It’s damn near traumatic being pregnant after enduring loss. You’ve gone through the gamut of emotions and feelings… mostly negative… and MAYBE finally got to a headspace where there’s even a remote hope that another baby is in your future. Then, at a time when we’re supposed to be loving and appreciating our bodies most, we’re once again riddled with anxiety, doubt, and downright fear for nine months.
When I took the initial pregnancy test for Tabetha I went into the moment believing that I was once again crazy and that my body was deceiving me like it always did. My brain braced my heart for more failure and disappointment, but I still stared at the result panel almost willing that little second line to appear.
There’s this instant but fleeting euphoria when you’ve waited and prayed and begged for a positive test, and it finally happens. The result showed and suddenly I was IN that moment! I pictured my new future with a baby. I started to think about the things I’d have to add to my to-do list such as prenatal vitamins and doctor appointments. With trepidation I told Aaron. Not because I was afraid he’d be upset, but because the last two times I delivered this news our tiny treasures didn’t survive.
I’d managed to maintain my emotional composure right up until the day of my eight week appointment. Once the realization hit me that this pregnancy could end in the same fate as the last three I panicked… no… I completely broke down. I laid on the couch and sobbed hard. What went through my head was all of this: “Little baby, you’re so loved and wanted”, “Please stick around and I promise I’ll take very good care of you”, “God, please let this be our keeper baby”, “I have to be ok if this isn’t going to be good news”, “If this is my last shot I have to accept it”, “How can I move on if this isn’t meant to be?!”
All of these thoughts (and more) circled my mind repeatedly as I continued to cry. Fuck, I wanted this so much! And I knew that my chances would be depleted if this pregnancy didn’t last. Aaron and I talked a lot about having a baby at our age and we agreed that we didn’t want to be chasing a tot around in our late forties or beyond. This was a now-or-never situation and it shook me.
Heading into the appointment that afternoon, my heart was racing as I tried to keep my breathing slow and steady. I managed to contain my tears just long enough to hear the most beautiful noise coming from the ultrasound machine. A healthy heartbeat! And seeing that tiny peanut looking figure on the screen brought an overwhelming wave of relief! It’s quite euphoric to see and hear your baby and I’ve always enjoyed the sense of peace that ultrasound appointments offered. But with this pregnancy that feeling was always quickly thwarted by an awful fear of “the other shoe dropping”.
I spent the entire first trimester on pins and needles, praying constantly that baby was ok, stressed that something would mess this up, and hoping that once we made it to the second, my anxiety would subside. But, on the very morning that my pregnancy tracker told me I’d entered trimester two, I woke up feeling “different”. My ongoing symptoms seemed to have just faded into the previous night’s sky and I panicked. I also thought my belly looked smaller, which happened with Ben and I just thought he was hiding, so that renewed terror didn’t help at all. I don’t recall if I’d started feeling baby kick at that point, but not feeling it also kept me on high alert. I also don’t remember how long I waited to call the doctor’s office, but I know I did call… and then felt stupid for calling… and then told myself that they’re there to help and they understand… and then figured better safe than sorry… and then repeated all of those thoughts until I’d worked myself into an all day anxiety fest. Finally, the doctor called back (you have to leave a message with a nurse first) and mercifully offered for me to come in for a quick heartbeat check.
Everyone I had spoken to that day was incredibly understanding and supportive, which helped immensely as I shed tears during every interaction. I cried while on that call to confirm I’d be there. I cried to the receptionist when I arrived at the office. And I cried even harder to the doctor, explaining how foolish I felt for needing to be here. Then, as we shared our personal loss stories, we heard that beautiful heartbeat coming from baby. She was just fine! Relief and gratitude flowed through my entire body and I, of course, cried again. Ok, I bawled. The tears of joy were even more forceful than those of anxiety and by the time I headed to my car I was exhausted. That day was so impactful I’m welling up recalling and typing. It’s one I’ll never forget because it could have turned out so differently.
The remainder of my pregnancy was actually quite nice because I made a point of finding joy in the journey. It was an intentional effort that took focus and determination. There were still many moments of fear and I never truly found a way to combat that dark shadow, but I also knew if I’d let my anxiety keep the wheel I would’ve regretted it. When I was carrying Ben I was miserable and negative and if I could do it over (even if it meant the same outcome) I would, just to cherish him more. This time I did receive an at-home heartbeat Doppler, which came in handy A LOT as baby grew. This is what I clung to when I needed reassurance and peace in between appointments. It was proof of life and it meant everything.
When it was Tabby’s time to be born, we headed to the hospital for the c section. The last step had finally arrived! But rather than feeling overjoyed, I was incredibly apprehensive. I said many quick prayers that day. We live about ten minutes away and the mid-January weather was only slightly wintery but I felt panicked in the passenger seat. I imagined some horrific freak accident derailing my entire pregnancy, which was rather unlikely since it was like five in the morning and no one was even around. Once we arrived my nerves settled a bit until I was on the operating table and freak accidents bombarded my brain again. “What if” this, “what if” that. Why was this so difficult to just freakin’ enjoy?! It wasn’t until she was safe in my arms that I finally stepped back into this precious moment in time and cherished it. She was (and still is!) so beautiful! Our perfect littlest princess made it into the world. The beacon of hope and light that this momma prayed hard for was cuddled close to me and every ounce of doting that I couldn’t give her angel brother was bestowed upon her. This part of our journey had come to a close. Tabby helped fill a massive void; she was and still is part of my healing. She’ll know she has a brother in heaven and she’ll know that he’s watching over her and Sam.
No one warned me what pregnancy after loss would look like. It’s a wild ride, but Tabby and I were both triumphant. We were blessed and my prayers now are that we remain that way.
The Reinvented Mom 