CW: pregnancy loss
(In case this is something triggering for you)
I realized that my most recent blog post was about my ectopic pregnancy last year, and it pains me that this post will be about my pregnancy loss THIS year. I've shared about this on my social media pages, but every time I sat down and tried to find a way to type this out for my blog, I came up short.
There isn't really much of a story to tell, except that we were totally blindsided. I was having no negative symptoms this time. (With my ectopic pregnancy, I was experiencing bad cramps and bleeding.) Everything seemed to be going well. We had even seen a heartbeat when I went in for an ultrasound at 7 weeks: they say that when you get a heartbeat, your chances of a miscarriage drop to 2%, and get lower with every week.
Yeah.
They told us last year that ectopic pregnancies were rare, random-chance occurrences too.
I don't know how we got so lucky to lose our babies twice within a span of 13 months, in two different ways. (That was sarcasm, by the way.)
I found out on a Monday, and did not end up being able to go in for a D&C until the following Monday, so I had a full week of "the in-between": my body, none the wiser, was still pregnant, even though the baby was no longer growing. I was exhausted, nauseated, bloated, all of that... things that are physically uncomfortable and totally not enjoyable, but that you put up with while you're pregnant because at the end of all this, you will have a beautiful little baby.
Let me tell you, it really messes you up mentally and emotionally feeling all of that but knowing that there's just... nothing. That I would end up with nothing.
Initially the grief was unbearable. By now, two weeks later, I can get through my days and distract myself well enough, but sometimes, something will set me off (like how, when I went to the hospital for my procedure, we had to walk by a giant sign that read Family Birthing Units to get to the Day Surgery department). But in the beginning, all we could do was hold each other and cry. I just... couldn't deal. Twice. TWICE.
We had survived this once, and we knew we could survive it again, but if I'm being honest here (which I always try to be), I'm not sure if I could do this a third time. Especially since we were getting ready to give up hope of getting pregnant again when this one happened.
I have a very real fear that like, maybe my body just can't hold on to a baby anymore. I know, that's a completely irrational thought to have, but I can't help but have thoughts like "Maybe this is the universe trying to tell me something" and other stupid stuff like that. "Maybe I'm only allowed one." "Maybe my body just isn't fit for this anymore."
Disheartening, isn't it? My body, which can verynearlyalmost deadlift 500 pounds, can't hang on to a baby anymore. I had never felt so betrayed by my own body.
*short break for crying*
Okay. I'm okay.
Speaking of lifting, I had stopped going to the gym due to my symptoms. I had plans to compete at Boss of Bosses in August, and had even registered (like, paid the non-refundable fee and everything), and then found out a few days later that I was pregnant.
"It's okay," I told some friends. "It's the best possible reason to miss a competition, right?"
And now I don't even have that. I know it's sounds petty and superficial, and should be the least of my concerns, but again: when you're (happily) pregnant, you will put up with all manner of things because you know there's something good at the end of it. But in hindsight though, yeah, it stings a lot that ultimately I gave up months of hard work and a spot at a major competition for... nothing.
So now... I had my D&C a week ago. I'm fine. There were no complications, and I didn't even need pain meds. I'm back to being not-pregnant. But of course, things aren't the same. They never are. Each time it takes a little something more away from me.
I have thing to distract me though. I'm starting a new job soon (I'll be back in a classroom!) so I've thrown myself into planning and I've been knitting a lot and I'm just... doing anything to keep myself from doing the mental math of "How many weeks would we be now?" (12, by the way.)
It's also Jolie's birthday this week, and "celebrating her birth" takes on a whole different meaning now, considering the difficulty we've had trying to make it to birth again. Every day, I hold her close because it's becoming a very real possibility that she may be the only child I ever have. And I don't mean to say "only" to imply that she's not enough--she is SO enough. She is everything, no matter what. We were so lucky to have her. We ARE so lucky to have her.
Maybe we were only meant to be that lucky once.
But twice. TWICE. It happened twice.
*sighs*
I am okay. I am going to be even okay-er once I'm back to my usual routine and the school year starts. Sometimes I am a mess. But I will always find my way back to "okay."
(In case this is something triggering for you)
I realized that my most recent blog post was about my ectopic pregnancy last year, and it pains me that this post will be about my pregnancy loss THIS year. I've shared about this on my social media pages, but every time I sat down and tried to find a way to type this out for my blog, I came up short.
There isn't really much of a story to tell, except that we were totally blindsided. I was having no negative symptoms this time. (With my ectopic pregnancy, I was experiencing bad cramps and bleeding.) Everything seemed to be going well. We had even seen a heartbeat when I went in for an ultrasound at 7 weeks: they say that when you get a heartbeat, your chances of a miscarriage drop to 2%, and get lower with every week.
Yeah.
They told us last year that ectopic pregnancies were rare, random-chance occurrences too.
I don't know how we got so lucky to lose our babies twice within a span of 13 months, in two different ways. (That was sarcasm, by the way.)
I found out on a Monday, and did not end up being able to go in for a D&C until the following Monday, so I had a full week of "the in-between": my body, none the wiser, was still pregnant, even though the baby was no longer growing. I was exhausted, nauseated, bloated, all of that... things that are physically uncomfortable and totally not enjoyable, but that you put up with while you're pregnant because at the end of all this, you will have a beautiful little baby.
Let me tell you, it really messes you up mentally and emotionally feeling all of that but knowing that there's just... nothing. That I would end up with nothing.
Initially the grief was unbearable. By now, two weeks later, I can get through my days and distract myself well enough, but sometimes, something will set me off (like how, when I went to the hospital for my procedure, we had to walk by a giant sign that read Family Birthing Units to get to the Day Surgery department). But in the beginning, all we could do was hold each other and cry. I just... couldn't deal. Twice. TWICE.
We had survived this once, and we knew we could survive it again, but if I'm being honest here (which I always try to be), I'm not sure if I could do this a third time. Especially since we were getting ready to give up hope of getting pregnant again when this one happened.
I have a very real fear that like, maybe my body just can't hold on to a baby anymore. I know, that's a completely irrational thought to have, but I can't help but have thoughts like "Maybe this is the universe trying to tell me something" and other stupid stuff like that. "Maybe I'm only allowed one." "Maybe my body just isn't fit for this anymore."
Disheartening, isn't it? My body, which can verynearlyalmost deadlift 500 pounds, can't hang on to a baby anymore. I had never felt so betrayed by my own body.
*short break for crying*
Okay. I'm okay.
Speaking of lifting, I had stopped going to the gym due to my symptoms. I had plans to compete at Boss of Bosses in August, and had even registered (like, paid the non-refundable fee and everything), and then found out a few days later that I was pregnant.
"It's okay," I told some friends. "It's the best possible reason to miss a competition, right?"
And now I don't even have that. I know it's sounds petty and superficial, and should be the least of my concerns, but again: when you're (happily) pregnant, you will put up with all manner of things because you know there's something good at the end of it. But in hindsight though, yeah, it stings a lot that ultimately I gave up months of hard work and a spot at a major competition for... nothing.
So now... I had my D&C a week ago. I'm fine. There were no complications, and I didn't even need pain meds. I'm back to being not-pregnant. But of course, things aren't the same. They never are. Each time it takes a little something more away from me.
I have thing to distract me though. I'm starting a new job soon (I'll be back in a classroom!) so I've thrown myself into planning and I've been knitting a lot and I'm just... doing anything to keep myself from doing the mental math of "How many weeks would we be now?" (12, by the way.)
It's also Jolie's birthday this week, and "celebrating her birth" takes on a whole different meaning now, considering the difficulty we've had trying to make it to birth again. Every day, I hold her close because it's becoming a very real possibility that she may be the only child I ever have. And I don't mean to say "only" to imply that she's not enough--she is SO enough. She is everything, no matter what. We were so lucky to have her. We ARE so lucky to have her.
Maybe we were only meant to be that lucky once.
But twice. TWICE. It happened twice.
*sighs*
I am okay. I am going to be even okay-er once I'm back to my usual routine and the school year starts. Sometimes I am a mess. But I will always find my way back to "okay."
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