I struggle to try to explain what it feels like to be pregnant after suffering through so many early pregnancy miscarriages to try to explain to my husband, my friends, the doctors, the nurses, our families etc why I am not smiling ear to ear, why I’m daily shocked to still be pregnant and why I honestly don’t believe this pregnancy will go to term.
Maybe perhaps had I only lost Ava-and this was my next pregnancy after, or maybe if I only miscarried once after Ava and this was my third pregnancy that this would be a very different.
Only it’s not. There was a long pause and you could hear the level of seriousness in the nurse’s voice when I answered “this is my 7th pregnancy, I have no living children” to her very routine question of how many children do you have-her response “oh…boy…this is going to be…interesting.”
I feel like a ticking time bomb or better yet, a super saturated solution-like a high school science experiment. I have heated up a cup of water to boiling and have slowly dissolved what seems to be impossible amounts of sugar in it-and yet the liquid is somehow perfectly translucent with everything fully dissolved in it and then let it cool. There it sits-as long as nothing is ever added-it will remain a perfectly clear liquid. But drop one little thing in there and then BLAMO everything seizes up turning the entire beaker into an opaque crystaline mess.
That is what alloimmune recurrent pregnancy loss is like-you never know when your super saturated body will decide its no longer able to maintain that translucent perfect solution to keep your baby alive, regardless of all the drugs you are on, and then BLAMO your baby is dead. Every day. There will never be a “safe” point in this pregnancy.
No seeing a heart beating relief.
No Nuchal first look perfect test results relief.
No AFP triple screen test results relief.
No Anatomy Scan at 20 weeks relief.
No viability relief.
Because the plain and simple truth is that each and every day, I’m not worried that there is something wrong with *him*- I am petrified that my body is going to up and change its mind, perhaps somehow break through all of the meds and then go ahead and attack him. Never will there be a point in the 40 weeks of gestation that my body can’t snuff out this pregnancy. Never will there be a day that I won’t wake up and wonder if it has already happened.
This damage runs FAAAARRRR deeper than I could have ever imagined.