Saturday, August 23, 2008

toppings are extra

When people ask me how many children I have, I pause. Part of me really wants to say how many I have been pregnant with (five), but then I think about it some more and I always say one. When people ask me if my son is my only child, again, I have to pause. Because he isn't. He is now one of five, the oldest of five, the one who got to live. Whether by luck or happenstance or the cosmic meanie missed one, I don't know. But he is all I've got. Up until this past week, he was one of four. But then, last week, I found out I was pregnant again, but this one didn't even make it through the weekend. So, is it a loss? Does it count as another deadbaby on the ever growing list? I guess it does (to me). How many cells does it take to make it a "real baby." What is the difference between a late period and an early miscarriage. Is there really a difference? Physically, I can say for me the answer is yes. I never had a "natural" miscarriage (not that there is anything natural about losing a child.) My early losses ended in D&C's because my body stubbornly refused to accept that it wasn't pregnant anymore and stubbornly hung onto whatever it had. This time, my body did it on its own. And it was different. It was slightly numbed by the amount of beer that I decided to drink (since I wasn't pregnant any more) and the fact that I was so glad that I wouldn't have to go back to the doctor begging for something to make my body give up its pregnancy, but the inescapable fact was that both my husband and I were markedly saddened by yet another loss. Just a few days before, we were stunned to find out that we had managed to create a baby at all, given all the crappy fertility news that we'd been given lately. We barely had a chance to revel in being pregnant before we weren't anymore. No one knew. The food from our traditionally yummy pizza, yay we're pregnant again dinner had barely digested before I wasn't pregnant anymore. It's amazing how quickly things change. Yet, in the end, because all I want is to have a healthy baby, and because it remains out of my reach, everything stays the same.

If I'd have known how it would have turned out, I would have had the prosciutto pizza. And I didn't even cry.

5 comments:

Lynne said...

Oh jeez, that is so disheartening. I believe life begins at conception, so whether is is hours, weeks, or months, that baby existed and is deserving of mourning. Even if that is through simple quiet contemplation. I'm so sorry. Please know my thoughts are with you and your husband.

Anonymous said...

Liz I am so very sorry. Thinking of you.
~Kate (bbc)

Teri H. said...

I used to wonder if you thought I was petty for missing my 3 angels, because one was 'only' chemical. Surely your pain of missing Shannon negated all my pain, right? I am so sorry you had to experience this type of loss too. I can't think of the word for "sucks beyond all possible ways of sucking and so totally not fair". May your littlest angel soar high with your love.

Shinyung said...

Please hang in there. I wish I could give you a hug.

Mrs. Mother said...

I am so sorry you had to go through yet another loss. I've only lost my one baby; I can't imagine losing anymore. I'll keep you in my thoughts.