I will say that I with almost 100% certainty believe that I will not make it to term. That isn't saying that I don't believe I won't get my "take home baby" as people in the loss forums say, or in my case "A baby who is healthy, living, breathing, ages, outlives us, has babies of their own, and grand babies." I am oddly optimistic, which isn't saying that we won't have more loss, more sadness, or more heartbreak. What I am saying is that I haven't given up. I still have hope, we have options for treatment. Whether or not they will work, is still to be tested but its a little bit of hope, perhaps a little seed of optimism, who knows. I can tell that I am rambling, I will get to my point that I wanted to get to earlier.
Earlier I went to a follow up appointment at my high risk OB. I figured it was to make sure that the infection was gone (waste of time honestly-I think they wanted to check on my mental status more then my baby making status). Anyway...
I tear up when I go to this clinic, because I have happy memories of going there to see Amelia on the screen, and obviously sad ones of returning without her. (Carter was at a different facility/hospital system) So I ask if I can be placed in a room away from the hugely 8+ month pregnant women who are populating the waiting room. They are kind enough to take me back, and then it starts. A nurse is "available to talk, because she has NOTHING to do..." A nurse, yeah right. This became a 30 minute span of her talking to me, and being available to talk if i wanted to talk about anything, etc. Then there was suggestions of seeing a therapist/group support etc. I mentioned that I was in a MUCH better place then with Carter, and explained my analogy of the last post (Crater). The nurse seemed to have gotten it, but still made me fill out one of those depression screenings that isn't fooling anyone, which by the way said I wasn't depressed. Once she left me alone, It got me thinking about the differences when you go to a clinic with a child growing inside you, and when you are an empty shell returning without the cooing baby in your arms. I get that people don't know what to say when you are grieving, when you have lost what people claim to be the worst feeling in the world is when you lose a child. Well lucky me I have experienced it twice, and a very early miscarriage (bubble). Do i get some sort of award for being the strong-woman......
So when you go into these facilities with a growing embryo/fetus depending on when you go they are happily staring at you, talking about the future, planning for the life that is going to exist outside of you and throw up on you, and make messes, and completely change your life. What they don't prepare you for is what happens when either A. that life dies inside of you, or B. you give birth to a life which is then gone too fast. I get that you can't be prepared for that because you don't expect it, it won't happen to you, that happens to people you know or have heard of but not you. You do all the right things, you watch the caffeine intake, you don't eat deli meats, you avoid sushi, etc. Then even the best made plans are ruined and you are left with plans, dreams, wishes, ideas but no one to implement them with. Post life growing inside you, you notice the hugely pregnant women with bellies so big that you can't imagine that on you. You hear the stories about babies being born, and the nurses gushing over how cute they are, of course right outside your door. You hear the hushed conversations about you outside the door. Then there are the nurses who don't realize that you are no longer pregnant. They ask you how far along are you, and when you tell them they quickly apologize and cast their eyes down before skittering out of the room like it's on fire. Every time you return you are reminded of the happy times, the times of listening to the little heartbeat beating so strong, seeing the little acrobat spinning inside you, and listening to the optimism, or at least idea that you have more weeks to come. With Amelia our concern every visit was if she was still alive. Every heartbeat we heard set our mind a little at ease, every ultrasound of a happy flipping baby made our hearts grow even bigger. I told my husband J and our family that I wanted our baby to know that he/she was loved even if they were only with us for a short time. Even though it hurts to let love in, and embrace the life inside you I still will do it for the subsequent kids. Because at the end of the day, I know my children know that they are loved. Even Carter, who never heard us utter the words, or feel the embrace of our hands on his skin, his daddy talked to him through my belly and I talked to him. I know he could feel my love, and knew he was loved. His daddy wonders if he did, but I have to believe that our little man & little princess know without a doubt that they are loved.
In terms of dreams/wishes/plans/ideas, my husband just had his ideal shown to him yesterday in a friend who has a kid. His dream was to introduce our children to Star Wars. Yesterday a friend of ours borrowed it from us to show his 6 year old son. The day before that we were at a comic convention and my husband and this kid who was probably about 8 or 9 years old was arguing about doctor who and for a minute I could imagine thats my son Carter. I had never imagined him that old, I had not had the chance to. It was nice to think of him grown up.
Thats all the babbling I have for today.
<3 you babies.