I was pregnant again for a while. I felt it without a doubt on monday. I’d had a hunch earlier on, but monday I was certain. So certain I actually let myself be happy for it. The feeling is so strange, it doesn’t remind me of anything else I’ve ever felt. Like small vines groping me from the inside, making me feel nausea and then hungry, then just like my world is going to hurl upside down. Tugging me, gently and then forcefully so that I have to move carefully.
I was in the shower for a long time today, held the shower head to my belly, which is in so much pain right now. The blood has started to flow and I feel the pressure in my breasts easing up, the tugging fading under a more forceful hand, one I know so well.
Nothing’s changed, I tried to tell myself. I knew this already. This has happened so many times. This is no news, so I shouldn’t take it as a sign that IVF won’t work. I’ve known this all along, how my body just can’t keep the pregnancy for some reason. Even though the tests won’t tell me and the doctors won’t believe me. But really – I don’t need anyone to tell me.
I tried not to despair in the warm fog on the floor hanging to the small comfort of the hot water bashing my pain from me.
This does not mean it’s never going to be possible, I told myself. It doesn’t change anything. We weren’t even supposed to be trying now that I’m not on hormones this summer. We’ll be in line for the IVF in the fall anyway.
When I told Wonderboy yesterday he just asked, how do you know?
Because I feel it, I answered. I didn’t try to convince him anymore. Didn’t tell him anything. Just let him know.
I was pregnant for a while and now it’s going away again.
And he hugged me a little, but was thinking of other things. Told me how happy and giddy he was about all the things he’s learned about music recently.
I still like you. And I feel bad that you feel bad. You got all my sympathy, he said and held my hand after he’d already raised from the bed to go play his guitar.
I couldn’t even be angry with him. I tried, but I didn’t feel anything. I contemplated about sleeping on the couch, but I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t feel anything.
I’m having a miscarriage, and he’s happy about other things? While I’m in pain and torn by guilt and despair?
I have no way to reconcile that. I waited for him to come home, I waited a couple of days to tell him, even. Because I was afraid he’d brush it off like the doctors. Because we “can’t know” if I really was pregnant. I wonder how I would take it, if he had these pains, if he told me he felt the pregnancy and then the end, the devastating end to it. And I can’t imagine a world, where I would shut it out like he has.
And still. While I watched him play the guitar and then the computer game, telling me ordinary things he’d thought, I couldn’t help but feel this all encompassing love for him. The way he sat there, boylike, smiling and sending me kisses and playing the game while I was tugged in bed. I couldn’t make sense of it. The way he was. The way I felt.
He’d just shut it all out. He’d shielded himself. And maybe I accepted it for the first time. There was absolutely no sadness in it for him. It was so absurd I had no way of reacting. Nothing I could say would change anything.
I’m trying to get over it myself. Trying to forget what it is I’m suffering from now. Not menstrual cramps, but something else. And when I went to to bathroom, saw the unmistakable clot of blood in the toilet paper, and thought hello baby, because it always comes out like that after some clear bleeding. I wondered could he be the way he is, if he’d know all of this? Or would it break him?
There’s nothing I can do now. For the lost ones. Him. The baby. Somehow that makes me feel a little bit better. It’s certain then. There’ll be no baby. At least I know.