I don’t know what to say this morning.
I’m lost. Completely. So I’m just going to let it flow here from my bed as the dustmen clang around outside.
I burst into tears when I least expect it. Actually ‘burst’ isn’t the right word. It’s more of an uncontrollable hot pressure behind my eyes that begins to release really slowly at first as I try to swallow them back, as I try to manage my breathing. It happened yesterday in public in a little cafe as hubs and I were killing time before my follow up hospital appointment. I was just eating with my husband. I wasn’t surrounded by pregnant people or in the waiting room of the gynae dept, facing miscarriage and ectopic pregnancy posters or people exploding from the scan room, elated at seeing their gorgeous developing bean. We were just talking about life. About me going back to work. About what I’d like to do before then. And everything just seemed so pointless. The little cafe in Richmond i’d like to go to. A daytrip in the sun to Whitstable. I looked at those words on my ‘add to planner’ list on my phone and they seemed so distant in my priorities. Foreign. Had I still been pregnant those things would still be attractive. Me and my growing bubba wandering around doing nice things together. The dream team. Photos to look back on when the cat was out of the bag, that housed my happy secret…’I was 8 weeks pregnant in that photo!’
‘Lost’ is correct though. A friend of mine summed it up well by suggesting I feel directionless. That’s spot on.
Just over a week ago I had clear direction – motherhood. Something massive, scary, pinch yourself exciting. I was ready. More than I’ve been ready for anything in all my life. It was my new role, job, my purpose. I was about to throw everything at it. Everything I’ve read and absorbed on parenting over the years. I truly believed that this was our time and that nothing would go wrong. Strangely, once pregnant, everything felt so simple. Of course I was pregnant!
Nothing else mattered and still, nothing else does.
Dramatic? Fuck off.
Be positive! It’ll happen! Keep pushing forward!
I pray it’ll happen. But I’m in knots that it might not. I couldn’t have predicted the outcome of my precious first pregnancy. I didn’t even know cervical ectopics existed. But fuck, now I do. And so now I’m filled with fear about all the other complications I don’t know exist because I’m not feeling lucky just now. Ectopic pregnancies occur in 1-2% of all pregnancies. And cervical ectopics in 0.1% of those.
There are countless ‘happy ending’ stories out there. People who’ve had the journey of infertility and failed pregnancies SO much worse than I. Will I be one of them eventually? The trait that seems consistent in those stories is that they just didn’t give up. Despite their concern and fear, they had steely determination that it would happen for them.
For now though, I’m scared of just returning to normal and pretending I’m ok. I’m not ok. I’m sad and scared. Two simple words, nothing fancy. Sad and scared.