I’m sitting on the couch fidgeting around on my huge stupid maxi pad — I’ve had no bleeding or spotting for three days, but I know if I went maxi-pad free, I’d start gushing blood immediately, ruining my clothes and also my hopes and dreams. A mild superstition I carry around. Don’t be too cocky, the chorus sings at me. Don’t jinx yourself.
I spend a great amount of energy trying to avoid jinxing myself. But I usually fuck up, and bring down the wrath of the heavens.
I’m concerned with the watery discharge. When I go look back at all my other pregnancy charts on Fertility Friend, I’ve marked watery CM throughout early pregnancy, but I don’t remember how much. And it might just feel like there’s more of it because of the maxi pad. I fret endlessly about leaking vital fluids. My god. What could be wrong?
I remind myself of the tingling uterus episode yesterday afternoon, of my 98% odds of miscarrying again, of my fading symptoms. Interestingly enough, my boobs have finally started to ache. Not acute pain like I’m used too, just a deep soreness that feels like they’re bruised up.
“Hope” is my least favorite four-letter word. Scruffy’s taken off; he left yesterday afternoon muttering about having a lot of things to do. But he must be lurking close. Sometimes, like in the morning while I pour myself a small cup of coffee, I feel a knifepoint between my shoulder blades. I whip around, thinking I see a glimpse of a gleaming rainbow, but there’s nobody there.
Shit, Scruffy is back, hooves burnished gold and that gleaming mane he tosses about so insolently as he watches me here on my couch. I am curled into a fetal position and I tuck myself up even smaller and close my eyes. It is only 9am.
I am laying prone on a conveyor belt, being transported slowly through time. I’d do anything to get off. I don’t want to go to this ultrasound.
I feel like during my last nine week miscarriage, I was not waiting so long to have my first ultrasound. But according to my records, I did wait. I tested at 13dpo, just like this go around. I even did my betas earlier. Of course it was around the holidays, so maybe I was busier?
I was so happy for that pregnancy. This one has elicited so much fear, especially since feeling the tingling. I am petrified to go to my appointment; I am just so sure it’ll be either no heartbeat or no baby. If only my body didn’t hang on to these pregnancies and create these “missed abortion” scenarios (or a tfmr).
I rest my hand on my belly, already feeling attached to someone who might not even be in there. This is bad. This is really bad. I wonder how I went from IF to RPL. Why all the sudden I started getting pregnant and losing babies. Why. Why.
And the fear is huge but I figure if I haven’t capitulated to the urge to soothe myself with a large dose of benzodiazepine, I must have some hope remaining.
Ooops, forgot to take my Geodon. I can feel anxiety mounting, and it’ll take a bit before the meds kick in. It’s amazing how much panic can distort your perceptions — I’ve had panic attacks so severe that I’ve been convinced my teeth were falling out. Really, when I touched my teeth with my tongue, I’ve felt them moving.
I wish Geoff were here. I know I’m keyed up enough that I’d probably be yelling at him, though. All of this will be over soon.
I am actually wringing my hands. 1pm. I’ve never felt this nervous before. What the fuck is wrong with me? Drops of blood fall from Scruffy’s horn, and he offers me a cigarette. Is that my blood? I’m getting confused, lost. So tired.
I can’t imagine walking back into The Baby Factory. God, I hate ultrasounds. I think my last nine week miscarriage traumatized me but good. It was so recent, but seems so far in the past.
Baby measuring on track at 7w3d, heart beat 131. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. They didn’t even use the twatwand.
Geoff is making me shrimp for dinner to celebrate and I’m frantically trying to gauge what needs to be done to pass muster at tomorrow’s inspection. They are inspecting random units, right during the hours I have my highly anticipated therapy appointment. This enrages me, because I have to make sure they don’t let out my dear little cat. So we call in the morning and they tell us if we are among the randomly chosen units and then WHO GIVES AN EVERLOVING FUCK. Why do I have to deal with this today?
I really would rather not clean the apartment and to attend my therapy session and also YOU MOTHERFUCKERS JUST DON’T LET MY CAT OUT.
Bah. I know the world can’t stop for my little triumphs. I am exhausted and happy and just want to be curled up in bed with Geoff…