Today I was reading this post and it really…. sobered me. I don’t know of sobered is the right word to express how I feel, but it’s the only word that comes to mind. I think it’s made me feel this way because it has touched upon thoughts and feelings I’ve had deep down but never expressed. Worries/fears that I’ve had in the back of my mind. Probably because I don’t want to think about it, I don’t like to think about it, so I shove it deep down and hide it away. As for the post, our stories and diagnoses are not the same, but the fact that we have both lost multiple pregnancies is the same.
This part in particular caught me:
Yes, if I were still naïve to our diagnosis, I probably would do everything the same again from the very beginning – get married and try for kids once our careers were stable, it was the responsible decision. I would probably try again for a first or second time. Would I try again for a 3rd, 4th or 5th? I don’t know, maybe. ~ MPB
This is what haunts me. What makes me think trying again would be any different? Is acupuncture of more folic acid or a better diet really going to change things? Aren’t 2 losses enough of a sign or a slap in the face? Why should I think that my genes are superior enough that they should be passed down to future generations? Why do I need a “mini-me”? Is it better to stop now after only 2, won’t I feel even worse on the 3rd or 4th? Before I even tried to have a baby I was really very happy. My life was good. A good career. A good family. A good husband and pets. We didn’t struggle. My biggest struggle was planning a yearly vacation or dealing with my father’s girlfriend (whom I really don’t like. at. all.) But really, I was probably very spoiled. Probably a little entitled – but things came EASY so I don’t think I knew much better. I didn’t have to try too hard in school – I didn’t have to try too hard to get either of my jobs (I knew people at both companies where I was hired after college.) Yes, I had to interview well and yes, I had to know enough to get in the door. I had to put in the hours and do the work, but working never bothered me. As long as I tried I could get what I wanted. Pregnancy loss was the biggest, ugliest wakeup call I ever received. Bigger and uglier than the death of my grandfather when I was 18 (he’s really the only person close to me that I’ve ever lost.)
Last summer I wrote about my best friend M, and about her telling me about her pregnancy (this is before I was even pregnant with Baby 2.) And I felt such.despair. And one thought I always had after that was about her father. Her father died two months before her wedding. Two months before he could walk her down the aisle. I won’t forget riding with her in the limo on the way to the church and seeing her tears. I look around my living room and there’s a picture of my father kissing me on the cheek on my wedding day. He walked me down the aisle. In our office there’s a picture of him with me and my brother at my aunt’s 50th birthday party two years ago. A year and a half ago we were on vacation in Florida. We have our yearly family vacation at the beach. He comes to my house and tries to help fix things. When The Husband and I go on vacation he comes over to take care of my cat. Sometimes he’s my airport chauffeur. We’ve been to Patriots games, vacations, family parties, dinners. And yes, when I mention things to M involving my father I am very cognizant of what I say and how I say it. From the moment I heard that her father passed away I was always very, very aware of how it might feel to her when I talk about my own.
Why do I think I should have it all? What makes me so special? I know M would do anything for another moment with her father. She can have her daughters but she can’t have that moment. I can have moments with my father but I can’t have my babies. I am fairly good at being a daughter*. Maybe I would not be good at being a mother. Maybe I should be happy with what I have and just accept that other things are not meant to be.
*Most of the time.