In my mind I feel it with upmost certainty; that I missed it, that the signs have been and gone and once again it's too late... I get hot with panic, I sweat, my heart races and I mourn the loss and I berate myself for the hope.... The hope that is still waiting for the kick, the sign that I was wrong. I have been pregnant for 30 weeks. This started from about 18 weeks. I have had 84 days of abject fear rolling to elation with life signs and then back to helplessness, despair and fear. Potentially 50 days to go.
Night time is the worst. The weight of responsibility sits heavily on my shoulders. I'm the only one who can see the signs. Most stillbirths occur in the early hours of the morning, I must remain alert, at all times feeling, thinking, comparing. Is tonight the night they are going to be tangled in their cord and die? Was that movement I felt a few minutes ago the last one I will feel. The house is dark, the husband and daughter are sleeping soundly, but I'm sitting guard, I will wait.
2 out of three of my babies have died, on my watch. Not due to any fault of mine... And yet they were my responsibility. In my mind I have a 30% chance of bringing my baby home.
No one wants to hear that. They tell me I have to think positive, not to let the fear win.
I wish it was a matter of permission. Trust me, I don't want the fear to win and I am fighting it.
I hear stories of premature babies being born after 29 weeks and I think "you are so lucky" your baby has a 96% chance of survival... As the weeks pass those statistics improve everyday. Stacked against my 30%, those odds look mighty desirable. And yet this is a choice I couldn't make. Logically I know the path for a premature bub is challenging and those risks are very real compared to my own... But logic doesn't rule my heart. If they were here safely we could watch them better, keep them safe easier.
Over the years of living with an anxiety disorder I have accumulated a toolbox full of strategies. Can you trust me when I say I am using them all... Constantly and with varying degrees of success; CBT techniques, framing, mindfulness, affirmations, meditation, prayer, distraction, exercise, journaling. The hardest part about all this is the resistance I carry, to hope.
I know that sounds incredibly counterproductive. But on the days that I'm doing well managing the anxiety, when we've had a check up and lots of movement and hope starts to flower, the brakes come on... Because it's a lot further to fall once hope has buoyed you up, a lot harder to reconcile your lot in life when you've come from a place of hopeful expectation and landed in hopeless darkness. Trust me, I know.
Some have said that they KNOW this time is going to be different, that this time we will have our happy beginning. And I love them for their optimism at the same time as I want to scream in frustration at their lack of understanding. No one knows...no one can know... Well, God knows but thus far he hasn't let me in on his verdict.
Some have suggested that I need to live as though we're bringing them home, because to do otherwise is merely to deny the joy of the time we have with them. This approach appeals to me the most because it doesn't deny the reality of the situation completely. But it's hard. So bloody hard. I stumble on the words that suggest I believe we're having a baby in October, I find it hard to buy anything we may need, because the reality is we bought it all for Melinda and it really sucks to stare at it or days or weeks after you have failed to bring your baby home before you muster the courage to pack it all away or to have to take it all back to the store for a refund. I don't want to do that again. I don't want to have a baby shower and then potentially let my friends and family down again.
We have named our baby, we talk to them, we giggle at their antics from within the womb. Each day we fall more and more in love with them. Each day more of my heart becomes inextricably intertwined with every beat of theirs... The hope is excruciating. But Love is never wasted
50 days to go. One way or another. We will know the outcome then. So I will keep watch over them, I will continue doing everything in my power to bring them home, I will advocate for monitoring and scans and anything that will improve our odds. I'm not giving up the fight. I just need some understanding, that my capacity for engaging in life's great adventure is greatly diminished at the moment. Please pray for us, intercede for us, encourage us and be there for us. Ask my husband how he is going, love my daughter, wipe my tears.
We couldn't have done this without your support.
