In general, I don't think of the fetuses I've lost as lost children. That is an evolution from my first loss, pre-H, which, because it was my first-ever pregnancy, felt most like the loss of someone. In general, I find it easier to go along with the doctors and assume these pregnancies were the beginnings of life forms that were ultimately incompatible with human life, and my body had the good sense, for better or worse, to recognize that and let them go.
But every once in a while there is a wild card that throws off that construct I've tried to build neatly around these losses. There was the second of these past four losses, last year, that looked perfect on-screen right up until the moment it left my body, suddenly, without explanation. That one still haunts me. What was wrong with it? Did my body reject a healthy baby? Could that have been another sweet little H who might have walked and talked and said funny things?
And now I have another one to ponder, another pregnancy that suddenly seems more like it could have been a loss of an actual person than some ersatz collection of cells. The OB called yesterday and told me that the karyotype on this pregnancy came back showing no chromosomal abnormalities. Which is now sitting out there like some ominous clue in a bad suspense movie, leaving us to ponder why, then, the heart of this little creature started beating but couldn't become anything more. Why it then died too, joining four other siblings, or mizukos, or promises of lives that were, for whatever reason, defined or never to be known, not meant to be.
It's hard to know sometimes how to read the highway signs of life. What am I to take away from this fourth loss? Do I listen to this nagging voice saying maybe it's time to toss that proverbial towel? Or do I listen to this other voice that says this is your dream, and you don't walk away from your dream just because the going gets tough? What if I'd walked away before H? Some people do, and no one would have blamed me if I had.
My meeting with the new RE is tomorrow. For the first time since I started this slog six years ago, I have no plan, no direction, no clue what I want to do. All I know is that I've spent my entire 30s to this point trying to have babies, and I'm exhausted.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Forty-Six Healthy Chromosomes. Zero Explanations.
Posted by Good Egg Hatched at 9:47 AM
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4 comments:
I'm not sure what to say. I'll be thinking of you.
Good luck with the new RE, hun. I'll be thinking of you.
My only assvice is to ask whether or not they have tested you for all possible contributing factors.
I have a good friend (I know her in real life) who has recently stopped trying to have a second child after three years and four losses. She needed IUI for her first and then got pregnant naturally but had pregnancies that weren't viable each time. After three of the losses they did the RPL testing and found out she had antiphospholipid syndrome. They put her on baby aspirin and fragmin when she had her fourth pregnancy, but that ended too, and by that stage she and her hubby were done.
She's recently started blogging: http://twoadultsonechild.com/ Not sure where your head is at right now, but she might be a good read for sorting out the conflicting feelings if you do decide you've had enough.
xoxo
T.
Hoping this fresh start yields many positive new things in your life. Hugs.
My 30s were largely lost too - I really identified with that when you said that. It was exhausting. I promise you that when you are done, one way or another, you will party like you're 29 and it will be good. Life with one can be very, very good with lots of travel and loving, present, high-quality one on one time with hubby and/or kid. But if you decide to slog through the trenches again, you also wont regret mustering the strength to try one last time, whenever that last time is.
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