I've actually lost count on how many times I've attempted to put this blog together. Each time I log in and begin writing I fall apart all over again.
It was Monday 08/10/20 at 2:36pm, one week ago, that I found out you were no longer a reality. That my body had rejected you even though my heart and soul had already willed you into existence. At first,after I hung up the call with the clinic, I felt nothing. In it's own defense, my heart went into flight mode and the only feelings I had were those of logic. And maybe a little bit of "don't touch me" and "I want to die." Barry and I hugged for a just a moment before I broke the restraint and told him that "I needed to get back to work. I just needed to work." An hour later, my eyes met his while he was standing in the kitchen and all actual feelings returned at once. I lost it. I audibly sobbed on the couch in his arms. I tried to come up with words to say to him and I had none; at least a simple, "I'm so sorry for our loss." But for almost the rest of the night, I just had nothing.
Over the last week I've done everything from try to talk myself into another round of minimal stimulation IVF to quickly and abruptly moving on and getting rid of everything I once held onto for you. I've tried so hard to "see the bright side" and be positive but I've been mostly mad and resentful instead. I'm mad that your room will now be made into something else even though I had all of your furniture and layout picked out already. I had your wall color picked out. I had already picked out first and middle names for you. I already had ideas of how we would tell Elle you were growing in my belly. I had already mapped out your entire first months at home with us and how we would adapt to your new and ever-changing schedule. What kind of bottles and paci's we'd use for you. I had already planned it all. I'm mad that Elle won't get to lay her little face on my belly and feel you moving around. I mad at the sibling bond she will now miss out on because you won't be here. I'm mad that I won't be able to have my chance at a less stressful birth experience with you. I mad that we won't be able to hold you and feel your soft and fuzzy baby skin against ours as we watch your face change from one emotion to the next while you snooze away on my chest.
How do I just move forward from this? I was supposed to be pregnant. I had already planned and expected this to be it. It was a finalized, done-deal. How is this now not a reality anymore? This is not how it was supposed to go. One moment I feel like, "Hey! I've got this. I'm going to be okay." And then the very next, I find myself clenching an old receiving blanket or laying on the floor in Elle's room in a pile of her old bibs and baby clothes that I was saving for you, my face dripping tears and snot, while I ask the age old question of "why me? What did I do that was so bad to deserve this?" If I can't have children, why do I have such a strong yearning to carry another one? What do I do with all of this stuff now? The car seat, the baby lotions and shampoos and diapers, and toys? All of these things I saved for you; what do I do with all of this? It isn't mine to throw away.
And then of course I find myself thinking logically and scientifically while I vainly search for the actual answers of "why did this fail?". should I have been exercising? Was our embryo not of good enough quality? Would it have had issues had it developed? Or would the pregnancy have terminated at some point? Was my body not healed enough from the surgery? My gut tells me it wasn't. After seeing my last period, I have a suspicion that there wasn't enough healthy tissue for the embryo to implant into.
I guess none of that really matters. I just wish I would have gotten more time with you, my sweet 5BB..
I also have been thinking about how to move on and move forward. Would moving onto another IVF attempt take my mind off of everything? Would it be worth it? Obviously, if it resulted in a live birth, it would be. I just don't know at this point. It would probably take about a year to save up enough to go though a "minimal stimulation" attempt which would only be about half of the amount as our original round. But if it failed as well, that would be another year lost that we can't get back. Another failed round that I don't know if I could mentally go through again. Truth be told, I don't think I could do or say anything that would talk Barry into trying again no matter how badly I wanted it.
For the last 4 years, I've mentally written you into our future together. I've envisioned years worth and it all included you. From you and Elle playing together, to Elle helping to take care of you. And now my future feels like a book of empty pages. For 4 years another child, another happy and exciting pregnancy was a reality, practically a promise because we had you on ice, on the proverbial back burner and now it's all gone. You are entirely gone. For the past 5 years I've believed that God gave me two embryos because we were meant to have two children. I feel so blindsided, still by the call last Monday that I still find it hard to swallow. I've felt loss before; I've lost three pregnancies before this one, but this is by far the worst. You've been in our lives for 5 years and now you're not. There is not "bright side" of this. There is no, "Oh, you're young, you can just try again," or "you can just try IVF." We are completely done and I didn't prepare at all for this. I'm not ready to be done. I'm not ready or willing to accept this right now. There a gaping hole in my heart where the prospect of you once resided and I'm not ready to just move on empty handed. I'm not ready to not try this again. I do not want to get through this or get better. I just want to be pregnant. I just want to be pregnant with you.
What's so fucking wrong with that?
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