Once we decided we were ready to have children, I got pregnant pretty easily. The day I took the pregnancy test I ran around shrieking for joy. Life seemed to be working out just perfectly. Eight weeks later however, I was devastated when the spotting turned to bleeding and everything I had begun envisioning for our future was lost. I never expected anything like that to happen to me. I was supposed to be a mom. I was supposed to be the one that had lots of kids and loved it. How could this happen to me? The shock warred with sadness and anger. I was an emotional wreck. I didn't want anyone to comfort me. I cried when I was alone and no one could see. Every story people told of their miscarriages only fueled my unhappiness. After all, they all had children now an most of them acted as though the miscarriage was no big deal. It felt like a big deal to me. I missed my baby. I wanted it.
I did research to find every possible cause to make sure I hadn't done something wrong. I found that most women have at least one miscarriage and chances of two in a row are very small. I used that to comfort myself and after a time I began to be able to breathe again.
Two months later we decided to try again and we were again very successful in getting pregnant. This time however, I couldn't allow myself to get as emotionally involved. I had a wall up, "just in case." I was so scared of a repeat that I kept myself distant from the pregnancy, from my spouse, from everything. Whether good or bad, I feel that that behavior was the only thing that saved me when a repeat started to happen. The morning sickness abruptly stopped and I could feel the pattern repeating. Again at about eight weeks, I lost my baby.
I was convinced I never wanted to try again but luckily my husband was very strong and convinced me I was too. I found a doctor in Utah that specializes in hormones. By this time I had an idea that I lacked progesterone. She took several months to get in to and a couple days before my appointment, I discovered I was again pregnant. She prescribed some progesterone for me immediately and I tentatively stepped into the next potential heart break.
At points early in the pregnancy, I even convinced myself I didn't want a child. I believe I was preparing myself to lose it. I even told my husband that if we lost this one it was "three strikes you're out" and I wouldn't try again.
The symptoms I had had with the first two pregnancies didn't appear with this one. I had no morning sickness at all. I wasn't exhausted. I should have appreciated this but it made me more apprehensive because I knew it would be harder to feel when the baby was gone. I didn't tell anyone but my husband that I was pregnant. I couldn't stand another round of people's pity.
When I passed eight weeks, I was astounded. I never expected to make it that far. After passing twelve weeks, I began to believe this might actually happen and I did something very dangerous. I began to hope. I set a doctor's appointment. I let a few other people know I was expecting. I allowed some excitement to creep in. I let myself want the baby.
On May 10, 2012, I heard my baby's heartbeat. It was the most amazing sound I had ever heard. I wanted to laugh and cry and dance and scream all at once. Fifteen weeks and it had a strong, loud heartbeat. I haven't actually held my child in my arms yet but now I allow myself to believe I will. Has it been the road I expected, the road I hoped for? No. But it has been the road I needed to travel.
No comments:
Post a Comment