Yesterday, I was musing in my head about the fact that today would be the 3 week mark of our loss, and the fact that, somehow, I actually hadn’t thought about it in a day or so. At that discovery, I felt so ashamed of myself, like I was already forgetting, like somehow discovering some sense of healing or peace even for a day, so soon after our loss, meant IÂ was a bad person, a bad mother, that I didn’t love my baby enough. It felt horrible to know that I had already had a good day.
My psyche is already placing that pain in “the box”, preparing it for burial deep down, out of my conscience mind’s line of “vision”. Helping to move on, to move forward. Over it? No. Not that. It will never be that. But I’m making my way through it, and even though it makes me feel horrible that I’ve already gotten this far into the process without even having realized it, that guilt is accompanied by a strange sense of reassurance. I am resilient. I am strong. I have it in me to meet this demon – IF – in battle, to face it down, to beat it. It has already robbed me of so many things, but it cannot take my will. No matter what happens at the end of this road, IF cannot win because I will not let it have me.
I wasn’t sure I would write today, but then I read this post by Waiting for Sunflower, and went to the embedded link. And I cried. I’m still crying. For her, for myself, for everyone who has experienced loss, and for the seemingly hopeless hope. How do you experience loss in this journey and not fret about every moment of the next pregnancy? At least every moment up until that fated moment when you found out…it’s all over. My baby is gone. Not lost, but dead.
After this loss, I thought, in the next pregnancy, should we get there, I’ll restlessly, impatiently, worriedly count the days until I reach two or three milestones. The first will be the gestational date our baby measured when it stopped growing: 10w3d. The second will be the date we found out we lost our baby: 12w1d. At this point, if all is well, I had thought I would breathe a huge sigh of relief. Still, I would count towards 24w because that is supposed to be the stage of viability. Not the safety zone, but a better place. A place where there is a chance, where hoping isn’t hopeless. But now, I’m not so sure.
Before I had experienced loss myself, there were only a few blogs I read where the bloggers had experienced a loss. I hurt for them, was shocked at what they’d had to go through. Saw one of them, having gone through a late-term loss of twins, walk away from her blog in the end because she saw it was hurting the ones she loved most, having that pain out there perhaps. So raw. So unbelievable. But as much as I felt for them, I couldn’t really begin to understand until I’d experienced loss myself. I’ll never know their pain, just as they’ll never know mine, but we all hurt, and now I understand that hurt better than I ever wanted to.
Now that I’m reading more blogs associated with loss (and I’m reading a lot more since LFCA is now in my reader), I feel a kinship, but also feel I’ve been hit by this sad realization: the only date that matters, the only date worth keeping my eye on, is the due date. Anything can happen from conception to that point. Hell, it can happen the day of the birth. Babies are lost at all stages of gestation as well as after birth. There is no safety zone. There are things we can do to minimize our chances, but there are never, ever any guarantees.
I feel bad writing that. As a woman who would like to be pregnant again, I wouldn’t want to read that, to think about that, if I were actually pregnant. But because I’ve experienced this loss, I will think about it. Not even pregnant yet, and I think about it. And while it may seem daunting, crushing, saddening, it’s also enlightening.
I did the best I could. There is nothing I could have done to have prevented what happened. Yes, it’s more common in early pregnancy, but all along the way, there are no guarantees. It’s depressing, yes. Scary, for sure. I don’t like being helpless, or imagining myself, or anyone, having to go through the horrid, awful, visceral pain that comes with loss. But when I’m pregnant again, I am going to try to remember this because, if there is nothing I can do, I may as well enjoy the pregnancy, and hope for the best.
Rather than focusing on what could happen, I should focus on what is happening. A miraculous pregnancy. A child growing in my womb. The potential of holding our child in our arms getting closer by the day. Even if that day never comes, a glorious thing has already happened, will be happening inside not only my womb, but inside my heart. A love will have grown for someone else, someone I’ve not yet met, someone I may not get to meet, a selfless love that will endure beyond whatever may happen, beyond each day that passes. That’s something worth reveling in every day, something to celebrate independent of what the future holds.
As a self-proclaimed cynic, realist, and consummate worry wart, that paradigm shift will be a hard thing to wrap my brain around. But I’m going to try. Because your state of mind may make no difference in terms of having a healthy pregnancy that results in a healthy baby, but it makes a huge difference in you. I would much rather be hopelessly hopeful and be wrong, then worry my way through what is supposed to be a magical time in my life and be right.
Now the real question is, am I up to that challenge? Until I get pregnant, I’m not sure I’ll have the answer. But, I’m committed to trying, and I’m enlisting you to help me when the time comes. It is never a waste of time to be joyful, even if it is naive.
Tenaciously TTC (Old) 
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