Today I am 16 weeks pregnant. I should be joyous, excited, THRILLED by this gift of life growing inside of me. I should be posting pictures of my belly and quips about my cravings on facebook. In short, I should be happy. So, why can't I be happy? Why am I SO incredibly sad and anxious during this blessed time in my life? I'll tell you why.
My history with pregnancy has been all about loss, sadness, never-ending grief, depression, anxiety, frustrations, broken faith, losing sight of who I used to be and generally just coming to a place in my life where I truly believed my time would never come. I feel weak when I write this, since I know my 2 miscarriages are really not that bad compared to what many women in this horrible club have had to endure on their personal journeys to motherhood. But for me, it has been enough to completely shatter any hope I might have had for every having a "happy" pregnancy. I am a broken woman unable to trust this body of mine, scared to trust God, and stuck in a cycle of bitterness towards every woman who seemingly has her children handed to her on a silver platter without ever having to know what loss and infertility can do to the female soul.
Mostly though, I feel two things: scared (terrified, actually) and sad (heartbroken is more like it). I am terrified every single waking second that the baby inside of me has died, and that kills me. But really, I know nothing else when it comes to pregnancy. For me, babies start growing in my womb, and then one day with no explanation, their little hearts just up and stop. And historically, when this happens, my dysfunctional body doesn't even do its job and give me signs that something is wrong. Oh no, my body just keeps on acting pregnant until whenever I get my next ultrasound. This experience of having missed miscarriages has apparently scarred me for life. Not only can I not trust my body to house and nurture a baby properly, but I also can't trust it to TELL me if something is wrong. What this does is leave me in a perpetual state of panic and anxiety that while my child is still with me physically, it is no longer actually ALIVE inside of me. And that will really mess with your head, let me tell you.
To "help" with this issue, my husband and I thought it would be a good idea to rent a fetal doppler monitor online, essentially allowing us to check the baby's heart tones any time we (I) feel scared. This has been both a blessing and curse: at times it really HAS worked to reassure me that all is well.
And then there was today.
Today I woke up part-way through out week-long vacation in the UP and I was in a panic. I couldn't explain it, I just felt ANXIOUS. I stayed in bed a while just praying that God would help me with these feelings I seem to grapple with daily, but then finally got up to start our day. After breakfast, we (I) decided to just try the doppler "quickly" to put our minds at ease. Well, this time, we couldn't for the life of us hear anything other than my own heart beat. We tried again and again, and each time, nothing. Phil was ready to drive back home so we could see our OB, but instead we settled on going back to Marquette, which was the nearest hospital. A quick trip the ER, and we could once again breathe a sigh of relief that at least for today, our baby is still alive and kicking.The nurse had trouble finding the tones too, but eventually she did, handing us each the headphones so we could hear for ourselves. She said the baby was moving around a lot, so it was hard to keep the heart tones steady. I imagine the baby was pissed by how much we were bombarding it all morning with those invasive doppler sound waves, so it was swimming around angrily, trying to give us the hint to stop bothering it. Did I feel silly for taking a trip to the ER? Of course. But I also felt such relief that at least for today, that little one still has a beating heart.
This is the hardest thing I have ever been through, aside from the miscarriages themselves, and this has really surprised me. Getting and staying pregnant is ALL I have wanted for the last 2.5 years, so now that I have achieved that, I should feel relieved, right? Well, I seem unable to "let go" and believe this baby could actually live. I just can't do it. I am stuck in this scared, sad place, and I guess I need to buckle down and just ride it out for the next 5 months... which really doesn't sound too pleasant, to be honest. But PLEASE, don't get me wrong. I will gladly suffer some anxiety and depression if it means we'll actually finally get to bring home our baby at the end. It's such a small price to pay, I know. I'm sorry to sound so ungrateful...
Really, I haven't even touched on my other constant emotional companion yet, sadness. Oh, but it's there too. It's there in my tears when I wish I could be a carefree pregnant lady, just enjoying these final months alone with my husband. It's there in my grief over the 2 babies I have lost already, which contrary to the wishes of those around me, hasn't just disappeared (I will always miss those little lives I never got to meet, though I know the pain will continue to ease with time). It's there in the realization that this is not what pregnancy should be like. It's in the rock of bitterness I swallow every time I read a blissfully ignorant woman's post on facebook about her pregnancy and how excited she is (and that bitterness really deserves its own post, b/c it's another constant struggle for me, and one I am not proud of). I look at these women, many of them friends, who are on to their 2nd blissful pregnancy since we first started this whole journey, and it is literally impossible for me to be happy for them. Instead, I feel jealousy, anger and yes, even hatred at times. I hate them for not having to know this pain and sadness. I hate them for getting to keep their baby #1, knowing they will also get to keep baby #2, while I'm on baby #3 and still don't believe I'll actually get to bring this baby home at the end. I hate them for getting to just BELIEVE the lives they create with their husbands will actually be born in 9 months time, without ever once having to worry that maybe this baby will die too, just like the others. I hate them for just getting to decide "the time is right" for baby #1, 2, 3 or whatever, and then getting to space them out perfectly b/c as soon as they try, they're pregnant. Just like that. No cycle charting, OPK's, shots, pills, follicle studies or even prayers needed. They just decide they're ready for a baby and then it magically happens. And I hate them for it.
Here's the thing though: I don't actually HATE them, although it feels like I do (and certainly sounds like I do if you were to hear me comment to my husband about their facebook posts). I think what I really hate is something else, and I haven't really put my finger on what it is yet. Myself and my broken body? Sure. God? Unfortunately, I've struggled with hating him too. Fate? I don't know. Call it what you want, I just flat out HATE that this is my life and that this is what I have become. I just want to be a mom, and I don't want it to be so damn hard. But that's stupid to even say, because, well, it IS hard. And you know what? If we bring home a baby in December, it will all be worth it.
I feel better already for just getting this OUT. I need to get back to writing more, and since no one reads this, maybe this is the way to do it...
