Where do we go from here?
Some of you may know that I went under again last week. The long story short is that my levels had not been dropping accordingly for almost a month and it was time to investigate. An ultrasound showed that I had more lining than I did at my last US in November, there was still blood flow and a number of other things. Even after everything that happen on November 17th my body had not finished what it had started. There were frightening terms being tossed around like Molar Pregnancy and Gestational Trophoblastic Disease and it was under no uncertain terms that I was told this was our only options and if this ever happens again this will be our ONLY option.
In the end everything came back normal, and as of today my blood work finally came back normal. It’s over. I would have been five months along around this time and it’s been over four months since I found out that I had, yet again, another nonviable pregnancy. If you count the months from this summer I have been “pregnant” in someway or another long enough to actually carry a baby to term. And yes, that’s about as depressing of a thought as you can imagine.
So where do we go from here? I honestly have no idea. I know that forward is the only option, but I don’t know the when’s, the why’s or the how’s. I’m trying to take it one day at a time. I’m trying to give myself a chance to heal, in more ways than one.
Hardest of all I’m trying to figure out my place in the grand scheme of motherhood.
When I was growing up I had a small group of close friends for a while. There were seven of us. Everyone had a partner, someone who they really meshed well with for one reason or another. The one they did the most with, told the most too and walked their paths with and then there was me. I was the spare, or at least that’s how it felt for a long time. I didn’t have a partner and was often the odd man out in many ways or at least that’s how it felt to a 15 year old girl.
Now I feel like the odd man out yet again. Most everyone I know who has kids at least has a set. There’s this invisible division – there are many reminders, not cruelly or even intentionally, that I don’t know what their lives are like. Most of them don’t know what it’s like in my shoes either and it gets a bit lonely out on the periphery of motherhood like this. The truth is I don’t know what it’s like to be in the shoes of most of my friends. It’s a rigid, inflexible truth in my life that I’d give anything to change and there’s a lot in my life that gives me great joy (my friends and family and their children) that is often a harsh reminder of that reality.
It’s my own fancy, wibbly-wobbly, crappy paradox.
(If you’d like to have your own “fancy, wibbly-wobbly, crappy paradox” I’ll happily sell you mine at rock bottom prices.)
And what’s the point of writing all of this? I’m not really sure. I suppose just to get it out of my head because that’s healthy for me and little for everyone who has mentioned that they’ve appreciated my honesty through all of this. So I guess this is for you. It’s a message that I’m not done and there’s still some fight left in me. That I’m still willing to claw my way back from the edges so that I can’t be told that I don’t know what it’s like again. I’m determined not to be that Odd Man Out anymore.
As I’ve written the above I’ve learned that a friend is now part of my “special club”. Prayers for her and her family as they navigate this time in their lives.