This weekend I have endured both pain and heart ache, yet I have also felt amazing compassion.
At 7.5 weeks pregnant, I knew what the odds were, of someone my age and with my history, actually having a viable pregnancy. But since finding out and subsequently seeing the flickering of this tiny beings heart, I felt attached and maternal. An almost foreign concept. Sure, I adore my niece and nephew and have no issues relating to and getting along with most kids. In fact I attract them, maybe they see the ridiculous big kid in me that I try so hard to hide from the sensible adult world.
When I discovered I was pregnant, I dared not breathe. I endured the waves of nausea, the hilarious bacon cravings, the going to bed before Nanna o’clock most nights. I analysed my body. Being so very body aware, every little change I studied, wondering what lay ahead. I was fascinated and so very scared.
When the bleeding started it was light. I scoured the internet, early pregnancy bleeding was common. I didn’t feel any better. By the second day, it intensified a little more and I felt my anxiety rising. I wanted to bury my head under the doona, to block out my reality. I knew deep down that things were changing.
On day three (Saturday), with the bleeding I now had small period like cramps. Everything felt wrong. I debated with myself for a good hour, then drove alone to the hospital emergency department. Sandringham Hospital staff were amazing. I felt cocooned in an amazing environment, being looked out for by people who genuinely cared. Who wanted to do what was right for me, a now fairly stressed out pregnant woman.
When the radiologist could find no heart beat, I knew I’d been right to trust my body.
It was all I could do to get back in my car and make it home. I felt like I could tear apart at the seams at any moment, and it would unleash the torrent of emotion within.
It wasn’t until that first embrace that I allowed myself to crack.
Then it was a waiting game.
On Sunday, after a lovely breakfast at a local cafe, we walked along the beach, talking, joking, existing. The pain was slowly ramping up and eventually I knew I needed to be back home. We debated going back to the hospital, I wasn’t sure I was strong enough for what lay ahead.
With hindsight, the only pain worse than what I was experiencing was when I had my liver surgery and subsequently got pancreatitis. I wanted to die on that occasion.
I felt like I was having contractions, 5 minutes apart. For a good two hours. Agonising. Excruciating.
What happened next I will never forget. But I will not describe it. I knew things were over.
I sobbed, feeling both utter sadness and relief.
Everything in its right place.
Almost immediately things eased and just felt like normal period cramps again.
My little tenant, even though I never got to hold you in my arms, it was my pleasure to have held you within my body. I’m sorry that things didn’t work out, I have no regrets.