, so ontop of not really trying…I think I unconsciously began to sabotage our efforts by avoiding intimacy, picking fights, and not addressing the health concerns I have.
I know it doesn’t make sense to fight against something that you desperately want….but it also doesn’t make sense to willingly walk into what feels like a hungry den of lions wearing only a dress made of meat (a la Lady Gaga). This was the rock and the hard place I found myself between.
The odds are, and have seemingly always been, against us. We fit into some pretty ugly statistical boxes – too old, too fat, too many losses, no full term pregnancies, years of infertility, health issues, etc. etc……our track record for trying is 0 for 5. If I was a professional athlete, my team would have dropped me years ago.
When I took the pregnancy test, I wasn’t expecting to see anything. It’s not safe to want that. It hurts too much.
When there was a second (faint) line, I convinced myself that it wasn’t actually a pregnancy test. It was an ovulation test! That’s why there’s a line. I really believed it, too, and that felt like a relief….though I knew I needed to check again, just in case.
The positive test is only the beginning.
Eventually, once I realized that it was a true positive (I ran out and got two more tests, to be sure)- I instantly decided “fear be damned! I want to celebrate this!”. I announced my pregnancy for the first time ever, to my husband. I thought of something cute to do. I wrote him a letter from baby, and put the two tests with the letter. And then fear set in.
Why am I making such a big deal of this? What if it doesn’t work. What if I’m getting his hopes up for nothing? I pushed the thoughts aside, and moved forward anyway.
We announced to family and friends. My sister in law got excited, and had our niece and nephew facetime us for the “good news”! I instantly felt uneasy. I couldn’t tell the kids. I made my husband do it, while I held the ipad. The what ifs began swirling again….and I pushed them down, because we need move forward. We need to be positive.
We let ourselves talk about the future. What do you think baby will look like? Boy or Girl? Names? …..and then just as quickly, we shut it down. That line of conversation is too scary. Too hopeful. We don’t want to get carried away.
Our first ultrasound: There’s baby on the screen – and oh look. A heartbeat. We were elated, thrilled, hopeful. And then we remembered that we’ve been here before. That tree looks familiar.
My first maternity purchase: I had to buy some maternity pants (you know, the ones with the big stretchy elastic panel) to accommodate my ever-expanding waistline, which is a first for me. A tab sat open on my computer for weeks, with three lonely pairs of pants sitting in an online shopping cart. I couldn’t even think about buying them. When my pants finally stopped fitting, and I hit “confirm” on the purchase, my loss brain piped up: “What a waste of money – those will be a sad reminder, sitting on your shelf after you lose the baby”. It’s like having a bully inside your head 24 hours a day.
Every trip to the bathroom (which is a lot, these days), my heart stops while I hold my breath and force myself to look at the toilet paper. I am checking for blood. I am waiting for it, honestly. Every time it’s not there, I am so overcome with gratitude that I actually tear up and cast my eyes skyward for a moment to thank the universe for granting me one more day with my baby.
Every day is like this.
This is what being pregnant after a loss is like. It tries to steal your joy. It puts doubt into your head. It robs that naive, blissful, completely innocent: “I’m pregnant and everything will work out” mindset from you, because unfortunately you know all too well what can go wrong. It makes you want to separate yourself from the experience to protect yourself from the potential pain. And it alienates you from other expectant moms – the ones who don’t understand what it’s like for you. It leaves you feeling caught between loss and pregnancy, with one foot on each side.
It is a constant battle between wanting to be happy, and wanting to protect yourself. If you want joy (and you will want it) – you will have to fight for it. Over and over again. And it’s exhausting.
No, being pregnant after a loss is definitely not easy….but what other choice do I have but to go forward? Staying here isn’t an option.
GLA:D 