It's been forever since I wrote last. And this entry makes me feel... uncomfortable. But the reality is that I need to push myself back out of the numbness I protect myself with, and force myself to reconnect.
For 31 weeks I have lived in a half state of denial. I've not been pleasant to be around, that's for sure. For good reason, maybe. But its not been fun. Let me take you back.
After my last post, Adam and I had more losses. At varying stages, some only 6 weeks in. The most recent, though, being a bit over a year ago at 12 weeks. That one hurt. I'd already had a dating scan, seen a heartbeat, the works. But then came a follow up scan that involved what I call "The Vacuum". I've sadly experienced this moment too many times. It's a crushing combination of silence, a particular look on a ultrasound tech's face, and a time warp where seconds feel like an hour before the words "I can't find a heartbeat - I'm so sorry..." are uttered. You knew those words were coming, but it still shatters you internally. I did what I do, swallowed hard and said "That's okay. I'm used to it."
That baby decided not to budge, and weeks passed with no sign of my impending miscarriage. I went to a GP and asked what on earth I was meant to do - I was referred to the Caboolture hospital and awaited an appointment. That never came. Pregnancy symptoms still plagued me, in their cruel reminder that my body just doesn't know how to carry a baby properly, whilst I feared leaving the house in case "today was the day" and I humiliated myself with a miscarriage in public. Eventually the hospital made an appointment for me, and as I sat in the waiting room, a very kind midwife sat beside me for a chat. She expressed her sorrow for my loss and I simply shook my head and said "unfortunately I am good at dealing with these things, now."
"No," she replied, "you just got good at hiding your sadness." She was right. There was no point in bringing anyone around me down with my depression. My "It's all good" facade was for other people, not me. I've learned that it's horribly uncomfortable for others to know you're hurting, but not be able to fix it. So why put that on them? I included Adam in that mindset. When the time came for my D&C, I had to lay in a hospital bed in the day procedure ward after taking the preparatory medication. There was a man in the bed beside me and to say I felt uncomfortable was an understatement. For some reason 4 or more hours passed, with no one speaking to me. My mouth was bone dry and I felt horribly sick from the medication. Still no word about when my turn for surgery would be.
And then it fucking happened. I felt myself suddenly bleeding uncontrollably. It was terrifying and I remembered the same thing happening with my first ever loss at home that ended with two transfusions. There was no buzzer and no one around except the guy in the bed beside me. I eventually managed to signal a passing nurse, and I was so humiliated that I had to whisper to her what was happening. Suddenly I was surrounded by midwives and nurses trying to stop the bleeding, and I couldn't speak anymore. I was just.... horrified. I had to have them all fussing around my naked lower body with some strange man a couple of feet to my right. I overheard one say quietly to another "just remember there's someone in that bed right there" when they kept talking so loudly about what was happening to me. I just covered my face and bawled as I was rushed into surgery.
As they shifted me from my bed onto the table, I felt myself lose so much blood that I was certain I was about to die. It's the last thing I remembered before being put under.
When I awoke, after I'd been treated and everything was okay again, Adam came to pick me up.
I didn't tell him any of what I just typed. Nothing. I pretended I was fine and life went back to normal.
We eventually decided to really give it one last shot. I began getting into shape. I would walk/jog up to 10km a day. I stopped drinking. I stuck to an anti inflammatory diet, took vitamins and got to be the healthiest I've been in a long time. I felt amazing. Adam and I committed to several rounds of fertility treatments, specifically IUI. I felt so hopeful. But of course, they failed. The tedious appointments, the mechanical methods, the crippling costs were a waste of time and we accepted defeat. We gave up. Everything ended. The tracking, the medications, the discussions.
Then one morning, the all too familiar tell-tale occurred. I turned the tap on in the kitchen and could smell the water. I took a test and of course it was positive. Which was remarkable after the depressingly loveless month Adam and I had just experienced. I sent him a photo of the test, and as to be expected, there was little reaction. I didn't blame him. A positive pregnancy test had become a "here we go again" state of affairs in our lives.
But I took a test each day and it became darker and darker. I had a telehealth with my GP and told her that this time I didn't want to bother with any testing. No HCG draws to ensure my levels were doubling. No early scan. Nothing. "Erin are you sure?" she asked. "Yes," I replied. Those tests made absolutely no difference to the outcome in the past. They were simply a way of either letting me down early or getting my hopes up unnecessarily in the process. A waste of time, money and emotion. She eventually convinced me to go for a dating scan. I saw no point. But I went. The tech had no knowledge of my prior history, and couldn't understand my very strange reaction when she told me the heartbeat was excellent, and I was measuring ahead. Dull surprise is probably the best way I can explain it. The phone call to Adam was much the same. He hardly reacted and I realised we were both like a pair of human callouses. My GP sat me down at that point and told me that despite how hard it would be for me, the Royal Brisbane was by far the best place for my care if I wanted to give this pregnancy my best shot. I flashed back to the maternity ward, Boxing Day of 2021. I couldn't imagine being back there in the same place I'd given birth to Suri and had to cuddle my sleeping baby whilst hearing the cries of healthy, living bubs in the room beside me.
But I knew the team there were truly amazing and the idea of being with them again did bring a huge amount of comfort to me. So I agreed. From that point on I became paranoid and terrified of both being optimistic, and of anyone finding out I was pregnant. I was inundated with appointments at the hospital, and without fail, within 30 mins of arriving there, a migraine would begin to develop - some of them debilitating and my GP tried one medication after another to manage them until she found something safe that worked.
My abdominal wall noped out of existence at 10 weeks and baggy hoodies had to become my standard wardrobe. I would hunch over if I saw family or friends, eager to avoid ANY contact so no one would find out.I became horribly moody as the first trimester absolutely kicked my arse. I'd never known exhaustion like it, my head pounded constantly and I was plagued with nausea.
And guilt.
I don't recall Adam or I even smiling as one scan after another proved to be perfect. We didn't let ourselves hope. The NIPT test came back with no markers for any genetic abnormalities. I kept telling myself I would announce the news after one more scan.... one more scan... but the truth was I didn't WANT to announce it. I didn't want to pretend to be excited and happy when inside I couldn't even reconcile myself with it being real. I was just trapped in a waiting game until my heart inevitably broke, yet again. You really do become conditioned for disappointment.
There were a few people I had to tell. I couldn't physically hide it and I was so horribly unwell. 20 weeks came and went and I realised I owed it to the people I loved to be honest. I downplayed the news as best I could. Then came the dreaded phone call. I had cancelled a scan as I was too busy to attend. I'd been going every week or two and missing one seemed harmless. But the midwife called and she urged me to come in. "Is everything okay...?" I asked. She gently tried to explain that I had left early the week prior before the doctor had been able to talk to me about the results of that day's scan. My cervix measurement was not good. I needed to come back in and get checked again.
Holding my shit together was NOT easy. Despite the fact that I hadn't dared get too hopeful about this baby, I was absolutely horrified. "Not again!" were the words that got caught on a loop in my head. I picked Noah up from daycare that day and he had hurt another child - he pushed another little boy over in front of me. When I tried to talk to him in the car about it on the way home, I burst into tears. I stupidly said, "Noah you make me SO SAD when you hurt other people!"
He was so distressed. "I'm sorry mummy!" he kept saying - fuck I regret that. Although it did seem to have a profound effect on his behaviour, I still hate that I made him feel that way.
Adam came with me the next day for the scan. Afterwards, the doctor sat us down and gently suggested it was time to give up pretty much everything I was doing and rest, so as to not risk a repeat of Suri. Adam was given his intimacy marching orders (Jesus I'm glad he came to that appointment - not sure he would have believed me if I'd relayed the info afterwards) and I was told to watch out for any excessive pressure, pain etc. To come in immediately if I had any concerns.
Well of course from that moment on, every twinge, every pang gave way to panic for me. What I knew to be round ligament pain suddenly became terrifying. I KNEW I was okay but I began having flashbacks to all the little signs I ignored, leading to the loss of Suri.
Adam was awesome. Took over anything I did at home that could be considered even remotely taxing. Encouraged me to rest and tried to help when I struggled mentally with being idle.
We decided to go for a gender scan. A private one where the tech lights the room up either pink or blue. We took Noah and when that room lit up pink he clapped his hands and squealed with excitement at having a baby sister. I clapped too. So did Adam. But it still felt so empty and reserved.
Fast forward to now. 31 weeks. There's no baby shower on the horizon for me. No maternity photos. I had to force myself to buy a bassinet and basic things - with every purchase I felt like I was hammering a nail into my own coffin and was forced to recall the pain of getting rid of everything I had for Suri. Two days ago, Adam texted me. He said "I am just so happy... I love my family so much." I asked him about the text when he came home and he said he is finally feeling like it's real. He is going to have a daughter.
I realised tonight that I might just be starting to feel like it's real, too. Maybe everything is going to be okay...
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