My Sacrifice

“Keep up the good work. I know you had to sacrifice a lot for this pregnancy.”

Those were the words my OB told me yesterday. I met one really crucial milestone and that was surpassing the gestation where I lost Ethan. Yoda is measuring ahead and it’s just a huge relief. I haven’t really put a lot of thought about this pregnancy and everything I’m sacrificing until he made that comment. Then it dawned on me. I am sacrificing a lot of things.

One of my close friends is getting married today. Originally Maks and I were supposed to go to her wedding. I really wanted to go. She’s getting married in New Jersey and I just wanted a mini-vacation across the country. I hoped I would be able to go and I waited until the last minute to tell my girl, K, that I wasn’t going to go. Ugh.boo.hiss.

It does suck, I’ll admit. I wanted to go to the beach this summer and I can’t. I want to travel and I can’t. It’s a constant reminder that as much as I’m progressing, this is not a textbook low-risk pregnancy.  I have to be horizontal, most of the time. I can go out a couple times a week, but those are short trips.

It’s not fair; really, it isn’t. Why can’t I have a carefree pregnancy like so many of my friends and family members? Why did I have to go through major surgery at the beginning of the pregnancy for a chance of going full-term? It’s unfair. I have to go through all these hurdles just to get pregnant, just to stay pregnant, and maybe, have a chance of carrying full-term.

I had a friend ask me recently if I thought I would regret not embracing this pregnancy 100%. I’m pretty sure I chucked my cell phone somewhere once I read that text. If you never had a late loss, you can’t relate, point blank. When you have had a late loss, every subsequent pregnancy after that is a giant mind-fuck. You’re constantly wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. You spend more energy trying to stay positive and hopeful than picking out baby items. It’s not a typical feeling of, ‘Well, I’m pregnant and I have 40 weeks to prepare for this baby!’ I wish. It’s more like, ‘I’m pregnant and I have 40 weeks to stay sane for the sake of this baby.’ Big difference.  I’ll never be completely comfortable with this pregnancy until Yoda is home.

The sad part is, my homegirl’s comment isn’t the first stupid comment I’ve received. I’ve had people say or do some really stupid things within the past year. Let’s count the struggles, shall we?

  • My personal favorite are the friends and family who thought sending me a picture of their healthy and happy baby or child was going to brighten my day. Why would that brighten my day? A reminder that you have something that I don’t?
  • The ‘You’ll have more babies’ comment I seemed to get every so often. Oh, you can predict my future? Lovely.
  • The friends who saw my situation and ask me questions regarding pre-term labor because all of a sudden, I’m an expert.
  • The reactions from my parents and in-laws, who are excited about Yoda and welcoming either a new grandchild or their “first” grandchild because clearly, Ethan didn’t fucking exist. Of course, he didn’t. I just spent the entire year mourning over something that didn’t happen and I’m about to spend a couple of thousand dollars on a headstone for someone that didn’t exist.  Gotcha. Just because you don’t want to deal with it, it doesn’t mean I have that option. That is never an option for me. I know their MO is they don’t want to “dwell” on sadness but when you bury a child, it stays with you. It doesn’t leave. For every good week, good month I have, there’s a very hard week and a very hard month that’s lurking around the corner. Just this past Thursday, I had one of those big, nasty ugly cries and I probably haven’t cried like that in a while.
  • People bitching about how their lives suck and yadda yadda yadda. All I think about is, ‘I bet you didn’t have to bury your child.’

So I’m used to people saying and doing stupid things just because they don’t know how to react to someone who had a late loss. And I get that for some, I’m a form of entertainment. Let’s keep it real, when your life isn’t going great, you always want to see who is worst off than you are. I’ve had a pretty rough year. I’ve also had a pretty good year. I was able to channel my emotions into my writing and had a very successful year because of it.

Honestly, I’m not sure I even want to announce Yoda’s arrival. I’ve gotten quite accustomed to keeping this pregnancy a secret, I really don’t see the point of any big announcement. Maks and I decided we’re not doing a photo book of pictures on Facebook. I’m not sure if I want even one photo posted. I’m afraid of people would point and stare, ‘That’s the one that’s alive’ or ‘that’s the one that made it.’ I think those who want a photo will get it in the mail. Everyone else can just use their imaginations on what a Blussian baby would look like.

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3 thoughts on “My Sacrifice

  1. The one I hate the most, “Everything happens for a reason.” or “It was all part of God’s plan.” Uh,no. There is no reason our babies are dead and not with us,and I’m sorry,but God doesn’t make a plan for babies to just come early and die. That’s just what people say when something awful happens,and they have no other answer or reasoning behind it. Every time someone says that to me,my reaction is always, “I’d love to hear why you think there’s a reason this happened.” People are ignorant,I’m sorry.

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    1. Oh yeah, I got that one a lot as well. I know people are trying to comfort but I also feel it’s best to just say, ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘My condolences’ without trying to sound all spiritual or deep. I’ve also had people tell me I should wait several years before I start conceiving again and my reaction was why? Why do I need to wait so long? What does my trials and tribulations of TTC have to do with what you’re doing in your life? And again, no response.

      It’s interesting – when someone’s parent dies, you don’t say, ‘Well, you can get another mother or father.’ When a person’s sibling dies, you don’t say, ‘Well, you can get another brother or sister.’ But when someone’s baby or child dies, the response is an immediate, ‘Well, you can always have more children.’ Why would anyone say that to one scenario but they wouldn’t dare say that to another?

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