The last two times we’ve found out about losing our baby, I’ve had an immediate reaction that I was done having children. There was no way I could ever go through the pain again. In fact, with the ectopic, I even asked if they could go ahead and remove my good tube while they were at it. The doctor, in his wisdom, refused.
This time, again, when I got home from my 16 week appointment where I’d learned we’d lost Olivia, I promptly threw away my prenatal vitamins. I was done. How could we ever recover from this loss let alone the potential of more? When Dr. L sat on my hospital bed hours after delivering Olivia and suggested a surrogate if we still wanted a biological child, I adamantly agreed that I was DONE. Don’t worry, we’ll leave here and schedule a vasectomy to be done by the end of the year.
Then within a week, I started to feel desperate to be pregnant again--as soon as possible. If I were pregnant, surely this would all be better, right? I think my obsession with this idea is what pulled me from the dark depths of what must have been depression. It was a glimpse of hope. I read about tests and figured we’d find a cause, treat it, and be on our merry way.
Then came the fear. We had the testing done but found no answers about this loss or our rising number of losses in general. I felt frozen with fear again. There is no known reason, and therefore, no known treatment. There went my hope, weeks after finding it again.
I think at this point, the extremes have evened out. I’m not too scared or too desperate. We can try again even without answers. I will hope for the best and hopefully be prepared for the worst. I know that I’ve overcome a great loss (well, 5) and lived to tell about it. I can try again.
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