Before you read this post, go back and read my last post. Go on, trust me.
That last post is, in retrospect, ironic. If you follow me on twitter you already know why. If you don’t, it’s because I’m pregnant. Somehow, on roughly CD 196, I got that “surprise post-IF baby” (well, pregnancy anyway, there’s still a long way to go for that take-home baby).
I’d been feeling pretty unwell for a week or two – exhausted, off my food, randomly queasy. And then one day I vomited in the garage because my car smelt funny when I opened the door to get in. That sort of behaviour did not seem normal… but it did seem familiar. It was a tiny, tiny moment that changed my life, because it made me consider a possibility I had, to that point, ignored.
It still took me a few days to test; pregnancy just seemed so damn unlikely. And to be honest, I guess I was scared (I honestly can’t tell you whether I was more scared of getting a positive or negative result, both were terrifying).
Eventually, I did test. My work involves exposure to radiation; not generally enough to be highly harmful to a foetus, but enough that my work practices would need to change significantly if I were pregnant. I was at work one morning, with a long day of radiation-exposure in front of me, and the need to test just became overwhelming. I felt too great a responsibility to this maybe-foetus to put it off any longer. Of course, I didn’t have a test with me, despite working in a hospital I couldn’t find one anywhere at work, and it wasn’t looking likely that I’d get a lunch break in order to duck out to the shops. In the end, my close work friend snuck out of work and bought me one. She was the first person I told, squeezed in a utility closet, not sure whether to laugh or cry and ultimately doing both. It was surreal. Another tiny, life-changing moment.
Pretty quickly, reality set in. I needed to tell H, and was unsure what sort of reception I’d get (he’d stated quite specifically several times over the preceding 6 months that another baby was not something he wanted right now). I needed to tell my work, an equally fraught and complex situation (again, if you follow me on twitter you have probably picked up that my workplace is not the most functional or supportive of environments, a story for a whole other post). I had no idea how many weeks I was and needed to arrange a doctor’s appointment and early ultrasound for dating purposes. I needed to choose a new obstetrician (again, another post, but I knew we weren’t going back to our previous OB). And I needed to do all this within about 12 hours, without yet having a chance to decided how I even felt about this situation.
Bottom line, I was ambivalent. I was surprised, anxious, excited, terrified, stressed, and joyful all at the same time. There were lots of issues to sort out and decisions to make (or at least worry about) before H and I could take time to relax and process this news. I was also angry. Despite what I implied in my last post, this was not the joyful surprise pregnancy I imagined and I felt angry at infertility for taking that experience away from me once again. While it’s true that we have achieved a second pregnancy without any treatments, without the multiple stressors of ART, the reality was that it wasn’t something we intended, and on CD 196 it wasn’t something that should have even been possible. I felt nervous about telling my husband, I felt more anxiety than happiness about this pregnancy. I felt like I couldn’t allow myself to be happy.
The good news is that now, at 13 weeks, it feel like a blessing. It is all the more wondrous for the manner in which it happened. We’re getting our second child (with pretty ideal child-spacing to boot) without even trying.
All the other issues (of which many remain) have faded into relative insignificance. We are so, so lucky.
Still freakin’ nervous.