“Ultimately it is not the grief that stops us from starting life over. But the fear of losing it all again” – Christina Rasmussen

Secretly, I’ve downloaded another ‘track my baby’ app for my iPhone. Good idea? Hmm, not sure yet. Even though I don’t want to ‘talk about it’, I still would like to be informed as to what is actually happening in there. So far my daily updates have reinformed me that my ‘blastocyst’ has now transformed into an ‘embryo’ and my cervix is now well and truly ‘plugged up’.  How delightful! According to this week, the umbilical cord is in formation and the abdominal cavity, limbs and many of the organs are ‘sprouting roots’. So scientific. So clinical. It’s just what I need! The word ‘baby’ has been banned in our house. If one must refer to that which is ‘growing’ in thee, thou shall refer to it as its ‘scientific’ title; embryo. I know, I must seem crazy, but my craziness is the only thing keeping me sane.

The day has arrived for my first ultrasound; 7 weeks and 4 days. Dread. I attend the ultrasound alone. I told hubby he doesn’t need to come along, “You’ve seen it all before. It’s just a blob with a flicker…”. I know if he tagged along, the look of unease he’ll show as he watches me in my state of worry will only exacerbate the situation, and instead of being able to ‘act cool’, I’d probably just cry. I don’t want to do this, but there’s no choice. I’m the woman. I bear the children. If something’s wrong then I’m the hero saving him from enduring something he doesn’t have to. I tell myself that anyway. Yes, I’m some awesome type of superhero!

I feel as if I’ve been sitting for hours in the waiting room and plea with the receptionist to use the bathroom, as the 1 litres of water I’m forced to drink pains me. She instructs to go “only a little bit!” Oh Lord, a little bit? What a task that was (yeah, try it one time!) After my hours of waiting (ok, more like 20 minutes) and just before it’s time for my scan, the fire alarm sirens blare through the clinic. Practise fire drill. Are you kidding? I’m forced out, along with the elderly, infirm and the physicians onto the street. Should I just run? It’s a sign! Ah, toughen up princess… Or should I say, awesome superhero…!

It’s finally my turn. I rest in silence on the table while the sonographer reads through my ‘referral’. She exits and seems to have an impromptu discussion with her colleagues about what she’s read. It must be interesting, or puzzling, or…? Everything is so quiet, but my body is roaring… no, not like a lioness roar… but more like an ear-piercing, head-splitting shrieking roar. The echoing of my breath is deafening… my heartbeat is blasting through my ears. I feel my sweat pooling on my palms. My lips quiver and the veins in my neck bulge as I hold my breath. My eyes won’t blink. Just breathe… breathe would you!!

I stare at the roof. I can’t look at the screen until she says with glee, “there’s your baby and there’s the heart beat”. A sweeping breathe of relief fills me. The blood starts pumping again at the rate it should. Hello, little one… oops, I mean… there’s my embryo! Anticipated arrival: 13^th July 2013.

Oh, how people long for this moment. To see that screen. To see that flicker. But pathetically, I can’t wait for the screen to be turned off. It’s just another thing on the checklist.

Obstacle 2: heartbeat = complete.

7 week & 4 days

“Every day is a new beginning. Take a deep breath and start again”.

“Maturing is realising how many things don’t require your comment” -Rachel Wolchin

I’ve seen my GP who has scheduled a dating scan and has written my referral to revisit the Genetic Counsellors at Liverpool Hospital. It’s all becoming very real now, but I’m still in complete denial, doing a good job at pretending that nothing has changed. The consistent nausea and daily vomiting, however, is hard to ignore. All of the ‘remedies’ I tried last time still don’t work; Ginger? Crackers? Please don’t get me started! The sick also makes me a little more paranoid this time due to the passing comments made a few months earlier by well-meaning, self-instated, non-doctor doctors; “Maybe the reason you were so sick before was because your body was trying to tell you something was wrong?” I know it’s nonsense, but that doesn’t stop me from freaking out. I feel exactly the same as last time and I’m convinced something must be wrong. What’s wrong with people? Haven’t you heard that if you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all? 

At the work front, my employment saga has continued. Of late, I have accepted the fact that my chances of gaining a permanent position have dwindled. Did someone say canned beans? This time, I don’t care that my future income prospects are hazy. ‘Life’ is so much more than ‘money’, so I say goodbye future house, goodbye stable career… disappointing, but accepted…

That was until a permanent position at my work was suddenly advertised. Great timing… *insert eye roll here*.

Over the past 3 years, I have applied for hundreds (ok, slight exaggeration) of permanent positions within the Department and have been invited to 6 interviews. No one can say I wasn’t ‘putting myself out there’. I so badly wanted… no… needed ‘security’. I disliked the idea that I could potentially be branded ‘dispensable’ and replaced at anytime on my current temporary contract. With each new rejection and each generic call;  “unfortunately you were not successful {as we have found that the teacher who has already been working collaboratively in our school for the last 8 year was better suited for the position}” … blah, blah, Duh! (I may have added that last bit in, but you get the idea)… I’ve become a little more defeated. I question whether to even go for this job. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do and I know I work hard, but I just don’t think I could endure anymore disappointment this year.

With a fair bit of encouragement, I apply and am invited to an interview. Wow, interview number 7! How can you not take it personally? I know everyone goes through stages of self doubt and inadequacy, but in my current vulnerable state, my self talk at this point is disgusting, thinking that I’ve only been given this opportunity out of ‘sympathy’. How everything I now do is ‘tarnished’. Feeling like I’m being ‘tricky’ or ‘deceitful’ by applying knowing that I’m pregnant. Wondering if others will think I’m worthy or deserving. All stupid talk, I know. Luckily, I’ve become overly distracted in being inconspicuous, trying not to vomit all the time or to wee my pants; another of those lovely pregnancy symptom I’ve been graced with. I nearly call in ‘sick’ the day of the interview as I curl up in a ball at home with my face in a spew bucket. But I see this as my ‘last chance’…. really, it is my last chance!

I give it everything I’ve got in the interview, holding nothing back. All things have led me to this point. All those applications, all those rejections, all my doubt… this whole year, has brought me here. While answering the panel’s questions, I experience an epiphanic moment (is that even a word?). I realise how invested I actually am as a teacher… how much I actually do care about what I do… How I really don’t want to give this away.

When it’s all over, I’m utterly spent. I take a few moments and cry in the bathroom knowing that this opportunity is only viable because of our ‘loss’. In this sliding doors moment, I conclude that I would give all this up in a second to not have gone through this year. Everything else now appears so insignificant. I imagine where I would be if things were different. I would be at home with a 2-month-old, probably kicking myself that I’ve missed this ‘job opportunity’, but instead, I’m here… pathetic… in a bathroom cubicle… questioning everything I am… perplexed at the ‘timing’ of this all… secretly harbouring a new Little One that I won’t even acknowledge.

I got the job.

As I celebrate with those who had been cheering me on this whole time… While others shed tears of joy… as I declare my utter relief at job security,  I actually feel nothing. No overwhelming sense of gladness… no uplighting sighs of relief … No internal sense of accomplishment. I feel absolutely nothing. I’m confused. I’m lucky. I’m grateful.

I quietly thank her, thinking maybe she’s not here so we could be blessed with so much more. This ‘more’ that I don’t think I want or need. With that thought, I curl back into my ball and reach again for the spew bucket. Here we go again…

“Sometimes memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks.”

“You told me I look sad today. I am sad most days. Today I haven’t the energy to hide it.”

It’s been 5-ish weeks since we arrived back from Samoa. I’m not even due yet and I already ‘know.’ I have this oh so familiar feeling. I tell myself to stop being ridiculous, it’s too soon to know, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I use one of the tests that was left over from earlier in the year. Two pink lines; ‘pregnant.’

So when’s the celebratory confetti supposed to fall? I guess this time I have the luxury of finding out in the comfort of my own home, a tad more ‘traditional‘ than last time.  I immediately experience an overwhelming sense that I can only explain as a big fist pumping “YES!”

Obstacle one = complete. 

I’m overcome with relief. Relief that falling pregnant hasn’t posed an issue, as it unfortunately does for so many, and for that I’m so extremely grateful... but with this said, I’m terrified… terrified as to what happens next? There’s no going back now.

Oh Lord! What have I done? Can I really do this again…?!

I had warned hubby of this moment. If, or when, we fall pregnant again, there is to be no fuss… no talk of it… and definitely no confetti. Life continues as if nothing has changed, until I say. I know that sounds cruel, but I still consider myself ‘damaged goods.’ Still, in saying that, I leave hubby a little congratulatory gesture for when he arrives home from work. I can’t drink now, but he sure might need one, or a few, for both of us.

Sharing the news with hubby

It turns out, he was evidently elated with the news, but is ‘party-pooped‘ with my stern reminder to not make a fuss. This doesn’t stop him from grinning foolishly when he thinks I’m not looking. Oh, why did I even bother… Hold on tight, this is actually happening.

“When your past calls, don’t answer it. It has nothing new to say”.