1. Fear of the unknown. When I became pregnant with my daughter, I dreaded my first prenatal visit. Relief at seeing a heartbeat quickly turned to panic at learning my progesterone levels were low. As I filled the supplement prescription, I felt myself being submerged into an all-too-familiar nightmare. After each appointment, I waited to learn my "levels" like a prisoner waiting to hear her sentence. I felt trapped in a body that didn't work, that couldn't hold on to what mattered most. Even when I made it past the first trimester, my hesitations continued, shrouding every moment in a layer of anxiety and fear.
2. Loneliness. With my first pregnancy, we told our families right away. It was Christmas, and we were celebrating. I never dreamed I would be un-telling everyone a month later. With my next pregnancy, I was determined not to make the same mistake. We waited a long time before telling anyone, which made me feel protected, but also alone. My pregnancy became a secret to keep, instead of happy news to share. I held everything inside -- exactly when I needed my friends and family the most.
3. Guilt and self-doubt. During this time I often questioned my decisions, worried that any lapse in judgment might end my pregnancy. I was nervous to lift chairs at a work event, scared to help a family member carry luggage up the stairs. (Positions I found myself in because I was too afraid to tell anyone I was pregnant.) When you've had a miscarriage, it's easy to grab hold of the idea that by doing everything "right" you have some semblance of control -- and, by doing something "wrong," you're to blame for the loss. It's a heavy burden to bear.
4. Morning sickness envy. Most women dread morning sickness. I found myself longing for it. I craved the physical reassurance that things were "normal" inside me. I desperately wanted to know that my baby was there, growing and developing as expected. My lack of morning sickness felt like a punishment. Every moment I didn't feel nauseous was a reminder of how little I understood what was happening inside of me -- and how little I could control it.
5. Fear of joy. For a long time, I found myself prefacing every statement about my baby with "If we make it through the pregnancy" or "If the baby is born." I was afraid to be excited, terrified of letting in too much joy. I was uncomfortable buying furniture for the nursery, shopping for onesies, or even thinking of names. Looking back, I wish I had let myself enjoy it more. But my wounds were still fresh. I didn't want to indulge hopes that might lead to another heartbreak.
Sometime in my ninth month I began to relax, to feel hopeful that soon I'd hold my baby in my arms. I stopped saying "if" and started saying "when." When my daughter was born, I knew she was the baby I was meant to have. But as blessed as I am with my children, when I hear of a friend's miscarriage, I feel a pang in my heart. I'm glad that there's a day to shine a light on this issue -- for people to acknowledge and share their sadness about such a difficult subject. It was this openness -- talking with others who'd been through it -- that helped me get through those nine long months. Hopefully this openness will help others to know that there's light -- and even hope -- beyond the darkness.
No comments:
Post a Comment