There are so sooooo many other things I'd rather write about like how we installed a new dog door and the dummies don't know how to use it, or how I've unfortunately lost my ability to drink anything alcoholic for more than 3 glasses, but this one has been weighing on my mind lately.
Last year in October, my life was turned upside down for a while. After three very long years of trying for a baby, we got pregnant. I called and told everyone, shouted it from the rooftops, let the book of Faces know we finally did it. We finally made a baby! I was pregnant, I was going to be a mom finally. We were elated, relieved and ready to take on our next chapter. I told everyone because other people I know announced it as soon as they got that positive test and had beautiful babies to show and I finally got to be part of the club. My world felt complete.
And then the cramping started a week later. And then I wasn't pregnant. And I had to tell everyone that my body couldn't support a baby. It made me sick. Having a miscarriage wasn't even within my realm of possibility. Unfathomable. No one really talks about it.
I shouldn't say the next one was easier. But it kind of was. The doctors had finally gotten my autoimmune disorder under control and had given us the okay to start trying. Another positive pregnancy test only this time, I didn't shout it from the roof. I kept it to myself. Didn't want that mud on my face a second time or to get my hopes up. And that's when I learned what a chemical pregnancy was.
The one after that was easier too. I've learned that positive pregnancy tests don't always mean you'll have a baby. Sometimes, you'll get a positive then two days later it's negative. You move forward.
Then August. Two positive pregnancy tests. Oreos tasted awful, my favorite Swedish Fish tasted awful. Tired. Cranky. Sore boobs and sobbing at stupid things...like the first episode of Stranger Things where the kid with the lisp offers pizza to his friend's sister, then she slams the door in his face. "Why did she do that? He just wanted to be sweet. He has a lisp! LET HIM LOVE YOU!" And on Ripper Street where the good guy is in love with the prostitute and she's all "You're a really great friend." Ugly crying about how unfair it was to him because he bought her birds. The only thing I want to eat is popsicles and Top Ramen. Tried calling the doctors because I know there has to be something they can do. We just bought a house, settled in. Happy. This one needs to stick. We deserve it.
But it doesn't stick. My track record isn't awesome, to say the least.
Then last month, I had an appointment to get a referral to a reproductive endocrinologist and a specialized OBGYN. The doctor asked my history and I tried to keep it together, but I didn't do a very good job. He said "I'm so sorry for your losses."
And right then, it made it real. Real life. Real babies. Real losses. I sobbed the ugly cry the whole way home. And more when I got home and threw myself into my bed because sometimes you need to do that. Someone that wasn't related to me acknowledged my losses and suddenly they were real. Not that they weren't real before, but now they were really real and happened to me, to us.
I used to think that continually getting negative tests for three years was the worst. Why couldn't I get one positive?
Ask and you shall receive...I suppose. I guess I should have been careful what I wished for. Positive tests don't always equate to a baby for everyone.
Some of my beautiful friends lit candles on the 15th for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness day. I usually try not to get wrapped up in these kinds of things. Keep pushing forward. It brought tears to my eyes. The kind words of strangers and friends alike, acknowledging our losses we don't talk about. I've started to talk about it, in hopes it will make me feel better. Like maybe if I'm nonchalant, it won't hurt as much...but there are so many women who suffer in silence because miscarriage is a taboo thing to talk about for a lot of people. Don't. Don't stay silent. Reach out. Talk to me if you have no one else...or you feel like no one understands.
I've never been the person who's needed support...but I do lately. I'm a part of support groups on Facebook, I have my select people I reach out to to talk about how unfair life is sometimes and I try my best not to dwell because what's done is done and there's no undoing it. It just....is. And sometimes when I get so upset and want to scream, I quietly remind myself and others that "Their path is not your path. No two paths are alike so there's no point in comparison. You'll get to where you're going one way or another."
Anyways, I suppose that's it for today.
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