Tuesday, October 27, 2009

The Precariousness of Pregnancy

One of my good friends—who is about 5 weeks behind me in her pregnancy—just found out that she had a miscarriage. Her baby died about two weeks ago. She managed to stay on the phone long enough to tell me what happened, then said she was sure I understood that she was in no condition to talk. All I could say was “of course,” and “I’m so sorry,” and “call me when you need me.”

How fucking inadequate. And don’t get me wrong—I’m not getting down on myself for not knowing what to say. It’s that I know there’s nothing I can say or do that will ease her pain. I’m helpless in the face that that she-bitch Fate, who seems to steal babies at will, just because.

I was so excited for her. Pregnant on her first IUI, and all I could think of was “thank god.” Because the last thing you want to see is a friend starting to follow in your IF footsteps. And because we could be pregnant together and have our babies together and have play dates and I wouldn’t be alone (as I am, with most of my friends already raising toddlers). And now she’s crushed. And I’m crushed too. And she’s sad and alone. And I’m pregnant and alone.

That is, if I’m still pregnant. Because it’s shit like this that reminds me (as I try to hard to forget), that pregnancy is a precarious state. Any minute it can be snatched away. And why does it seem so much more cruel that you might not even know? You might be rubbing your belly and talking to your baby and planning your nursery and not even know that your baby has died, that all you’re carrying around is a memory of what might have been.

And maybe that’s me. I probably should have rented one of those dopplers, but they were so expensive (and with twins you need the fancy kind so you can differentiate the heartbeats). And besides, I thought there were some things I should maybe try to take on faith—like that my babies will still be alive at my next sono.

I just want to put my head in my hands and cry. For my friend, who is right now discussing with her doctor how to get her child out of her uterus. For my sister, who lost her baby at 4 months in much the same way three years ago. And for all of you out there who’ve had this happen, who’ve had their dreams ripped out of their bodies and tossed to the side for no reason other than it just wasn’t right this time.

And for me, who just wants to feel safe in my pregnancy. But can’t.

10 comments:

Me said...

:(

Io said...

Ah fuck. I hate not having the words, not because you can't think of what to say, but because really, there IS nothing good to say, nothing that will change the reality.
I am so sorry for your friend, and for you, that you can't feel safe. It's not fair, any of it.

kate said...

Ugh. I'm so sorry for your friend. That is just absolutely rotten. The fact that pregnancy is precarious has not left my mind since the day we transferred our embryos, and posts like this remind me very clearly why that is. I'm sorry for her loss, but I'm also sorry for your loss of a buddy to go through your pregnancy with. Suck, suck, suck.

Good Egg Hunting said...

I'm so sorry for your friend. Just your being there and understanding is enough, though. Because you're right -- there's nothing to be said. You just need someone to sit with you and hear you, which you did.

As for you...I know exactly how you feel. But it does get easier, actually. The more you go in and confirm that everything is okay, the more confident you will feel. And the more faith you will have in your body. You'll still have many moments of doubt and fear but you'll feel stronger and start to assume that everything's okay instead of the opposite.

Dagny said...

:(

one-hit_wonder said...

Yes. :(

Mrs. Hammer said...

That's aweful news. You are right, there are no words.

Wishing 4 One said...

Oh no. So sorry for your friend. I hope you can feel better soon. xoxoxo

Ms. J said...

Right there with ya, sistah.

I won't believe there is gonna be a real live baby at the end of this until I get the all-clear AFTER giving birth at the hospital.

I wish there were some sort of belly-band we could wear that constantly monitors the baby/babies heartbeat, and gives us continual reassurance that all is well. I have the home doppler (gifted to me by NoSwimmers, who got it from Empty Uterus Syndrome), and whip it out twice a day, no kidding. And STILL, I don't feel entirely confident.

After all, I am 20 wks tomorrow, but I could be That Person whose blog details there not being a h/b halfway through her surprise pregnancy. Or That Person whose placenta does something funky, and so on and so on.

My cousin had given me a mantra to say . . . "It's beyond my control. It's beyond my control. I wear my seatbelt. I take my vitamins. I drink plenty of water. The rest if beyond my control." It helps me a bit.

But it's still hard.

HUGS.

K77 said...

I'm sorry.