My blog posts of late were all a mish mash of the grind of the final throes of thesis writing, and my excitement regarding going overseas, and some brags about my crossfit exploits.
They were hiding something more important, more exciting.
About 6 weeks ago, when I was thinking of what I would do with my pimply skin, and considering some definitive treatment, I had to have a pregnancy test.
It was positive.
Shock gave way to joy. Joy like I had never felt before. I walked around with a big dopey smile on my face. I was excited about having a baby close to my sister (she is having a little girl, squeeee)
I was so well. Full of energy. No nausea to speak of. Food tasted good. I didn't even miss wine that much. My mood was good, no doubt the pregnancy hormones agreed with me. I was enjoying it.
The only thing that was annoying was the fact that I had to go piddle every two seconds. I still did my running and jumping, being careful to empty my bladder before. I reveled in my wellness.
Among the joy of it, I felt vulnerable in a way that I never had before. Aware of how open to twists of fate I was. I felt sometimes a bit like a precious, breakable vessel, an unfamiliar feeling. The love within my heart expanded to a tenderly heartbreaking level, and I felt acutely grateful for the people I had around me, especially my partner.
As a break from my thesis, I would trawl the literature on pregnancy. There are a lot of beliefs about what is bad in pregnancy, and I was trying to get a feel for the facts. I became well appraised of what the risks of coffee, wine, cheese and diet soft drinks. I had also started to look at stretchy garments. I had been a conscientious objector to Jeggings, but had overcome this because by Gosh, they are comfy.
A week and a bit ago, we went to see the obstetrician. We had the viability scan. A small, healthy little blob with a heartbeat. Miscarriage rate down to 10% or less at that point.
The little blob with the heartbeat had a lot of hopes and dreams attached to it. It's natural.
I spent all weekend working on my thesis, so going back to work this morning was almost a break.
I had been feeling a bit dizzy, nothing out of the ordinary, and a twinge in my lower abdomen. Happens.
At work this morning, I had some bleeding. I told my co-workers and burst into tears.
An ultrasound was arranged. The secretary at the ultrasound centre, sensitive to the situation, offered to sit me in the quiet room. I declined, tough. I sat and read old magazines.
The scan showed an outline similar to what I understood from the "what to expect" websites. Except this time it was amorphous. There was no heartbeat, and I was informed that the fetus had stopped growing. The obstetrician came in and confirmed that I had miscarried.
There is no anger, just sadness. Gratitude and hope too. Efforts not to fall down the rabbit hole of how I could've done something to avoid this, knowing intellectually there was something beyond my control.
I just have to feel the feels, and let the tears come as they need to. The only way out is through. We will get there.