Right now, I am going to write about something that happened at the end of January. I've wanted to write about it for awhile, but never actually completed that task.
During November and December, I was madly tracking ovulation, menstruation, and uh....getting it on. I'm someone who doesn't ever really make plans and who relies on her memory rather than marking up an agenda, but I did use a mobile app to track our "baby making." It was fun to put hearts into the app....hearts mean intimacy :)
Based on my December calculations, I had a feeling that I was pregnant at the end of December. I didn't menstruate when I was supposed to either. We were hosting a NYE soiree and I figured I better take a pregnancy test before imbibing vodka and diet Sprite (classy, I know). The test came out positive! On NYE, I drank a steady supply of seltzer and cranberry juice. Some friends inquired if I was trying to cut calories (they know me too well) and I felt odd keeping people out of the loop. I told a few friends that I as pregnant but that it was VERY early on. This whole idea of waiting until 12 weeks--- that's so torturous. Normally, people hold onto secrets for a long time when the secrets might hurt others' feelings or show acts of betrayal. It just seems horrible to hold onto a happy secret for so long.
Even though it would not be 12 weeks yet, we planned on telling John's parents on Super Bowl weekend (siblings and cousins too). I had planned on ordering some cheesy shirt from a website-- something with a football and some lame saying like "Future Football Fan."
I went for my first doctor's appointment and I was actually only six weeks along. The doctor couldn't see a heartbeat, but he told me that it was still early on and that he wanted to see me the following week. I went back the following week. There was no heartbeat and there was no growth from the previous week. The doctor assumed that I had miscarried, but sent me to a diagnostic center for confirmation. I had to be poked and prodded twice in one day and ended up getting the shittiest news.
I didn't know how to tell John the news. I'm dreadful at communication and serious talks. I'd rather avoid them than ever have them. This conversation, however, was unavoidable. When he got home from work, I just said, "The baby is not okay." I was so upset that night and although we had not revealed the pregnancy to John's parents, we chose to call them up and let them know what happened. We were still going to their house on Super Bowl Sunday. There was no way I could act "normal" and "pretend," so we simply told them the truth.
I ended up having to get a D & C on February 10. I hated how something so sad could be abbreviated into two letters. I wanted to ask the doctor if a D & C was basically the same thing as an abortion, but I knew if the doctor replied "Yes" that I would completely freak out. Looking on lots of sites, they are essentially the same thing---one is just not "elective."
There are no appropriate words. That surgery fucking sucked.
After I had it, I talked with people and found out that it is much more common than people think. I feel like people should talk about it more. Even for the first few months after the procedure, I felt like an inept human. That kind of surgery screws with your psyche. I started thinking that maybe I wasn't woman enough or strong enough to carry a baby. Maybe this was some way of the universe getting back at me for all of my "I'm selling my reproductive organs" jokes from years ago.
When I didn't get pregnant for months after the D & C, thoughts of my ineptitude continued. Women, of course, can always recognize that perhaps there is a potency problem with their partners. We are too hard on ourselves to even think about that possibility though. We just assume there is something wrong with us.
During November and December, I was madly tracking ovulation, menstruation, and uh....getting it on. I'm someone who doesn't ever really make plans and who relies on her memory rather than marking up an agenda, but I did use a mobile app to track our "baby making." It was fun to put hearts into the app....hearts mean intimacy :)
Based on my December calculations, I had a feeling that I was pregnant at the end of December. I didn't menstruate when I was supposed to either. We were hosting a NYE soiree and I figured I better take a pregnancy test before imbibing vodka and diet Sprite (classy, I know). The test came out positive! On NYE, I drank a steady supply of seltzer and cranberry juice. Some friends inquired if I was trying to cut calories (they know me too well) and I felt odd keeping people out of the loop. I told a few friends that I as pregnant but that it was VERY early on. This whole idea of waiting until 12 weeks--- that's so torturous. Normally, people hold onto secrets for a long time when the secrets might hurt others' feelings or show acts of betrayal. It just seems horrible to hold onto a happy secret for so long.
Even though it would not be 12 weeks yet, we planned on telling John's parents on Super Bowl weekend (siblings and cousins too). I had planned on ordering some cheesy shirt from a website-- something with a football and some lame saying like "Future Football Fan."
I went for my first doctor's appointment and I was actually only six weeks along. The doctor couldn't see a heartbeat, but he told me that it was still early on and that he wanted to see me the following week. I went back the following week. There was no heartbeat and there was no growth from the previous week. The doctor assumed that I had miscarried, but sent me to a diagnostic center for confirmation. I had to be poked and prodded twice in one day and ended up getting the shittiest news.
I didn't know how to tell John the news. I'm dreadful at communication and serious talks. I'd rather avoid them than ever have them. This conversation, however, was unavoidable. When he got home from work, I just said, "The baby is not okay." I was so upset that night and although we had not revealed the pregnancy to John's parents, we chose to call them up and let them know what happened. We were still going to their house on Super Bowl Sunday. There was no way I could act "normal" and "pretend," so we simply told them the truth.
I ended up having to get a D & C on February 10. I hated how something so sad could be abbreviated into two letters. I wanted to ask the doctor if a D & C was basically the same thing as an abortion, but I knew if the doctor replied "Yes" that I would completely freak out. Looking on lots of sites, they are essentially the same thing---one is just not "elective."
There are no appropriate words. That surgery fucking sucked.
After I had it, I talked with people and found out that it is much more common than people think. I feel like people should talk about it more. Even for the first few months after the procedure, I felt like an inept human. That kind of surgery screws with your psyche. I started thinking that maybe I wasn't woman enough or strong enough to carry a baby. Maybe this was some way of the universe getting back at me for all of my "I'm selling my reproductive organs" jokes from years ago.
When I didn't get pregnant for months after the D & C, thoughts of my ineptitude continued. Women, of course, can always recognize that perhaps there is a potency problem with their partners. We are too hard on ourselves to even think about that possibility though. We just assume there is something wrong with us.
No comments:
Post a Comment