Pregnancy

This won't be a light and happy, "update" post. This post will delve into my own personal issues and experiences with pregnancy and may be uncomfortable for some. Feel free to skip it if you like. I won't be offended. ;) There, that's my disclaimer for the day.

Today, I am 20 weeks pregnant. A milestone. One that should help me feel secure and reassured that all is well. Because for 20 weeks, all HAS been well. But I don't get the "all is well" feeling while pregnant. Not anymore.

A little over 7 years ago, we decided to have children. It was as easy as that. We decided, we tried to get pregnant for a few months, I got pregnant, stayed pregnant, and had my beautiful first-born son, in January, 2003. Sure, I knew stories of women who lost babies or had babies with difficulties, but I was sincerely naive about it and really didn't think that could happen to me. Everything with my first pregnancy was "textbook" perfect. And that is how I thought it would continue to be.

When our first child was about 2.5, we decided it was time to try for #2. It didn't take long at all and I was pregnant. Overjoyed, we told all our family and close friends right away, as we had done with our first. I had never seen any reason to keep such good news to ourselves.

And then, just over a week later, bleeding. I knew some women bled during pregnancy, but this just wasn't right. It wasn't just a little "spotting". I talked to a midwife, who talked me through what would happen during a miscarriage. I was terrified. I had no idea what to expect. I was 5.5 weeks pregnant. It turned into one of the most painful, both physical and emotional, experiences I've ever had. I remember, on the worst day, putting my young son in front of the TV and then curling up on my bed, my body cramping, my heart breaking, and just sobbing and sobbing and sobbing.

For most women, I think, becoming pregnant is not just a physical thing. When you first learn you are pregnant, your whole outlook changes. In an instant, your future changes and immediately includes that new little person growing inside you. In an instant, plans and dreams form and take shape and become as much as part of you as that little person inside. And when that little person is lost, those dreams are shattered. I find it impossible to describe what it feels like to have those dreams shattered. All I could do was sob and cry out to God. WHY?! Oh God, why?

Physically, I recovered. Emotionally, I struggled, but moved forward, because what else can you do? I did extensive reading on the subject of miscarriage. I got in touch, online, with many, many women who had experienced what I just had. I felt a sense of community and compassion that I didn't feel anywhere else in my "real life", as I had never heard anyone in real life talk about a miscarriage before. It didn't help that we were living in a new city, in a dark, dreary basement suite, with a terror for a landlord. We didn't have a car and lived in a remote part of town, and with my husband's new, high-pressure job and second job, I was alone (with my 2 year old) almost all the time. These things took a major toll at the same time.

I felt encouraged by my reading that told me that women who have a miscarriage will almost always go on to have a healthy pregnancy. Miscarriages are much more common than some people realize. And 5 months later, I was pregnant again. Renewed hope! Renewed optimism! Renewed joy! We told everyone again. This baby would never replace the one we lost, but it was going to be a symbol of hope. I felt so relieved.

And then, at 5 weeks pregnant, bleeding. I sat in the bathroom and cried, "No, no, no, no, no!!!" I was in shock. Disbelief. Traumatized once again. How could this possibly be happening again?! And I was angry. This time, I was so angry, I hardly knew how to respond to it. I had never felt anger like that. Not anger with God, really. But just so angry that this happened again. I wanted to just scream and scream.

And now, I didn't know what to think. If I could have 2 miscarriages in a row, I could have 3, or 5, or 10, and that elusive "healthy baby" might not ever happen. What if our beloved son was meant to be our only child? My reading and research turned from "miscarriage" to "recurrent miscarriage."

Hope (and determination) must spring eternal, though, because we kept trying. I don't know how long I would have kept trying. I don't know how many miscarriages I would have endured. But my heart was desperate for another child. Desperate in a way I never knew I could be.

And then I was pregnant again. Sure, this time, that the pregnancy would be lost, we told no one. I really didn't want to "untell" again, so I thought it would just be easier not to say anything at all. But weeks went by, and I stayed pregnant. However, I did not regain any optimism. As I passed the early weeks, I then became convinced I would suffer a later loss. As I passed the point where the baby would be viable outside the womb, I became sure that I'd have a premature baby who could not survive. As I entered the late stages of pregnancy, I worried about having a full-term stillborn baby.

But, like my first pregnancy, everything was "textbook" perfect. The pregnancy was great, the labour and birth were phenomenal (so much so that I was ready to have another very soon!). And we had a second, beautiful son. In those early days, I would often sit with him, nursing, snuggling, and being in awe of the journey we travelled in order to hold him in our arms. In my heart, he was my miracle boy. And bittersweet, too, because I knew I wouldn't have him if we hadn't experienced what we had.

We knew, from the time our oldest child was a baby, that we wanted 3 children. After our second was born, I put thoughts of conceiving again on the back burner. I knew it wouldn't happen again for a little while. When we finally decided it was time to start trying, I already had it in my head that I would probably lose more babies before possibly having a healthy one. Perhaps a pessimistic way of thinking, but for me, it was realistic.

We had also learned of a genetic disorder that my husband (and other members of his family) has, that can be a cause of miscarriage. We went through genetic counselling and were told that my chance of miscarriage due to the genetic disorder was about the same as any woman of my age. I took this to be slightly encouraging, simply because the disorder did not INCREASE my chances of miscarrying.

But still, going into trying for another baby was still nerve-wracking. I chart my fertility cycles meticulously, and have for about 5 years. Last October, I had a strange cycle. It was long, my temperatures were all over the place, and my period was late. Very late. I took 3 pregnancy tests, all 3 showing very faint positive lines. But something didn't feel right. My gut told me this was not going to end well. And when I started bleeding, at 4.5 weeks pregnant, I was not surprised. This was the first miscarriage that didn't surprise me. It also didn't devastate me. Don't get me wrong, I was sad. Oh, so sad. But the grief didn't overwhelm me the way it had previously.

And still we kept trying. The human spirit does not give up easily. And now, here I am, 20 weeks pregnant. It has been another paranoid pregnancy. It has been very different from my other two healthy pregnancies, and that has had me concerned at times. This time, I seem to have a much larger fear of having a live baby, but with something wrong with it. I have nothing to substantiate that fear. But it's there. I still have the fear of losing the baby at any time. Even at 20 weeks, with tiny, tiny flutters telling me, "Hey! I'm here!", I can't relax. Even with things progressing as "textbook" as they should, I can never fully embrace the pregnancy like I wish I could.

I'm so thankful I had one, my first, pregnancy that was blissful, sweet, and naive. I know many women who haven't had that to go on, and yet they still push forward with their desires to have a family. My dearest sister-in-law is one of them. They've tried to have a baby for almost 5 years now, and she's suffered many miscarriages also. She has the same genetic disorder as her brother, my husband. But hope lives for her, too. She is pregnant now, due just 2 months after me. This is the furthest she has gotten in any pregnancy and I am thrilled and excited and praying so hard that her baby will grow strong, grow big, grow beautiful. The same prayer I pray daily for my own baby.

It is surreal to think I've been pregnant 6 times. Seeing it in black and white on the chart my midwife keeps for me really hit home. I have had 6 little, beloved, children grow in my womb. 3 of them for such a short time. But they were there. They sit in my memory and my heart. Their loss dates and due dates are forever etched in my brain, just as my own two children's birthdays are.

If God is willing and merciful, I will have another live baby this September. And I will have 3 living children. But I will always be a mother to 6. I wish this weren't a fact, but it is. I wish no woman would ever have to lose her babies, at any age. But I am thankful that my babies live in Heaven. They live in the arms of Jesus. I WILL know ALL my babies someday. I believe that.

And so, this is my journey. It has been hard. It continues to be. Until I hold this wee one in my arms, and he or she cries out and suckles at my breast, I will not relax. I can only hope that my journey has been one that has made me a more compassionate person, a more loving mother, and has brought me closer to my Saviour, who understands my grief and pain better than any human being could.