Tears of Frustration

We were watching a "Modern Family" rerun tonight, and I found myself a sobbing mess.  Gloria was announcing to Jay that she was pregnant, and there was so much happiness and joy in the scene that I was overwhelmed with emotion.  And jealousy.

Because there is neither happiness nor joy when I am pregnant.  There is only fear.  I hate the fact that I can never feel comfortable when I'm pregnant.  That I can't look at baby clothes and nursery furniture and squee, designing a nursery and starting to put hopes and dreams in my pregnancy.  Once you've been burned a few times, the pain remains. You never forget the feeling of warmth as it takes over your bottom half; the feeling of you stomach falling and your heart breaking as you run to the bathroom knowing full well that you're going to be greeted by a flash of red.

You never forget these feelings.  They color every moment of your pregnancy.  You sit there, waiting for the next drop to fall. Waiting for the straw that will break the camel's back.  You wait, and you wait, and you wait, because you can't let yourself get excited or hopeful, because you know you're setting yourself up for failure.  It's easier to wait for it, to expect it, than to be caught off guard by it and feel as if your world is crumbling down around you.  If you expect it to happen to you, you can't ask, "Why me?" when it does happen.

I crave a boring pregnancy.  But, even if it's physically boring, it will never, ever be mentally boring.  I have a team of 4 doctors, and I speak to one of them daily.  Whether it's for emotional release, or comfort, or because they want to make sure that nothing is falling through the cracks, there is always a message or a missed call from one of them.  And I love them for that.  I love my high risk ob, and my gyn for calling to check-in on me.  For telling me that they'll test my hcg & progesterone every 120 hours if it will make me feel better.  My gyn told me that once we know there's a heartbeat I'm welcome to call her whenever I need to be reassured, and she will book me with the ultrasound tech.

But, I can't see this pregnancy.  If this pregnancy makes it to the first ultrasound (Mar 3), we will not be looking at the screen.  We will not be viewing this pregnancy until after a successful anatomy scan.   I have to protect myself this time, and I have to protect my husband.  There's only so many heartbreaks that a heart can endure before it just stops playing.  I don't want to get to that point.  I can't get to that point.  It's better for me to be seemingly disengaged, to keep myself from getting too attached.  I did that to a degree last pregnancy; I never expected to meet that baby.  This time my guard is up even higher, at least until the anatomy scan.

I wish I could be a normal pregnant woman.  I wish that I could glow, smile, and be immune to all of the things that could go wrong.  But I can't.  That wasn't my journey.  This is my journey, and while we have to make the best of it, I can't help but feel so so angry, and so so robbed.

Here we go again...

Last Sunday I afternoon, day 24 in my cycle, I decided to take a pregnancy test because, well, I now have a 24 day cycle and I had positive ovulation tests from CD 10 -12.  It was the first cycle I decided to use LH strips because I figured we would either try this cycle or next cycle.  

After I got out of a quick shower I was greeted by....

Not simply a positive test, but a GLARINGLY positive test.  Not even a squinter.  A completely in your face, lady you have a fertilized egg implanted in your uterus (or an hcg secreting tumor somewhere).

I cried

and I cried

and I cried some more. 

Because I am terrified.