Saturday, 27 February 2010

too much, and not enough.

i know too much, and not enough.

i know that i'm not guaranteed a free pass next time. just because i've lost one baby, that doesn't protect me from losing another. statistics don't work like that.

i know that even if i get to 40 weeks of pregnancy with everything ok, it's still not guaranteed that i will get to take home a living baby.

i know how fragile life can be. i know how much of a miracle it is, that any single one of us lives.

i know that i will never be able to blindly assume that everything will be ok again.

i know that my husband will not believe that any baby we conceive is real until we get to take it home. alive. this, from the man who said we had to buy a new and safer car for the baby within weeks of finding out i was pregnant, that bought one when i was just ten weeks pregnant. that makes me so indescribably sad.

i know that every month i don't get pregnant, my chance of walking through this hell again increases, just a little.

i know that it doesn't matter if your birth plan comes true if you get a healthy living child at the end of it. that if you planned a natural birth and get a section, but it saves your baby's life and means you get to take home a living child, then that's cause for celebration. not despair that your dream of a perfect birth was taken away.

i know that it's possible (not likely, but possible) that right now, any child we conceive is guaranteed to die. it's possible that because of our combination of genes, we might not be able to conceive a child who will live without some kind of treatment. and i know that if that's the case, we may have to lose another two children - babies we might see living on a scan who go on to die - before our losses are investigated.

i don't know whether i will be strong enough to keep trying if that is what happens.

i don't know whether i will ever be the girl who's the first to ask to hold a newborn (or, indeed, any baby) again.

i don't know if i will ever be able to look at a pregnant woman without my heart breaking, just a little. without wondering if she knows that her heart could still be broken.

i don't know whether i will ever be able to ask a pregnant woman about her pregnancy, about her plans for her baby, about whether she can feel the baby move, again.

i don't know if i will be able to see my best friend before the summer. i don't know if i will be able to sit and talk to her, knowing that by this stage of her pregnancy, she will be feeling her baby moving around inside her. i don't know if i will be able to sit with her, knowing that. not knowing whether i will ever experience that myself.

i don't know if holding someone else's child will ever be a pleasant, uncomplicated experience again.

i don't know whether a loss at before 12 weeks would hurt less. or whether it would hurt more, on top of a wound that may never really heal.

i don't know why our baby died. i might never know.

i don't know whether i am capable of giving birth to a child who is destined to survive.

i don't know whether i will ever get to take a baby home.

i don't know whether i will ever stop crying for the baby i lost.

i don't know whether i want to.

5 comments:

Catherine W said...

Oh B. Sadly there are no free passes, no guarantees, there is no way for us to second guess the future. There is no way back, back to that innocence and joy in pregnancy and babies.

But I'm hopeful for you.

And I'm so sorry that you lost your sweet baby. xo

Jorgelina said...

I know it's no consolation and I know you can't compare grief. But maybe there actually is hope...? My mom and dad struggled to conceive me, my mom wouldn't become pregant - I'm 34, so it was a long long time ago - and she went through many harsh treatments and finally got pregnant with me. Two years later she became pregnant again of my sister Luciana. And then again...but this time she lost the baby. I must've been...hmmm...4 years old, maybe, and all I remember is my mom being really sad and in bed a lot. We'd keep her company in bed. I don't know how far she was, she never talks about it and we never really asked. Two years after that, she got pregnant again of Virginia...and then again of VerĂ³nica.
We are 4 sisters. There's two years between each of us...except between number 2 and 3 where a brother or sister existed for a while.
I think you need to allow nature to flow...I am really sorry you lost your baby and that this is so hard! I hope your fears are unfounded and that soon you get pregnant with a beautiful, healthy baby.
Please take really good care and give it time. You are in my thoughts. ♥

Fiona said...

Your grief feels so strong just now. It's good that you are writing, you need to let yourself feel exactly how you want to feel. You need to be angry, you need to be scared. You are so allowed to feel the way you do.
It must seem the odds are so stacked against you. My best friend has had four pregnancies. She lost her beautiful firstborn daughter at 21weeks due to a rare fetal abnormality. Her second daughter is alive and well and a gorgeous playmate for my girl. Her third pregnancy was also lost for a very rare and different reason. She worked out the odds of both happenening to her were millions to one. She now finally had a beautiful baby boy, at the same time as my own son. So much heartache, but two amazing children, and two wee souls to remember.
There are happy endings.

biojen said...

The uncertainty is hard. All I can think of to say is to keep breathing, in and out, and keep telling yourself you will get through this, no matter how it ends. I'm hoping so hard for you. Take care of yourself and keep writing.

B said...

thank you all so much.

you all leave these beautifully written, well thought out comments. and all i can think of to say in return is 'thank you'.

i hope you all know that it is meant from my heart. your comments make me cry, but in a good way.