October 15 was National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. It’s a day that kind of sneaks up on me yearly and takes the wind out of my sails. Some years more so than others. This post has been percolating for a while now. I’ve ummed and ahhed. Started and stopped. But with posts like this, there always comes a time when you just know you’re ready to write and share. No matter how many time I have to write it and no matter how difficult.
Before I go on, I want to make it make it clear that this may be a trigger for others who have had losses and are feeling particularly tender and that it is *my* truth (yea, I hate that term, too, however it is what it is). We each have our own story and I hope you can respect what I am about to share with you because it comes from a place of vulnerability.
It’s no secret that I would have a fourth baby if that guy I call my husband would only come around. However, unlike so many things where he changes his mind or can be sweet talked, this issue he has been steadfast on. And, you come to a point of acceptance, where you see his way of thinking not as dream crushing but as the logical reality they are. Add to that a self imposed ‘rule’ to not have children after 30 and a recent 30th birthday and you’ve got yourself a shift that means you can get on with your life.
Except when you can’t.
When I first found myself wondering if I could possibly be pregnant it was a tiny, niggling thought. A tug here, a pull there. I took a moment before shaking it off. Impossible, I thought. A week or two later, my hips were loose and I couldn’t make it through the night without needing to use the toilet. I’ve been here before, I know what these things mean but I pretended there was nothing to worry about, all the while finding myself constantly thinking ‘Please don’t let me be pregnant. I can’t be pregnant. Please just be a false alarm’. A real panic took hold, I looked at our circumstances – money, living arrangements, car situation, my mental stability and James’ insistence that he didn’t want anymore babies and I freaked.
Yet, in amongst all the logic and fear of another pregnancy and birth, a little part of me fearing that I wasn’t actually pregnant at all. A little flicker of hope ignited. After all, I was still that same woman who so desperately wanted a fourth baby.
For a time there was a bizarre overlap of this back and forth knowing but not, wanting but fearing until it just was. I accepted how I was feeling – the nausea, the exhaustion, the loose hips. All the signs were there. And I let myself really feel how I felt. James even propped his arm on my belly and said “You look pregnant” (my belly does this weird pop-out from under my boobs pretty early on in pregnancy) which paved the way for me to admit that I thought I might be.
Surprise pregnancies are somewhat terrifying. So many conflicting emotions. But, for me there always comes a time of excitement, acceptance and immersion.
So, I finally took a test. It was positive.
That day I started spotting.
I told myself that was normal. I had spotting early on in all three (full term) pregnancies.
Unfortunately, it was not normal and I was soon experiencing the worst pains. It might now have been my first miscarriage but it was certainly my worst. Amongst the heavy bleeding and the doubled-over-unable-to-walk-straight pain there was so much guilt and inner turmoil – not to mention pure devastation.
It’s a funny thing. Coming to love a tiny little inkling, even while thinking it might be the last thing you want. As I went through the physical experience I found myself mentally in a dark place. Knowing the thoughts I had I couldn’t help thinking that those moments of anguish; thinking I couldn’t do another pregnancy, birth and newborn stage because of so many stupid reasons like money and sanity and car seats were directly responsible for what I was experiencing. ‘If only I had never wished to not be pregnant’ was my thought so often, followed by ‘If only this desperate thought could cancel the others’. Because, really, I only didn’t want to be pregnant if I actually wasn’t already so. I don’t know if that will make sense to you guys.
I wished I had just been happy I can get pregnant from that first moment. Been grateful for what I had. Then, maybe all would be fine?
There was so much pain for so long that I ended up being checked for ‘retained product of conception’. Charming, right? I got the all clear, thankfully, but that was just more worry on top of anxiety on top of the whole situation.
Then, to top it all off, I logged onto facebook to find one of my friends announcing their pregnancy. We were at exactly the same point, except that we were moving in different directions. It has been tough, following her journey as her baby grows, discovering the sex and plans for the arrival.
Around National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day you hear ‘a loss is a loss’ a lot and it’s so true. It doesn’t matter how far along you are or how many times you’ve been through it before, it still rips you apart. I hate the silence which surrounds miscarriage, yet I can’t talk about it. I don’t really want to, but I do want to let others out there know they’re not alone. Each story is different and personal but there is a sisterhood out there who have been there to their own extent and, that’s why I needed to write this. I spent many nights searching, trying to feel a little less alone but there is not a whole lot out there. Every story breaks that silence just a little and maybe someone will find something here to help them in some way.
I’m still healing. Still broken. Still wondering. But, getting there.
Linking up with Jess for #ibot
