I just lost my second pregnancy. It started quickly and it ended quickly.
It’s supposed to be easier than this but if I’ve ever learned one thing, it’s that nothing, NOTHING, in my life has been easy or worked out the way it should. Two days ago, I said to myself “If you don’t have hope, what do you have?”
I’ll tell you.
If you don’t have hope you have a hole inside of you so big that nothing fills it. If you don’t have hope, you have nothing. And nothing hurts worse than being hit by a truck. Much. Worse.
This roller coaster should have ended in April. When I found out I was pregnant, I should have stayed pregnant. It should have ended again today, with my HCG doubling and a gestational sac showing up on the ultrasound. But it keeps on going.
The worst part of all of this is watching my fiance struggle. Not only do I have to worry about my physical health, my emotional health and my sanity, I have to worry about his. And being sober people, we seem to be more fragile than some. I don’t mean that these things are harder for us than others, I just mean that.. when a sober person has a struggle, everyone around them worries whether or not they’re going to pick up. Are they going to get high because they lost a baby? It’s an entirely possible scenario.
But in the last 5 1/2 years of being sober, I’ve learned that I would rather feel real feelings than fake happiness and that’s all picking up would do for me. But I can’t say the same for my fiance, who, when I had my first surgery for an ectopic pregnancy told me that if he couldn’t have children he didn’t want to be sober.
I can handle losing my baby but I can’t handle losing his.
Losing someone else’s baby takes on a whole new meaning.
Today I came home and made some parsley tea. I want to get this over with as quickly as it started. Maybe that sounds harsh, but its the only way I can move on.
I loved you with all of my heart. You were so small you barely existed but you existed to me. You should have been a beautiful little person. You should have been able to cry and smile and breathe and… live. I’m sorry that you couldn’t be, not yet. Maybe you weren’t ready, and I understand. The world is a scary place. It’s beautiful and crazy, but it can be scary. And you don’t have to come yet. Whenever you’re ready, you have a little family here waiting for you with open arms.
And we will love you then.