It's my 8th pregnancy, how can it be new??
I'm in a facebook group of women who all take lovenox for a variety of reasons. Many of them are ttc and others are pregnant or postpartum. When I first mentioned that I was pregnant and craptastically-scared, many of the women were wishing me baby dust, sticky bean, and for this to be my take-home baby. My reaction to that last one was "I had a take home baby but I took him home in a blue velvet bag." I didn't write that response down, because I didn't want to be a downer for everyone else, but it's what I thought!
I'm cynical, and although that's an attitude I have regularly about other aspects of my life, it's not something I've experienced before during pregnancy.
Here is what I have perceived people think I feel based on the comments I've read:
- This pregnancy eases the pain of losing my son.
- I no longer have infertility because I got pregnant so fast.
- I have new doctors that specialize in clotting disorders so I should feel safe and secure.
- My betas are doubling every 26 hours, so I should breathe a sigh of relief.
- I'm doing okay because I'm pregnant.
- My blog is a place for me to vent and rant and share personal vendettas with the world.
Here is the reality:
- I lost my son. Nobody can replace him. This baby is not Jackson. This pregnancy is unique.
- Infertility includes not being able to have a live baby, so whether I got pregnant quickly or not is irrelevant. There are two parts to the definition of infertility.
- Safe and secure? HA! I've lost 5 of my 7 last pregnancies. How safe and secure do you think I feel when I have a failure rate of over 70%?
- All of my pregnancies have made it to the 5 week mark, so doubling betas mean jack squat for me in the long run.
- I am not okay. I'm not sure I'll be okay until I have a living, breathing baby on my chest. I will live day by day and hour by hour, hoping that this time will be different. Someone who lives that way is not "okay" but is barely holding on with help from a power greater than she.
- My blog title means, "Learning to Breathe." I gave it that title because I can't predict what will happen in my life and with each new day I have to focus on things that others take for granted.
I'd like to talk a little more about that last one, because there has been a break in perception vs reality there, too.
There are women who have been in my shoes and who have or will experience the raw agony, the need to lash out, and the deep wounds that develop with both infertility and pregnancy loss. Every emotion I put into words is here because it is a part of my reality and I want others to know that if they experience those same feelings of hurt, anger, and despair, if they feel the need to lash out, that those emotions are normal!
Some will choose to be angry with God. He is the one who received the brunt of my anger when we lost our little girl. At first my anger with him really upset me; I've always felt I had a solid relationship with my Father in Heaven. After a few months, I realized that if ever there was anyone who could withstand my anger, who understood where it was coming from, it was my Heavenly Father. He is, above all, my Parent. He Understood Me!
Recognizing that anger and deciding I no longer wanted it to be a part of my life was a turning moment. It was one of those "I'm mad, and hurt, and I'm tired of being mad and hurt. Can you help me?" kinds of moments. And I sobbed so hard I was gagging. Only someone who has been in that kind of pain can understand what that is like. . .
And because he did help me, over time, that kind of anger was no longer an option with losing our son, so my anger focused elsewhere. Where your anger is directed is something that every grieving person needs to acknowledge and those around them need to recognize that grief and anger go hand in hand and just because a few months or even a few years have gone by, some of that anger may linger, it may fester, and it may fizzle out into apathy. Or, with help and patience, the anger can be turned around and a more positive emotion can take it's place.
The reality is that I'm scared. I've been living my life in fear and in grief since our third loss in September 2011. That's almost 3 years of grief, of anger, of squashed hopes. So if you perceive that I'm a horrible, angry person, you are close, but you're missing the big picture. I'm not a horrible person. I'm a hurt person. And maybe you're reading this because you are a hurt person, too.
Sounds like a "woe is me?" post, doesn't it? And perhaps it is. I have been a victim of my own emotions and I want to make amends with those I've hurt, at least a little. I don't feel sorry for myself, but I am sorry for hurting a few people along the way.
In the meantime, I have what I hope is 6 1/2 to 8 months of being scared, and not just a few days or a few weeks. I would SO much rather be pregnant and scared than to lose this baby and find myself back in the trenches of grief, right as I've begun to claw my way out.
Perception vs Reality . . . two very different things.
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