It feels like my life is on hold. It was moving forward in what felt like a typical fashion. Not perfect by any means. But more your normal ups and downs. Then May 3rd. Sidney died. I delivered him. And from that moment on, everything has been off. I don’t know how to plan-how can I plan when I don’t know when or if I will ever be pregnant again or have a living baby. Can I go to a conference in April? I don’t know. Can I take a vacation in a few months? Can I go do research in Peru? What will the next three years of my career look like, when right now, I am barely getting any work done?
I want to have another living child and I am so scared that it won’t happen. I know. Stress is not helpful. I know. It hasn’t been that long (except that it has if you think about how long I have been trying for a second living baby, rather than just trying since Sidney). I know that my life should not be on hold. That I need to live it. For my sake. For Eli and my husband’s sake. For Sidney’s sake. I ‘know’ all this. But I don’t.
I got my period again yesterday. A crushing blow. A reminder that there is no baby inside of me. A spiraling of fears about my broken body, a body that I used to trust, a body that is failing me now, failed Sidney. I was just talking with another loss mom about this–about how doctors don’t take her seriously and tell her that a year of trying is normal. But she says, “it is not normal for me.” And this is where I get angry at medicine. They need to look at what is normal for her instead of talking in abstract general terms. And even if something is ‘normal’, why shouldn’t someone be able to get help sooner? Many people have said to me that there is only a one in five chance of getting pregnant in any given cycle. But where does that number come from? I find it to be meaningless. Is that of all women everywhere ‘trying’? Does that mean they had sex every day around ovulation? Once at some point in their cycle? These numbers mean nothing. And anyway, they are not helpful when someone is talking about her greatest fears, her trauma, her feelings of being re-traumatized with something as simple as the arrival of a menstrual cycle.
I didn’t mean to write about this in such a public way. But apparently I did.