Milestones

There are many milestones in anyone's pregnancy, I am sure. Certainly, lots of women wait until they are 12 weeks along to tell others she is expecting, in an effort to manage risk of miscarriage. For other women, maybe it's when they first started to show, or a first stretch mark! For us, milestones are darker: the gestation at which I 
- started to bleed with the last pregnancy
- ruptured
- was on bed rest
- viability 
- went into labour
- had Maggie, and then Patrick, die... 
- improved survival rates

I knew that being pregnant again would be difficult. We would have to face each milestone, allow ourselves to feel sad and scared, but also not to be overwhelmed or paralyzed by that if the pregnancy continues. And to be honest, many of the milestones passed by relatively quietly. Everyday of this pregnancy I have probably thought about risk, dead babies, the foolishness of trying to be pregnant again and putting myself through the turmoil, so the milestones were not always totally awful - perhaps, just more of the same. As the pregnancy progressed, each milestone passed. My family counted with me as we passed each of those dates in this pregnancy. (And, come to think of it, mostly took for granted that the surrogacy pregnancy continued as per usual). After each milestone we breathed a sigh of relief. At viability, we had cake. And, with each milestone, there was a period of hope: maybe this time will be better. 

Others often asked when I might relax, enjoy the pregnancy, when I might believe that this is a healthy pregnancy that will lead to a healthy baby. I kept telling people this would happen at 30 weeks. At that time, survival statistics would be strongly in our favour and we would start really getting ready for baby(ies). I reassured lots of other people, and certainly myself, that I would be fine if I could just make it to week 30. But then, around week 27, and then 28, I started to realize something: the passing of milestones was not relieving my anxiety, nor was the passing of weeks. Indeed, my anxiety seemed to be staying steady, or worsening; 30 weeks would be irrelevant. Instead of being relieved that I have not ruptured or gone into labour, I began to anticipate (and likely over-estimate the likelihood of) the awful things that happen in the last trimester or during birth - like still-birth, the cord strangling the baby... As the pregnancy progresses, there seems to be more pressure from others and myself, to bond with the baby and plan on its arrival. I am meant to be planning a nursery, folding baby blankets, and buying a van. But the thing is, it is too terrifying. Not only did I learn in my last pregnancy that I can have pPROM and lose two children, I also learned that random, bad things can happen during my pregnancies and I shall not underestimate the power of mother nature again. I simply cannot believe that this will be a live, healthy baby. To assume that, is to invite ignorance and hope in, and I know all to well how awful it feels when they are taken away.

Today I am 30w6d and this is what it is like to be pregnant me: Earlier this week the baby seemed to be moving less. Not never, but less. I reacted with fear. I know that anxiety can be caused by selectivity of evidence, so I purposefully noticed each time I felt something that even might be the baby and took note, in hopes of mounting evidence that the baby was fine. But, it was not enough. I imagined that the baby was suffering, probably dying slowly. I thought about asking for help (I work in a family health team, so there's help at the ready), but I did not want to show how anxious I can be. Likewise, my wonderful midwives - I do not want to be the exhausting, needy client who calls all the time - I want to be a fun client! And, logically, I knew that it could simply be my own fear creating much of the evidence. So, I considered sneaking to the hospital. I thought I might be able to do that without causing too much trouble with co-workers and midwives, and without scaring my spouse. I debated sneaking over the the OB ward on my drive home from work, just to seek some reassurance. I did not end up going, I came home and allowed myself to be distracted by family life. Thankfully, the next day the baby was incredibly active and I relaxed. 

I am not always that scared. And I have days during which I do enjoy being pregnant, and we talk about a nursery, or baby clothes, or vans. But, as much as those days are fun, there is still a part of me holding back, avoiding purchases or decisions that assume the babies will be healthy.

So, if anyone (including me) is wondering when I might feel better, the answer is when I have a healthy, live baby in my arms. I will believe then. I will embrace that moment. I will love my baby. And, on good days, I allow myself to imagine that moment and how wonderful it will feel; that brings me peace.