I had really hoped that we would be announcing some great news to you all very soon… Instead, Paddy and I have found ourselves in the same place we were a year ago, and oh boy does it SUCK. Still. Again.
Just 6 weeks ago, we were giddy when we finally saw a positive pregnancy test- after almost a year of trying, my patience was running really thin. We started the doctor’s visits, researched diets, put most of our tax return onto debt reduction (like good responsible adults), and essentially held our breaths. After last year’s miscarriage, our joy and excitement was tempered with a fair bit of fear. I tried to comfort myself with the statistic that 1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage: surely, since we had already experienced one, this time the odds would be more in our favour. But I just couldn’t bring myself to get properly excited- nothing close to the unbridled joy I experienced last time. I was even too scared to really start a new pregnancy time-lapse photo project. The nagging fear that this was all too good to be true just wouldn’t be silenced. I hoped that once we were safely through the first trimester I could start actually believing that we were really going to have a baby.
But even with our apprehension it was impossible not to dream a little, and, in spite of ourselves, we started to hope. We thought about when would be best to start looking for a bigger place, we discussed how a little one would affect my plans to open a business, we thought about the coolest ways to break the news to our family and friends, and all the geeky things our child would just have to have.
Which made last week’s discovery just as devastating as last time. Once again, we are losing this pregnancy, our baby. I thought with all my worrying I might be better prepared mentally this time … But then the technician showed me a heartbeat on the ultrasound monitor and all my defences disappeared. Last time they couldn’t find a heartbeat, and that was my big fear here: no heartbeat, no life. But there it was, flickering on the screen, a beat that seemed to pulsate through the whole teeny adorable little body. So I can’t imagine why this is still happening to me. To us. Again. What went wrong? Why can’t that little heartbeat just stay put and keep growing? It’s so hard not to lay blame- to try and figure out what I could have done wrong: is it because I have a history of cysts, is it my thyroid deficiency, is my job too physical? I want there to be a reason, even if it is my fault, just so it can be dealt with or fixed, so that next time we don’t have to suffer through this horrible roller coaster.
We’re devastated. We’re frustrated. Quite frankly, we’re rather pissed off. So for us, this past weekend has been a whole lot of comfort food, movies, video games and cuddles on the couch… With significantly more profanity than is normal in our house.
But a new week is forcing us to face the inevitable reality of life: I have the week off from work, but Paddy’s back to his job, and we’re making the necessary (and much less exciting) doctor’s appointments, including a couple of specialists who might be able to help determine if it’s just bad luck or if there’s anything we can do to improve our chances next time. And as the physical part of this ordeal ends, it’s time to start dealing with that pesky emotional aspect. I’ll be honest, right now a lot of it is just going through the motions – faking feeling human just so I don’t sink into my comfy corner of the couch under a pile of blankets and never leave. Yesterday’s big adventure was a trip to the laundromat and after a job interview this morning (yup, left the house in proper clothes and even had adult conversations!), I actually managed to sweep the floor and tidy the kitchen. Tomorrow I’m hoping to whet my creative whistle with some photo editing – the more distraction, the better, I imagine.
It will of course, take time for us to fully recover from this, but we’re doing better than we were last time. And that’s a start.