Unchartered Disappointment

My hope wanes.   Disappointment settles in.  I know in my head that this is only a minor setback, but my heart feels otherwise.  Unchartered territory.  Again.  You see, when we lost Wyatt, we were virgins to the drama of pregnancy failures and well, we were initiated into the club with the mother of all pregnancy losses.  We were kind of naïve and thought that we would be immune to further definitions of pregnancy heartache.  We kind of thought we had paid our dues in full and could enter and exit this club simultaneously.  Even after having Abigail, we still had never experienced anything other than our full-term loss.  Even when we conceived with the most recent baby lost, not only had we yet to experience any other loss (a big yet), we were 3 for 3 in getting pregnant the first month we tried.  I almost feel guilty saying this.  I have so many friends that I love dearly whose hearts surely drop at the sound of that sentence.  Friends who have struggled with not being able to get pregnant after months or years of trying.  So what I am going to say next is sure to send them through the roof.  I just kind of figured we would get pregnant right away again.  I know it was only the first month, but this heart yet healed isn’t dealing with this new form of disappointment all too well.   I had been dealing with the grief from our recent loss pretty well in the past weeks.  I’ll have to say, trying again had brought me some hope once more for a future and a family that I desperately crave.  But I did put off taking that pregnancy test for a couple of days (if you don’t know, you can now pee on that stick up to six days prior to your cycle’s next kick-off).    I kept putting it off because it was kind of nice just being in a state of limbo.   I didn’t have to worry either way, no disappointment, no fear, no nothing.  I knew nothing, I had to do nothing.  I could just be.  Ah, how refreshing it was to just be.  And how very fleeting.

So now I sit with you and tell you of yet another of my disappointments.  And I’m with you, this one just seems a little silly. But before you laugh at me, before you scoff at me, before you just get completely irritated or annoyed with me, let me plead my case.  This was the one card I felt I still had left in my pocket.  This was the only card I felt I still had left in my pocket, the only security blanket I had left to hold on to.  I have had a full term loss, I have had an “early” loss, and have been reminded again all too recently that the rug could be pulled out from under me at any given time if history tries to become my fate once more.  But at least I had my fertility.  At least I could get pregnant at any given time.  I have been so grateful that at any given moment, I could stand back up, face my fears and get pregnant whenever I was ready.  Until now.  And now I hear that little voice in the back of my head utter: you have failed again.  That voice that encourages me to think that I am broken, damaged, unfit to mother.  That voice that no matter how many times I ignore it or tell it to leave, comes back softly, whispering just loud enough so its presence is known.  That voice that I know is wrong, although it is often quite convincing in its arguments. 

Let’s face facts here.  I’m not getting any younger.  Forty is pretty much the taboo age for pregnancy, it seems.  It’s a now or never moment.  Interestingly enough, when we were beginning our mission in December to get pregnant, this didn’t bother me so much.  I was hopeful that we would get pregnant quickly, but I was also reasonable and knew it could take some time to get there.  But all rational thoughts have left me now.  The accumulation of losses comes conveniently packaged with the simultaneous collection of fears.  So now I have a new fear to add to my list.  Will I be able to get pregnant again?  Has my age caught up with me?  Did I gamble with time one year too many as I waited until I was ready to risk once more?  How long will it take?  What is my fate?  I want to know the answers to all of these questions and the answers are no where to be found.  It’s uncertain.  It’s up in the air.  It’s a new challenge that I get to bear.  Just one more ingredient to add to my cocktail of crazy.  One more reason for me to wonder how I got myself into this mess once again.  Why am I doing this?  Why am I putting myself through all this?  And I remind myself that we have dreams of a family that I don’t yet feel is complete.  I remind myself that Abigail is so hopeful to have a sibling to experience and share her life with.  I remind myself that I have a right to these dreams, dreams that so many others seem to take for granted.  I have a right to these dreams and I have a right to fulfill them.  End of discussion.

As I reflect on the struggles that we have had with pregnancy, along with similar challenges of friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances, it’s a wonder that anyone is able to get pregnant and deliver a healthy baby at all.  And I wondered when I was at the mall today for much needed retail therapy how all these pregnant people could all be at the same place at the same time (and trust me when I say I noticed each and every one of them).  The odds just don’t seem to be in favor of this.  But wait, these are just my odds.  Well, I guess they could be your odds too, but for your sake, I hope not.   I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.  And I know so many have it so much worse than me.  I know this and my heart breaks for you too.  It breaks a hundred times for your struggles and challenges with all this nonsense just the same.   With this small disappointment inflicted on my heart, I get just a tiny glimpse (yes I realize, incredibly tiny) of what persistent infertility could do to someone’s spirit.  And to all my friends out there that have had to struggle with this ridiculousness, I am sorry.  Please know how truly sorry I am for your pain.  It’s not fair, and I’m not okay with it.  I’m not okay with it at all.

So of course, I know this is not a loss of a child, but it strangely feels a little like grief once again.  It’s a temporary loss of dreams, plans and once more, my hopeful spirit.  But I refuse to be dragged into the dirt too deeply and I quickly look for my silver lining.  I see her four-year-old self bounding all over my house with limitless energy and unrestrained joy.  Oh, how I am thankful for this silver lining.  And I sometimes feel greedy for wanting more, because she brings me so much incredible joy and I know she is more than some get to experience ever.  So I give myself a day, a day to wallow in my own sorts of self-pity, a day to indulge with my friends-and-family coupon, a day to eat all the chocolate in various Easter shapes and forms that I can possibly handle, a day to weep here and there and wonder “Why me?”.   And after this day has passed, I then tell myself I have no reason to wallow at all.  Because when this is all said and done, no matter what the outcome, I still have this silver lining and it is enough.  It is most certainly enough.  Anything more is just icing on the cake.  Don’t get me wrong, I crave that icing, but cake is damn good and pretty satisfying all on its own.  So I am off to enjoy in this little life that I have been given, the one that has not been taken away, and I will do just that.  I will enjoy her with all my might.  I tell her all too frequently that instead of being upset for the one thing you can’t have, you should be thankful for all the things you can have.  So today I will heed my own advice and be fully present with my girl.  She is more than worthy of my undivided attention.  I have been given a gift and I have full intentions of making the most of its offerings.  My future may be uncertain, but my present is right here in front of me.  So here I am today, letting go of a certain amount of fear and uncertainty, embracing and basking in my present, realizing that my life is pretty darn good, as is, right now.   Right now is all I know for sure.  Right now is good enough for me.